Ok...this one is the nicest.

But it was really emotionally hard to write. I hope it adds to the whole story.

Enjoy Jake and Ryan fans.

Meggss xoxo

The journey home was silent, apart from dad's rough coughs, caused by his continuous smoking. His car stank of it! I had to hold my breath every time I got in the dreaded thing. When we got home I ran straight into the house and tried to make for my room, but dad made sure I didn't by screaming my name. I cowered into the living room as dad slammed the door shut, picking up another bottle on the way in.

He pointed a finger and had a on an expression that would make a murderer hide from.

"Who the hell was that?" Dad shouted at me.

"Who?" I mumbled, frightened.

"You fucking well know who! That boy who practically licked my window of my car? Remember now?" He screamed, swinging the bottle in front of my face.

Everything that happened at Mrs Reardon's house was an act; he simply didn't want the police after him. As long as he acted cool he could get me into the car without the shape shifters trying to stop him.

I trembled and slowly walked backwards into the corner.

"He's my boyfriend, dad."

He stopped suddenly, scoffed then burst out laughing.

"Really, you have a boyfriend? I thought you'd die first before that ever happened. Well... congratulations then. Some one in this world must love you." He chuckled.

I felt anger in me build up. I knew that my mother always had and forever will love me. He had no right to say that. But I never had raised my voice to dad after mum died; like he said, I'd end up dead.

"Shut up." I muttered and then headed for the door. But then dad grabbed my wrist and pulled me right up to him as he screamed in my face.

"Who the hell do you think you are, bitch? How dare you talk to me like that! Just shut your mouth when I'm talking to you. You're worthless. You make me sick – in fact, you made your mother so sick of you that you killed her!" He yelled. "You fucking killed her!"

"I didn't, I didn't, I didn't!" I cried, repeating it to both of us.

"You gave her so much stress; always asking for things, moaning at her when you didn't get your own way, and then it finally got to her!"

This was the worst thing he had ever said to me. Was it true? I can't remember, maybe I did moan at her too much. Oh, my god, what if it was true?

"Leave me alone!" I screamed at him, pushing and pulling at his fingers that curled painfully around my arm. After a few seconds, I'd had enough. I yanked free and pushed him into the wall. But I stood shocked as his back hit the edge of the fireplace, sending him slamming onto the wooded floor. The bottle smashed everywhere, most of the liquid covering my clothes, but still I had not moved. Dad was frozen, his eyes shut. He blacked out. My paralyzed body seemed to shiver even more. Had I killed him? Oh, god, I was a murderer; I'd killed my own father!

But to my relief he shook his head, clenching it with his hand. After a second of both of us doing nothing but staring, frozen in place, he sprung up onto his feet. His face was all tense, his eyebrows pushed down over his eyes.

Suddenly my chest was hit by a blow. I fell to the floor and slipped on the contents of the broken bottle. My face landed on a shard of glass. The red liquid oozed down my face like water, licking my skin as it travelled down onto my neck. My already sore back became painful and weak.

I screamed. My body shook.

And as if nothing had happened, dad put on his coat and stumbled heavily towards the door, mumbling something about going out for a drive. I hoped the evil sod would never come back. The door slammed shut. I was free for tonight – I could lick my wounds in peace, so to speak.

I tried to stand up. Pushing the glass away with my wet trembling fingers, I leaned on my right elbow and grabbed the coffee table desperately with my left.

I moaned at the pain – it seemed I'd been going through a lot of that recently – but from it I knew the only damage was a shallow cut on my cheek and bruises almost everywhere. Compared to earlier today, no harm was done really.

I crept onto the sofa, pulling up my t-shirt to my blood covered cheek. I held it there for a while, exhausted and aching.

Was he right, though? Had I killed my mother – with all my moaning and my apparent desperate need for attention? I missed her so much! I craved her loving blue eyes, her smile, her sense of humour and her easy way of calming me down. I remember her being the reason I'd look forward to coming home. She enjoyed baking muffins on a Friday afternoon; they'd always be hot from the oven by the time dad brought me home. Dad was pleasant too then. As I was an only child, we'd play in the garden together, running under the sprinklers in old clothes. He'd chase me into a sweet smelling towel and bring me in, wrapping both my mother and me in a loving hug. He adored my mother, now and then. She was his world, in fact! I just hadn't realised he blamed me for her death.

I cried. Hot tears spilled down from my eyes and swam in with the red blood. I wiped it all away. But the tears kept on coming. My eyes stung, my cheeks stung, my head ached and my heart was about to burst. I choked on my own breath – trying to calm myself was impossible!

A minute later I ran upstairs to my room.

"Stupid dad, stupid school, stupid life! Urghh, why can't it all just end on its own?" I yelled to no one. I slammed my bedroom door shut and fell on my bed, my tears soaking my pillow. "Why won't it just stop?"

Inside my head I begged for the will to just end it all myself, to make everything better by making everything in existence – for me – disappear. But I was too weak.

So I decided to punish myself instead – again. I felt like I deserved it, that I needed to do this for a reason no one could explain. All I knew was that everything built up. All the emotions built up inside my heart and I had...I just had to get them out!

Running to the bathroom in a hurry, I tripped a couple of times and stubbed my little toe on the airing cupboard door. I swung quickly into the bathroom and locked it. Like last time, I'd sleep in here. I knew dad wouldn't be back till tomorrow afternoon so he would not notice.

"You deserve it. You deserve everything that's coming to you!" I muttered.

Yanking open the cabinet, I stared at the razor. Without a second thought, I grabbed it and brought it out onto my skin.

I breathed heavily.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out...

I held in the yelp and stared at the blood that welled up then fell onto the clean white tiles of the bathroom floor.

In. Out. In. Out. In Out....

Slice...

In...

Slice...

Out...

I sank to the floor and dropped the blood covered tool in the sink and poured cold water over it. I leaned my head against the door and gave into the numb feeling that spread through my whole body, slowly like a drug. Oh, how I craved the feeling – the feeling of nothing. Before I drifted off to sleep I wrapped a clean towel around the wound. I breathed heavily.

"You...deserve...this." I choked out through the tears and drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

Right, your verdict please. xoxoxoxo