Exception- Chapter 2

'A friend is nothing but a known enemy'
-Kurt Cobain

A few weeks passed and normality was almost restored. My mother, my little sister and my father were now a lonesome unit after a major disagreement arose with my mother's side of the family. They were bullies. They had used my mother for years and when she went to voice her views the worst happened. THe screaming in the street when they saw her, the phone ringing just to be shouted at, they even got hold of my father at work to tell him what they thought of him. At one point they came into the house, screaming at us like a gaggle of witches cawing chants together around a cauldron. They made my little sister cry; how dare they make a small child feel vunerable in her home, a place for safety, protection and reliability. I hate them.

It took a few days for it to sink in that they had gone. They were the people I spent my childhood with, the ones who helped raise me and now at sixteen I have flown the nest along with my immidiate family and settled for a smaller approach, a cosy yet roomy relationship with ice running through the core yet with a blast of heat. The situation was made worse by a dispute a few nights later with my 'best friend'. She had helped me through the time I had been through and she knew everything about me, she knew things that could get me in truble if anyone else knew. Things that if people knew, the situation would be made even worse.

As I walked into the crowded corridor, three pairs of eyes glared at me like monsters in a dark cave. The eyes of my former friend and her two new followers who seemed to be tied to her like young children who were likely to run away and explore, she had to keep a tight reign as she was losing people rapidly, I suppose we were more similar than we realised. I was once told not to let my enemies get the best of me, but she already knew the best of me and had taken it, leaving me unaware of who she would expose my secrets to. She had told them something, lies, LIES, LIES!

Stoping myself from becoming paranoid was the hardest thing to overcome. If I was looked at in a different way I would panic, my eyes darted around rooms to make sure nobody was looking, I spent time alone for the first time in a long time. I cried... In front of people! What was wrong with me? Who had I become? I stared at the girl looking at me through the glass. The mirror reflected somebody I no longer knew, I didn't know the girl who looked so intrigued to see me, like a stranger she saw a long time ago. It smashed. My knuckles bled. A half crooked smile was left on the wall where the mirror was attatched. The girl had won. She got inside my head. Breathing became harder. The room span. The deep red blood ran down my arm, dripping off my elbow into the pool which was forming on the floor. Echoes of the smash lingered in my skull.

I felt fine. No pain, no regret. I had already lost everyone, my friends, my family, myself. I began to walk away but felt unstable. A wave of dizziness came over me. I lent over the sink watching my reflection in the shiny white paint looking puzzled. I was no loner alone: there was me, the shell, the one without a clue and the girl looking up at me, calling me stupid, wondering why I was on my own in the dark bathroom in the middle of school. I recognised the girl, she had red hair, hazel eyes and looked just like me, but it wasn't me, how could it have been?

Year 7s ran in. A shriek, a cry followed by an eerie silence. Who were they to judge? Who was I to judge? I could no longer call myself sane. My pupils dilated in the shards that had fallen like hail in front of me. They doubled. Tripled. Then black. I had fallen, yet I could still hear my surroundings. The girls left, I doubt they told anyone,why would they help an older girl bleeding from her hand, they probably thought it was self harm. Stupid bitches.

I lay there. Alone. Waiting to return to my own self. Waiting to become sane again. Waiting for a miracle.