One, two, three, four.

There was a knock at the door.

“Emma how much longer until you are done showering?” I hear my brother Chris call. “I need to get ready for school.”

“Gimme two minutes!” I call back to him. I put the razor back in its holder and rinse off the four new cuts on my flat stomach. I smile softly as I feel the sting of the hot water on my newest creation.

I don’t know what it is about cutting, but it helps. It helps me forget about everyone and everything. I forget about the dirty looks everyone shoots my way, about my ex who is still out to get me, about my alcoholic parents. I feel like I finally have control over something in my life.

I turn the water off and wrap a towel around my body. I shoot out of the bathroom so no one sees me. As I shut the door behind me, I grab the remote on my dresser and turn on my surround sound.

In the end, as you fade into the night. Who will tell the story of your life?

I bob my head as Andy’s voice fills my room. I dab off the remaining blood on my stomach and get dressed. I slip on a black lace bra and matching undies. What to wear today…

I open my closet and there before me are endless black shirts and black leggings. I grab a pair of black leggings, and a giant black shirt that has “Defend Pop Punk” written in white. I slip on my combat boots and head over to the mirror.

I look into my hazel eyes and see nothing but sadness. I scan over the rest of my face. Just a simple, plain face. I brush out my long blond hair, and wring it out trying to get most of the water out. I part it to the side a little and let it air dry. I have had naturally straight hair my whole life. People tell me I am lucky to have it but honestly, I wish I could curl my hair or at least make it wavy. I grab my black eyeliner and trace a thin line on top of my left eyelid. I do the same to my right one and grab the mascara. I apply it and do a final check in the mirror. Good to go, I guess.

I glance down at my iPhone to check the time. I have about 10 minutes until my mom calls me down to leave. I lie on my bed and look around my room. On my roof, I have a gigantic tapestry. Coating my walls are endless band posters of Black Veil Brides, Never Shout Never, Drugs, The Maine, Falling in Reverse, and a million others. I can barely tell what color my walls are anymore.


Yes. I am spoiled rotten honestly. Not because I ask to be, but because my parents buy me whatever, hoping it makes up for their alcoholism and lack of parenting. Seriously, they are really bad parents. They never ask to see my brother or my grades. My brother who is 15 is allowed to have girls sleep over. I’m 17 almost 18 and haven’t once had a guy sleep over. That’s my choice though. No guy ever looks at me anyway. No one at school does…


I am what you would consider the outcast, the bullied, the tormented. All the girls think I am a freak and make it clear. They push me, call me mean names, and talk about me behind my back. I’ve had guys do all of that to me too. I tried telling my parents, they told me to just suck it up or talk to the principal. Problem is, I don’t have much proof for the principal and even if I did, they would get a suspension. Which means they would come back and make my life even worse. As if that were possible.

I’m just a girl. I play guitar in my room, sit on my Mac all day long, and listen to endless amounts of music. At night, I play on my Xbox 360 and fall asleep to Netflix. I make mediocre grades and keep to myself. That’s why everyone thinks I am weird. To them, cool is going out to ragers and getting fucked up every weekend. But that’s just not me. I don’t like house music, I don’t like dubstep, I don’t like rap. It’s all a bunch of noise as far as I’m concerned. I don’t do drugs and I most certainly don’t drink. I have negative connotations with that since my parents are alcoholics. And because of my likes and dislikes, people think I am a complete loser. They don’t take the time to get to know me, nor do they care to.

I’ve only had one boyfriend. That’s it. We lasted about 4 months. He and I were happy as can be until one day; he found out that I cut. He broke up with me and said we would get back together when the cut healed. I waited and waited and the cut finally healed. I ran up to him, excited as hell showing him it was gone. He smiled, told me he loved me, and gave me a bracelet he made for me. Personally, I assumed that meant we were back on. Silly me. He told all of his friends that he and I were friends with benefits, that he was determined to get me into bed with him. I left him, totally heartbroken and crushed. I had felt so used. That was a year and a half ago. No one has caught my eye, or even looked my way since.

I had one childhood friend, but she moved to California. We don’t talk much at all anymore. She’s Miss Popular over at her new high school. I never made any new friends because I remember how hurt I was when she left. I just figure that at some point, everyone will leave me. So why bother?

I glance at the time and realize my mom should be calling me down any minute. After turning the music off, I grab a black beanie and slip it onto my head. I sling my black and white checkered backpack across my shoulders and grab my car keys. I walk over to my brothers room and pound on his door.

“Let’s go loser.” I yell to him.

He comes out of his room and snickers. “Look who’s talking.”

I roll my eyes and trot down the stairs. I see my mom sitting at the kitchen table playing on her iPad, sipping coffee, as she always is.

“Morning.” I call her way. “I’m taking off to class with Chris.”

“Ok sweetie. Have a good day.” My mom replies sweetly.

My mom is an excellent woman, when she is not drunk. She is creative, warm hearted, and strong. My dad can be pretty okay too. But with him, he’s very bipolar. He used to beat my mom and for some reason, she stuck around. He stopped and hasn’t for about a year or two. He never laid a hand on my brother or I and for that, I’m grateful. But when he’s bad…it’s scary. He’s kicked down my door before, punched holes in walls, broken my moms ribs. It can get pretty ugly. I just try to avoid all of it and stay in my room.

Chris and I jog out the door and hop into my car. I have a 2009 Mazda6. It’s a pretty nice car, especially since I’m only 17. Again, not something I asked for, but something my parents got me. Trust me I am NOT complaining. I just hate it when people called me spoiled. I plug in my iPod and blast Falling in Reverse. My brother doesn’t mind, so long as I turn it off before we pull up to the school. He has a reputation to uphold and doesn’t want it ruined by my “shitty” music.

We ride in silence, both bobbing our heads. I know he secretly likes my music, but is too afraid to admit it. I feel bad for him in a way. At school, he is popular, but for all the wrong reasons. He’s known as a player, a jock, and a partier. He’s 15 but is more popular than I ever have been or ever will be. I’m sure he feels bad for me but honestly; I don’t care because at least I’m being real.

After about two songs, we pull up to my school. It’s a giant public high school, nothing special. I pull into my parking spot and let my brother get out first. I count to 30 and then get out of the car myself. I take a deep breath as I try to make it to my first class without running into anyone. Of course, I fail.

“Well if it isn’t little Miss Emma.” Sasha, my main bully sneers. She has long shiny brown hair. Her curls frame her tiny face and make her brown eyes shine. She is about my height, but with the heels she insists on wearing, she’s about 4 inches taller than me today. Her two bitches follow close behind her as they approach me.

“What do you want Sasha?” I groan as I am cornered.

“Defend Pop Punk.” She laughs at my shirt. “I think you should be more worried about defending yourself.” She pushes me up against a locker. Immediately, the other two girls pin my arms against the lockers. There is so much traffic in the hallway, no one notices this.

“Please don’t, not today.” I beg her, really not in the mood.

“Oh wow, well since you asked me not to…” Sasha laughs sarcastically. She punches me once in the gut, right on my fresh cuts. I recoil and hold back my scream. If I scream, she always ends up doing more. “I’m gonna let you off with one today. Only because I just got my nails done.” She admires her French tips and signals for her friends to let me go. They do, and I immediately fall to the floor.

I watch from the floor as they walk away and feel warm blood on my stomach. I rush to the bathroom and dab my now bloody cuts with a wet napkin in the handicapped stall. I glance at the time and realize that if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late for class. I do a final dab and walk out to my first period. I walk in and take my spot in the very back corner of the room. No one sits in front of me, or next to me. I love it because it’s almost like I am invisible. Almost.

The bell rings and class starts. We pull out our notes and Mr. Garcia, our English teacher, drones on and on about how to cite your sources. I begin to doodle on my paper, losing track until I hear the door open. I glance up and see a boy with black hair and blonde highlights. He was pretty damn tall, wearing black skinny jeans and a Blink 182 shirt. A few people snickered at his appearance and I immediately felt bad for him. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

“Hi sorry I’m late.” He mumbles, looking out of place.

“And you are?” Mr. Garcia asks confused.

“Jack Barakat. Transfer student.” He hands our teacher a paper and waits for a response. He scans the room, smiling awkwardly. We make eye contact for a split second before the teacher interrupts us.

“Go ahead and take a seat in the back.” Mr. Garcia gestures to the empty seat next to me, or in front of me.

Jack nods at the teacher and walks down the aisle, sitting next to me. I try not to look up and seem too interested. Honestly, I am really excited. He looks like we could be really good friends. I don’t want to risk it though. Like I said, they always end up leaving, right? I glance sideways at him and catch him staring at me.

“Hey, I’m Jack.” He whispered to me grinning.

Appalled, I sat there in silence for a second. No one EVER talks to me. “Uh, hey. I’m Emma.”

Jack shakes my hand and doesn’t stop smiling. It’s kind of creepy, but cute. Maybe he and I could be friends…I mean he is wearing a Blink shirt, how bad can he be?

Stop, fucking stop Emma he’s just going to leave you. They all do. They always do.

Always.

Notes

Hello! New story :) I have been writing a story called, Two Kids No Consequences, about Alex Gaskarth and Diana his girlfriend (in the story). It's been really mushy gushy and I've been having a pretty dark week so I figured instead of ruining that story, I would just make a new one. Hope you enjoy! Leave me comments people.
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