In My Arms | fangle | under editing

chapter one, part one | A Fresh Start

⚠️WARNING⚠️ This story deals with several very sensitive topics including, but not limited to, rape, suicide, depression, and self-harm. If these trigger you or make you uncomfortable in any way, please do not read. Thank you, Canislupusexe🖤

>> mangle's p.o.v <<

I closed my eyes, the teacher's words failing to reach my mind. Maybe it was something important. Maybe it would be on the finals. Maybe it would help me further my career. I didn't care though. I never really cared and my grades were showing it. It wasn't always like this. I didn't always hate going to school. The very thought never used to make me sick to my stomach. Things changed. People changed for the better or the worse.

Friends were scarce. For me, at least. Who wanted to be friends with someone like me? No one. That was the answer and there was no concrete reason. Just rumors everyone decides to believe. That's how it always is honestly. Find someone who's gone through hell and back and make it even worse.

I looked at the clock, the hour hand between the eight and nine, and the minute hand near the five. 8:23. Hours left of this agonizing "learning". Yeah, right. The only thing I learned from endless days of this bullshit is that I want to jump off a building even more than usual. Lovely thoughts on my end, I know.

"Miss Des' Troy?" Someone called. I looked up, blinking away the haze.

"What?" I asked, sounding more malicious than I intended. The teacher's face contorted, sensing the venom in my voice.

"I asked if you could answer number 12, please." He repeated. I looked down at the book, the complex math problem staring back at me. Numbers and letters I had no idea the meaning of. What the hell did it matter what x was? Why should x even be there? Can't you just use fucking numbers?!

"I... I can't," I mumbled, my voice cracking at the end. An abundance of snickers met my ears making me shrink back into my seat. He scowled.

"That's what I presumed. Please at least try to pay attention. This is very important." He replied. I stared at my lap, the voices behind me suddenly so much more magnified. Whispers were like yells and the words were echoes in my head. I bit my lip, horrified by the booming syllables. My breathing became heavy and, no longer able to handle it, I stood and stormed to the bathroom as quickly as I could. I pushed open the door violently, running to a stall and locking myself inside. I sat on the toilet, pulling my legs to my chest and panting. I closed my eyes, hot tears beginning to form.

"She said she wants to end it all when she's all alone in her room

She cries

The way she feels inside is too much for her."

Singing. A coping mechanism I had adopted over the years. My mother always told me I had the voice of an angel. I lulled my head back, trying to slow my breathing. It's all in your head. No one is even here anymore. I bit my lip, trying my hardest not to cry. I obviously didn't try hard enough, for the tears began streaming hard and fast. Someone save me from this hurt.

>> flashback <<

"What are you thinking of having, kiddo?" He asked. My dad. My dad asked. I smiled a real smile.

"Can I get some ice cream? Please?" I asked, drawing out the last syllable. He laughed, looking ahead at the green light.

"Ice cream? Don't you think we should-"

And then it all happened. A car, speeding down the road, not even noticing they were running a red light. I yelled at him to watch out but it was too late. The look of fear in his eyes, so present and then gone in a second. Gone just like him. It all happened so fast. He reached for my hand, a final desperate attempt to show me he loved me. A final attempt.

"Daddy!"

>> end of flashback <<

I cried harder, the horrible memory of my father's death replaying in my head. Things could've been different. He could've lived till he was 90. He could've met his grandkids and bought them birthday presents. He didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. I cried.

Someone end this day, if not this life.

>> timeskip <<

"How was school?" My mom asked as I clicked my seatbelt into place. I sighed, staring ahead of me.

"Almost had a panic attack in class, had a flashback of Dad's death, and got called a worthless freak again. So... The usual." I replied, leaning my head against the window. My mom looked ahead of herself, putting the car into drive. The air was tense and silent as we made our way home.

As we pulled into the driveway, I got out as quickly as I could. I hated being in the car with her. Not because I hated her or anything, just because I knew she wanted to help me but there was nothing she could do. This was just who I was. No one could help me.

I pushed open the door, greeted with an empty living room and several stacked up boxes. I raised my eyebrows, walking over to the first pile I saw. The word Pictures was written across in big bold letters. I reached my hand into the open box, pulling out the first frame I touched.

It was a picture of me and my dad. I swiped my finger across his face, wiping away the dust particles. I looked over my shoulders, watching as my mom walked in.

"What's with all the boxes?" I asked, placing the frame back in the box. She gave a small smile.

"Well, I thought... I thought we were both in the need of a fresh start so, I quit my job, found a new one in California, and we're moving there in two days." She replied. My eyes widened.

"What? S-Seriously?" I asked, not believing what I had just heard. She smiled and nodded. I placed a hand over my mouth, choking on newly forming tears. I ran up to her and hugged her, crying into her shoulder.

"Thank you."