Somewhere Only We Know (Shoey)

Chapter Four- 'Don't hurt me.. please..?'

Chapter Four- 'Don't hurt me.. please..?'

-Joey's P.O.V-

"Joey!", Nicole shouts, shaking me.

"Mom says you have to get up!"

It's morning already? It feels like I've only slept an hour.

"Tell mom I feel sick.", I groan.

"You're not sick, Joey! Just get up! We're going to miss the bus!"

Oh my God, get out of my room.

I just ignore her. I'm not getting up. I don't care what she says.

"Ugh, fine I'll tell her", she grumbles as she turns on her heel and struts out the door.

Someone's in a bad mood..

What the hell time is it anyway?

Not opening my eyes, I pull my hand from under my pillow, banging it about my bedside cabinet searching for my phone.

There.

I grab my phone and position it in front of my face, opening my eyes.

Bad idea.

Bright sun rays shine through the windows making my unadjusted eyes sting.

Didn't I close them last night?

Must have been a part of Nicole's failing attempt to get me up.

"Joey!", mom snapped from the door frame. "Get your lazy ass up! Now!"

"But mom,", I whined, "I've been up sick all night!"

Lies.

"Joey", she sighed looking me in the eyes. "If you're lying t-"

"I'm not lying!", I interrupt.

"Fine.", she says with the 'look'.

"But", there's always a but..

"This room better be clean by the time I get back from work."

"Okay.", I answer, turning my back on her and snuggling under the duvet again.

Grinning.

-Shane's P.O.V-

"Not again!", I mumble just before emptying all of my stomachs consistency into the toilet.

I've been awake for the past two hours vomiting.

Why did I have to drink the whole bottle?

It didn't help anyway, I have vague recollections of what happened last night.

But the one that sticks out the most is the fear in Joey's eyes. That has never happened before.

"Dick sucker! Hurry the fuck up!"

Shit!.. School. I can't go.

My head feels as if someone is hitting it repetitively with a hammer.

I think I'll go to the pond today.

To calm down.

To think about School. Bullies. My dad. My life.

I quickly grab my bag, throw it over one shoulder and run down the stairs.

"What took you so long, faggot?", he slurs, obviously drunk.