Without A Doubt, You're All I Dream About

ALEX'S P.O.V:

I can't go to school today. I can't. I can't face anything or anyone. I want to lay here in his bed, under his sheets, in his shirt and stare at his ceiling. There's a knock at his door, which I ignore. The door opens and I see that it's my Dad.

"You're going to be late, s- Alexander," he says. I say nothing. I just stare right through him. "Alexander, are you-"

"No, Dad. I'm not, okay?" I cut him off. My voice is bitter, angry, and grief-stricken. My Dad looks down at the floor, taking a step back and closing the door over slightly.

"Well, I really think you should," he finishes as he shuts the door behind him. I shake my head, screwing my eyes shut. My phone buzzes on the edge of the wooden cabinet beside his bed. I ignore it and eventually whoever is calling gets it and hangs up. I sigh, enjoying the silence for a second. Then it starts up again, it sounds like a pneumatic drill, pummelling hard into concrete. Eventually, the phone vibrates itself over the ledge and hits the carpet with a soft thud, bouncing under the bed. I contemplate ignoring it as it once again stops, but decide against it as it starts up for a third time. I lean down, feeling blindly under the bed for my cell when my hand finds something else. Something cold and made of glass. I lean over further, gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands as I stick my head under the bed. Reaching one hand down to pull back the sheet, I'm not expecting the sight I am suddenly brought face to face with. What I had my hand on, I realise, is a vodka bottle. There are at least a dozen various empty glass bottles carefully hidden under the bed. I picked up my phone, not really paying it any attention; just eyeing up the nearly full bottle near the back.

COLETTE'S P.O.V:

Goddamn it, Alex isn't picking up or answering my texts. It's 9:03am - he's obviously not turning up, that much is for sure. If he won't come to me, I'll go to him. Luckily, I had decided on a simple outfit of skinny jeans, converse low tops, a tank top and a hoodie. This shouldn't be too difficult. That's the thing about my school. Once you're in, you're not leaving until the end of the day - you're locked in. It's probably to make sure out parents are getting their moneys worth, sending us to this stupid private school. I wait until our homeroom teacher, Mr Hamilton, has left the room to get me a copy of my class schedule as I asked. I get up out of my seat quickly; glad I never bothered putting my bag into my locker. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head over to the window, pushing it open as high as it will go. Everyone is staring at me in anticipation - have I gone crazy? Am I so grief-stricken that I am about to jump from the second floor in some weird suicide attempt? A low hum of discussion starts as I stick one leg and one arm out of the window. I grab a hold of the ivy that grows up the side of our school, hoping to hell that it's strong enough to hold me up. It should be. I lower my leg down and find the top of the trellis with my foot. I climb out, making sure I have as strong a grasp as possible as I make my way down the two-storey climb. I touch the ground and look up, admiring my handiwork. I notice that around half of the class are staring at me in awe from the class; did I really just do that? I brush myself down, turn, and run towards the gate. This is where it's going to get tricky, I think to myself. Looking up at the wall and gate, I realise there is no way I'm going to be able to scale this - it must be at least ten feet tall with no possible footholds. But, as I've learned from countless bad movie nights with Alex, there's always a way. I glance to my left quickly. The principle's car is parked beside the wall, in the designated spot. I take a final glimpse at the classroom I've just escaped from. Mr Hamilton is leaning out of the window, his hands on the ledge, his eyes boring into me with his mouth open in shock. I smirk to myself slightly. I'm already in trouble now; I might as well go all the way. That's something else I've learned with Alex. If you're already in and things can't get much worse, do it. I walk over to the car; place a hand on the wing mirror for support and a foot on the top of the tire. I hoist myself onto the bonnet of the huge car and stand up, checking I have my balance. Then, I clamber onto the roof of the car and face the wall. I can reach the top easily now. Placing my hands on the flat surface of the top of the wall, I hop slightly, using all of my upper body strength to pull myself onto the ten feet wall. I look down at the ground and can't help but grin. Mr Hamilton and the class are still watching me as I crouch before sitting down on the wall, swinging my legs over onto the other side. With little hesitation, I throw myself off the wall, landing on the balls of my feet, bending my knees and crouching, the tips of my fingers touching the ground as I steady myself. Then I stand up straight, take a breath and start running again.