Stay

Chapter sixteen

Hey guys! Sorry for not posting in a while! I've been really busy with school and prepping for my collage interview tomorrow! (wish me luck.) Also I decided to pull a Maddie and changed my hair colour! It went from a blonde to bright red! 

I hope you're all okay and a massive thank you for 9 thousand reads! Love you all loads and loads! 

Peace and Love -Meg xoxo

***

I'm rudely awoken by the terrifying sound of my alarm clock. Terrifying because it resembles the start of a new day.

Sitting up, my head begins to pound, the feeling so painful it's as if someone had hit me over the head with a hammer.

Glancing around the room that I know so well, it sinks in that I'm actually home.

The last thing I remember from last night is the horrifying thought that any second could be my last.

Nonetheless, a new day has started and who knows, maybe today will be better.

Dragging myself out of bed, I put on my usual clothes: a plain t-shirt, plain black leggings and an auburn jumper to go over the top.

Plain and simple, the best way to go unnoticed.

It only takes half an hour for me to get ready, I don't bother with makeup, it's not like I have to impress anyone and my newly dyed brown hair bounces naturally off my shoulders.

Taking the stairs one by one, I notice to unusual silence surrounding the house. At this time in the morning, you'd be lucky to hear yourself think, but today there is nothing.

My eyes widen at the mess. Cushions thrown on the floor, my mums newly bought vase smashed next to the dead flowers that used to bloom within it and our family photos that I'll cherish until the end of time, the photos of times when people in this household were happy to be close to one another, are now all crooked and broken.

That was just the living room.

The kitchen was ten times worse, smashed glass covers the floor alongside plates and bowls.

What happened?

"Mum!?!" I wait for a few seconds, listening out for a reply from someone, anyone. "Dad!?!"

Nothing.

Kneeling, I pick up a shard of glass, its edges so sharp and the pieces so small.

This was thrown in anger.

I gasp as one of the edges slices my thumb, instantly dropping it to the floor and sucking at the wound.

"Damn it." I whisper to myself.

Taking a deep breath, I attempt to ignore the mess, picking up my bag, I head out the door.

Homing in on my relaxation playlist, I listen to the sounds of someone strumming on a guitar, their voice creating an angelic sound.

How can anyone sing this perfectly? It almost seems impossible.

Listening to acoustic music changes the way I think and feel. The songs tell a story and the instruments create a lullaby in the background.

This is my most successful coping strategy when it comes to anxiety.

Most the time people tell me to breath, which is key however not the most useful advice when all I want to do is throw up.

It doesn't take long to arrive at school.

The hallways are quiet with only a few late comers such as myself roaming between classes.

Approaching the class, my mind begins to remember.

The party.

Laylas party.

She didn't see me there... Did she?

I'm pretty sure if she had I'd already be dead by now.

After wasting a further ten minutes arguing with myself about the possibility that Layla might have seen me yet spared my life to create hell for me today, I open the door.

Everyone turns towards me in their seats, looking at me.

Staring.

I can already feel my face burning up.

"Ah, Miss Henderson. Nice of you to finally turn up." The obviously pissed off teacher heads towards his desk, scribbling on a piece of scrap paper.

My eyes scan the room, locking eyes with every person.

Eric and Layla included, sharing a rather cunning smirk.

But I don't see Jessie.

Instead I see an empty chair and an empty desk. No sign of him what-so-ever.

My heart rate increases.

I don't need him here. I'll be fine. I'm safe.

I convince myself.

Since when did I start relying on him to make me feel safe anyways?

My scrambling mind is interrupted by Mr Phillips slamming the scrap piece of paper onto my desk.

Detention.