Hunted

Reality

(A/N: Hey guys! This is my first properly planned story, so I don't really know what I'm doing... XD! Any feedback would really mean a lot to me, so, comment if you can plz! Also, I've put a picture of Skyler to the side, what D'you think?) ///////TRIGGERING WARNING///////
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My bag thumps against my hip as I walk through the woods to school. Phone in hand, I shove my cheap poundland earphones into my ears and press play. The soothing sounds of Sam Smith's 'I Know I'm Not The Only One' floods my ears, and I relax my shoulders, slowing my pace and walking in time to the music. As I reach the school gates, the strong first drumbeats of 'Do I Wanna Know' explodes through me, and my heart twinges at the many memories this song holds. My breath hitches in my throat as images from that night flash through my brain, and I collapse against the gate, my chest heaving, my legs folding beneath me until I'm sitting on the floor. Tears threaten to wrack my whole body, but I blink them back, only to receive more pictures of Him.
Sam.
I loved him, as a friend, a best friend, and, as I realised then and there, something more. He was the one who always kept me smiling, kept me happy. He meant more than the world to me, and yet he had to be ripped away from me. Killed instantly, the bullet piercing his heart as soon as it entered him. For some insane reason, I survived, against all odds. Why, did I, plain old Skyler Bloom, survive for something as pointless as an empty life without my best friend? Why, did those men barge into his house, with intentions to kill not only him, but me also? The answers to those questions I will never know, but to wonder aimlessly for the rest of my days.
I let go of the tears I'm holding, letting them escape my eyes and soak my cheeks. I sit there for what seems like hours before someone spots me.
"Skyler?" A worried voice calls from about ten metres away. "Is that you?" I quickly wipe away any tears left on my face and sniff, standing up and brushing myself down.
"Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I was listening to my music and I dropped my earbud? Have you seen it?" I turn to face my friend Gemma, who's looking at me with concern in her eyes.
"Oh, sorry, I thought you were crying." She says, relief flooding her face.
"Oh, yeah, that'll be my cold. I think there's a bug going around, so don't come too close to me!" I laugh nervously, wondering if she's bought my story. Luckily, Gemma laughs with me, and turns to walk back towards the school.
"Come on, we'll be late again!" She says, and links my arm, dragging me along and blabbering about some boy she met at the weekend. My eyes dart back to my phone, which is brandishing the album cover and title of 'Do I Wanna Know', like it's some sort of poster. I turn it off quickly and throw it to the bottom of my bag, trying to focus on what Gemma's saying.

"Who first declared the civil war?" Mr Barnes says squeakily, his bald head shining in the light of the projector. I flick my pen back and forth between my fingers, staring boredly ahead.
"Yes, Sophie?" He smiles adoringly, as the queen geek of the school throws her hand up way too over-enthusiastically.
"Charles I declared war, Sir, but technically they both egged each other on to start it," she paused to look down at her notes. "I think they were both as bad as each other." She beams at him, and he grins back.
"Too right, Sophie." He glances over at the rest of us, his smile dissolving. "I wish some of you guys were as bright as her."
I sigh, swinging right back on my chair and balancing with my feet on the bar under the table. Typical Barnes; always pointing out the clever ones and picking on the stupid ones. At Evegreen high school, favouritism shows through all of the teachers, and let's just say I'm not in any of their good books.
"Miss Bloom, would you kindly refrain from breaking my chair, please?" Mr Barnes says, emphasising the word 'kindly' with sarcasm. I sigh again and roll my eyes, pulling myself forward so all four chair legs are firmly planted on the ground.
"Thank you." He says, and turns back to the smart board. I put my chin in my hand and drift away into my own little world...
Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam...
The sharp piercing of the bell rings through my ears, and I jump, standing up and grabbing my stuff. I stride out of the classroom and down the hallway, pushing my way through the writhing flow of students and to my coat peg. I grab my bag, my coat and my PE kit, and race out of school, not waiting for any of my friends. I start to run, my bag thumping hard against me. I run and run all the way to my house, when I eventually stop to get my key from my bag. I jam it in the lock, twist it sharply and run up the stairs, kicking the door shut with my foot. I throw open my bedroom door, and collapse onto my bed. Shaking, I pull the duvet up over my chin, and start to cry. I cry and cry until I have no tears left. Sitting up, I dry my eyes and look over at my dressing table. Glinting there, lies my very own butcher's knife.

The knife lays on the edge of my dressing table, it's silver blade shining temptingly in the moonlight. I look away. No. I'm not going through that again. I let my gaze slide back to it. It's almost as if it's mocking me, sneering at me. It's a pretty big knife, with a long, sharp blade. Not serrated. I know it cuts smoothly, sleekly like a comb through wet, freshly-conditioned hair...
No!
What's wrong with me? I can't do that EVER again. Ever. I promised myself I wouldn't. I solemnly swore.
No one would find out... I'd - I'd take precautions. Better than last time. I'll be careful.
Okay. Yeah, Okay.
I take a step forwards the dressing table, not taking my eyes off the knife. My legs feel like jelly. As I reach for it, I watch my hand shake, the goosebumps form on my forearms. I position it carefully, raised about a centimetre above the underside of my wrist. I dig the point of the blade into my flesh, not too deep, but deep enough for the tip of the knife to disappear into my skin. I drag it down my wrist, watching the blood seep slowly out of it and trickle down my arm. I don't even feel anything. I wipe the blood off of the knife, then cut again, deeper. I cut again and again, a variety of different depths and lengths. I look down at my arms. Blood is streaming from every cut, seeping down my arms and splashing onto the floorboards. The knife slips from my hands and lands with a clatter on the floor. My face falls, and I realise exactly what I've done.
"No," I whisper, my voice wavering.
"No!" I wail, and throw myself to the floor, landing heavily on my side. Tears are pouring down my face, dripping to the floor and mixing with my blood, forming a sick concoction of despair. My vision goes blurry with tears, the sight of all the blood reminding me of Sam. I cry harder, my head spinning and my blood pumping.
"Honey? Are you okay?" I hear my mother running up the stairs, concern in her voice.
"Skyler! Oh my god!" She crouches down next to me, her voice fading slowly away. "Jacob!" She yells to my father. "Call the ambulance!" Her worried whispers and pleas to comfort me are hopeless. Nothing will change what happened. Nothing can bring him back.

Why couldn't it have been me?