The Ghost Who Watches Me

chapter 1

(A quick note before you start reading: there are some quite sensitive issues in this story that some people may not like to read about. I have my own struggles in life so I know some stuff about these kinds of subjects. Anyway notes out of the way, I hope you enjoy the book! )  

No one would care if I disappeared. If I suddenly died someday, would anyone grieve? Would people feel bad if I died? Would they realise what they've done? Probably not. They probably wouldn't even notice a difference in their life. It would've been a month before they would finally think, "Hey, I wonder where that weird girl went. I haven't made someone feel like shit for a long time"  

I walk as slow as possible downstairs and out of my house as quietly as I can, hoping my parents don't hear me. All that would happen if they heard me was "Make sure you don't talk in class" or "You better do well in your test." My mum never shuts up about it. She had to make a lot of sacrifices when she had me, as I was an accident and came from a load of drinks and a crazy night. All she ever moans about is how I destroyed her life, all I say is that she destroyed her own life by getting wasted and dragging my dad into a room, but she just ignores me at that point and tells me to study. After "ruining" her life she now says that I can only make it up to her by doing well in school, getting top marks and getting a well paid job. I really hate her sometimes. 

My dad on the other hand, hasn't changed since he and my mum got drunk sixteen years ago and had me. Every single day he goes to the pub and drinks his life away, even in the middle of the day he will go there. He probably does it because of mums whining. I would too, but after last time I drank, I don't want to again. I started screaming at my mum when she came to pick me up from a party early, of course when she finally dragged me out of that party and into the car she would not stop shouting at me. Before I could get to my room she grabbed my arm, spun me round and slapped me. It hurt but after that I swore I would never drink again. 

I walk down the street towards my school, pulling my hood up as I go. We're not allowed to wear hoodies but I take it off when I get to my form room, anyway the teachers don't really care, if they did all the "popular" people (or as I like to call them, sluts) wouldn't come in everyday with their skirts so short you can see their asses and a whole makeup shop on their faces. The ten minute walk is always boring. I walk as slow as possible, think about how depressing my life is and push as much hair as I can over my eye. People call me an emo but that's not the only reason I do it, the other is my scar. I have a scar running from my eyebrow to my cheek, the result of my dad, a load of beers, a sharp point on a ring and an argument. Have a little guess of what happened. Yes, he backhanded me and the ring cut me. The scar would just be another thing for people to make fun of, so I cover it up with my black and purple hair. I dyed it myself when I got mad at my mum, a way of me rebelling against her. I've had a couple people say I'm pretty, but they were shop owners who felt sorry for the short, emo girl with crazy light green eyes and a scar, who's shopping all by herself. Those are the only people who think I'm beautiful, not my parents, but shop owners who feel they should attempt to make me feel better. 

I finally walk through the gates and do my usual of keeping my head down, walking as fast as possible and stick to places with not many people. Some would call it paranoia; I call it a good plan. Just as I am about to get into my form room, Nicola Truman, Dan beck, her boyfriend, and Amelia Marsden, her best friend, walk out and stand outside the room. 

"Hey, ghosty girl!" she calls me that because of my pale skin colour, mainly because I don't like going outside and I don't eat a lot. I try to avoid any people as much as possible, including my parents at dinner, which results in me having nearly no meat on me and skin the colour of paper. 

 All I do is push past them, walk to the back corner of the classroom and sit down. I carefully take my hood down, making sure I don't move my hair, and take out my sketchpad. It's all I have to keep me from breaking apart. I can let all my emotions out onto a piece of paper. I carry on with my drawing of a girl holding her legs on the ground, she is surrounded by monsters, wine bottles and test papers with A's and A*'s. I don't really ever think about what I'm drawing and this proves it, I've drawn my life without even thinking. I bet I could draw this with my eyes closed; I could probably draw it in my sleep.  

 Just as I start to smudge the shading around the monsters and hand with a perfect French manicure grabs my sketchpad. Nicola.  

 "What do you want?" I mumble. 

 "Excuse me? What did you say?" she starts flicking through the pages and stops. "What is this?" she turns the pad round and shows me the one picture that even I didn't want her to see. It's another drawing that I didn't think about. Except this time I don't know where it came from. It's a picture of myself looking in a mirror, but beside me there is a boy, about my age, his hand on my shoulder. I don't know where that image came from but it is a picture I keep close, maybe it's the way he looks at me, like he cares, whatever it is, it makes me love that picture. The one Nicola is holding, the one she is about to rip.  

"Give it back"  

"What?"

"I said give it back!" 

"I didn't hear a certain word in that sentence" 

"I am not going to beg" there is no way I will let this bitch get away with this, if she even starts to tear that pict- she holds the page with her fingers, ready to tear it and I can't stop myself,  I go for her, I grab the book. She struggles and hits me but it is a poor attempt, she has no strength. I kick her but she grabs my hair and pulls hard. I scream and lash out again, grabbing the book and twisting her wrist until she lets it go. I can hear everyone cheering and screaming in the background but I don't care. All I care about is letting my anger out on this makeup covered bitch. I punch her again and again, I cant stop myself as the red mist covers my vision.  

I am so close to killing this bitch when I hear the massive booming voice of Mr Barton breaks through the cheering: "Scarlett Bray! Outside now!" 

 I am confused why he only called my name until I step back and see Nicola, a bloody, unconscious mess on the ground. Her Face is covered in bruises and cuts; her wrist is twisted to an impossible angle.  

What have I done? 

(Woooo first chapter done. I know this was quite violent but I needed to set this book up. What do you think of Scarlett? I like her. And keep remembering, this is only the first chapter! Hope you liked it! I have a lot planned for this book and the characters... XD)