That fame belongs to ME.

Part 6

This is a short chapter but it's only a build-up... Enjoy anyway :)

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Chapter 6

“I’m so sorry, Tren! Please, let me have another chance.” I resorted to begging. His eyes became fixated on me, frozen and emotionless. I didn’t have a clue what he was thinking.  All of a sudden, he got up and casually walked out of the room. I tailed him, attempting to get him to say something- to say anything- just so I could have an idea what he was thinking.  I clung onto his jumper pleading him to forgive me. He turned back around and his stare became cold.

“I expected more from you,” he said and left the building. His words stung me. I couldn’t believe myself. He had given me the chance in a lifetime yet I threw it back in his face. He had a right to be angry with me, I thought. It was my fault. I deserved it.

I followed suit and left the building taking one last look at it; I thought I would never be able to enter it again. My shoulder slumped like a sack of potatoes and my feet dragged against the ground as if they were undergoing repulsion.  Rain began pouring down from the sky matching my mood- the literary device of pathetic fallacy became real in the story of my life. I watched my footsteps colliding with the ground and echoing the sound of the pitter patter as a result of the downpour. 

When I reached my house, I spotted my dad standing in the window, peering out onto the yard. When his gaze matched mine, he rushed over to the door and opened it in a rush.

“Come in quickly, Emillie! Look how soaked you are.” His wrinkles became even deeper as worry appeared on his face.

“I’m fine, Dad.” My calm facade almost humoured his worried voice. He shut the door hard behind me as if to be closing out all the evil of the world.

“Fine? You’re not fine. Have a warm shower, get some clean clothes on and sit by the radiator,” he advised. His constant parental caring was getting on my nerves. I wasn’t in the mood.

“I said I’m fine!” I shouted and walked off into my bedroom. He looked shocked as he noticed the change in my voice: From calmness to fury.  I could see that he reasoned that this was probably due to my teenage hormones.

I slammed the door of my room as I threw myself onto my bed.  My hair was tear ducts; dripping large droplets of tears onto my pillow. I stuffed my head into my pillow and screamed with all my mite although, this only came out a muffled cry.

In a moment of irrational behaviour, I picked up the phone and began dialling. I held my breath as I waited for a response on the other side of the line.

“Hello?” A deep, aggressive voice filled my ears.  I sighed as the designated person hadn’t picked up.

“Hello?! Who the Hell is this?” The voice became violent now. Suddenly, there was an unusual sound of ruffling followed by silence.

“Hi?” It was a feminine voice now. It was my mum. My heart began racing faster, I didn’t know whether to reply.

“Who is this?” The sweet tingle in her voice filled me with joy; my mother was a nice person, I figured, although she had a maniac boyfriend. I opened my mouth to respond, struggling to think of anything meaningful to say.

“Uh, uh... Hi,” I managed to retort although this response was incoherent. 

“Who is this?” She responded. Part of me had convinced itself that she must have sensed I was on the other end of the line. Otherwise, why would she have snatched the phone?

I sat still, my thoughts seemed impossible to vocalise.

Out of the blue, I heard a click on the other end of the line. I looked at the phone screen and saw she had hung up. Expectedly so with somebody on the other end struggling to even say who they were, so why did it make me feel even worse than I already was feeling?

I buried my head into my duvet, feeling horrible. My own mum must hate me. On top of my dad. On top of my old friends. But most importantly, on top of Tren. I let out a loud groan at the thought of my messed up life.

Soon enough, I fell asleep.

*******

I was awoken by the sound of knocking at my door.

“Emillie, darling. Are you sure you don’t want to get out of bed now? It’s Sunday... You might want to get a start on that project,” Dad’s voice drummed through my head. I took a few seconds before I could fully comprehend what he was saying- my mind was still half asleep.

“I don’t feel too well,” I lied. An age-old excuse that has gotten me out of many situations. Dad came over to my bed and placed a finger to his temple. His eyebrows became a scrunched up mess out of confusion.

“Aw, Emillie. Maybe you should skip school tomorrow?” He suggested. I was glad the suggestion came from him and not me. It made the situation more authentic.

“Okay, if you think that’s best.” I turned on my side, my back to Dad, in an attempt to make Dad leave the room. It worked. He walked out of the room with his head held down to the ground.