Sweet, Sweet Memories (OC)

Chapter 1. To Finish is to Start Anew

This story was originally uploaded to Quotev on my account Sweet B. The original is retained, worry not; However, I am actively updating the REWRITTEN Quotev chapters, and uploading them as I finish to this story that you all used to love to much. Hopefully I've improved over eight years!

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I was walking home from school, twirling my hair between my fingers. The sun reflected off the dyed tips, showing the burnt ends off like burnt grass. My feet dragged behind me, but I still tried to keep a pep in my step - after all, I had a plan to exert, and soon I could paint my own little world the same colour I dyed my hair.

Every day I would open the door to my home, my dad who had skipped the day of work sent me to my room, and it was driving me crazy with boredom. I'd end up daydreaming about monsters crawling around my room, and every time I tried to rid my head of them, they would return. The only time I was out of my bedroom was for school and necessities I didn't go to dinner a lot, attempting to avoid confrontation. My mother would yell at my father, and in turn he would yell at me. "Go to hell!" Was his favorite. But not for long, for over the last couple weeks, I had been devising a plan. This torture would end tonight, and I would leave 10th grade for good. Living in the forest, under the trees with simple supplies didn't sound bad. I knew that I couldn't live like that for long, but I had guessed that the longer I walked, the farther away from this hell hole I would get, and the closer to a new life I would be.

"Hey Bella! Fucking crazy bitch!" Caylub Alderson shouted from the back of a big, black truck that zoomed by. I scowled and kept walking until I reached my home, and looked up at the cinnamon colored walls and black lining. It was a long walk home, but I would rather walk than take the bus filled with other bullies. I chuckled to myself as I grasped the doorbell, glancing down at my hand. It was shaking... But if I didn't go in now, my father would berate me for being late. I shook off the cold weather and slowly opened the door as silently as possible, walking to the kitchen to grab what my could before me dad sent my room.

"BELLA! GO TO YOUR ROOM YOU LITTLE SHIT, DO YOUR HOMEWORK!!" My father screamed through his drunken slur on his favourite plush chair, but I was already climbing up the stairs. I opened the door to my room and placed the food on my bed. According to plan, I grabbed my makeup and headed to the bathroom. I did a bit of makeup, excited for the special occasion. Inside my makeup bag was a knife, namely a switchblade. It was an old one from my grandfather that he had before they had been outlawed. I stared down at it, my mind racing. Time to make the final touches. I slowly widened my smile and stared into the mirror. Then I relaxed my lips and drew the knife from the top lip line to the place where it ended when I smiled. The knife ripped and teared, and tears streamed down my face, stinging the wound and forcing more blood to pour from it. I choked out a sob, but continued. If I stopped now, I would just be sent to a mental hospital and never have another opportunity to complete the plan. I did this to symbolize happiness - I always found it hard to smile in my situation, but this would put on a facade of joy. Blood kept gushing out of the wound, and I could barely see the rest of my face. I knew that my hand shouldn't have even let me cut the smile, but adrenaline seemed to take over, and I finished it with ease.

Grabbing a paper towel, I turned on the faucet for a few seconds to wet the cloth, then gently wiped the blood away, making sure to dab the actually wound itself. Throwing the bloody mess into the trash can, I looked upon my ruined makeup. Mascara streamed down my face, and I winced in horror at what I had done. My face was ruined - no amount of surgery could mend what I had done.

Looking at my bloody neck and lips, I attempted to frown, and felt a bitter spark of joy that I couldn't manage to without letting out a whimper of pain. I forced myself to remember the plan I had so meticulously put in place. I grabbed scar wax from my makeup bag and covered up what I could of the smile I had, but I couldn't cover up everything, the pain being too much. Grabbing my makeup bag, I slipped into my room and shoved it into my "Run away" bag and packed the food and any clothing I could fit into it. Slipping the knife in my pocket, I take a look around my room. I had spent all of yesterday cleaning my room for today, and now that I saw my work was actually going to be completed, I felt an inhuman joy fill me. Laughing softly, I pick up my only other knife, a tool knife, and slip it into my bad. I was nearly done with packing.