Runner

Chapter One

The night grew darker and blacker, and I was aware of how late it was. I let it fade into a prison. Though my eyes wouldn't shut, they never did. That was one of the only other things I was aware of. My eyes were glued to the T.V. It blared out nonsense I never paid attention to, but blamed for the sleep I didn't... don't get on the T.V. I eventually shut my eyes, falling into the darkness they call sleep. That was how the majority of my nights were spent. Alone, tired, and completely, irrevocably, unaware. As much as I thought I was, I wasn't ever really there.

I woke up like nothing happened. I got up slowly not wanting to start the new day so quickly. A went into my bathroom to do the basic hygiene. I put lotion on my hands and rubbed it in, making the oily feeling the only thing I could put my mind on. I then went out into my living room to grab the shirt that was hanging on a chair and quickly rushed back into the bathroom. I slowly lifted my short, ripped shirt exposing my stomach and a bra I've had on for a week, matted with sweat and old deodorant from 3 days ago. I slipped the shirt on and slid my dark blue, dirty jeans over my legs. I hate my legs. But I only hate the things I can see. The scars, the running in fear, everything I didn't want to see. I brushed my teeth slowly. I let the bristles from the toothbrush hurt my gums, because at least that was a feeling. The tiredness consumed me as my eyes flickered in and out of consciousness. Suddenly my phone vibrated. I picked it up to see Elenora sending random TikTok videos she had found most likely at three in the morning. Her name was Nella, and everyone called her Nell. Everyone except her girlfriend, who explicitly called her Nelly. She wanted people to know that. Light. That's what her name means. It fit her. She was light, she didn't care, and she was... chaotic in all the best ways. Ira; watchful. What does that even mean? Yana texted me too, but I didn't want to look at my phone screen anymore. I slipped it back into my jean pocket and walked to my desk in the kitchen room. It was an old wooden desk, It was a part of the house. It had my work notebooks, folders, and markers all over it. The one neat part about it was the little book section. It had mostly my romance novels and some mystery books, which were a nice way to run away from reality.

Blindly, I grabbed my school bag and shoved whatever I could find, and whatever I thought was necessary, knowing I will forget something because I always do. I set the bag on my gaming chair and then went to switch the dogs (Which my moms been yelling at me to do for the past five minutes). My mother and I expected a lot from each other. We just didn't have very high expectations, but even those were hard to follow through with. Sometimes it hurt, and if it did, I ignored it. Sometimes I hurt her, and if I did, I hoped she'd ignored it too. My whole life I tried to be like her, but the older I've gotten, the more I've realized, it's the hardest thing to do. My mother flops into the kitchen, her hair in a sloppy bun and she's covered in large comfortable clothes that she definitely fell asleep in.

"Are you ready to go?" She asks, wiping her face, dark circles -similar to mine- laying underneath her eyes. I sighed and swinged my bag over my shoulder,

"Let's get out of here."

The drive to school was again, like every other day. It was a pattern. Walking into school, I realize I have smudged, leftover eyeliner from last night still painted on my eyelids. But, I shrug it off because I don't have time to think about shit like that. Walking down the school steps and into the quad, I hear a loud screeching voice that is so familiar I think I might go insane. When I turn around, I'm met with Avas's wet, sodden face. Her large hazel eyes were filled with clear salty pools falling down her high cheekbones. My first thought was to scoff her off. I reach my hand out to her shoulder, looking left and right making sure there's not too much attention on us.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" I say in a soothing, motherly voice. She takes a deep breath before every muscle in her face twists from fear and sadness, to some kind of anger that isn't as visible as the sadness was,