Crashed and Saved

Chapter 3 School bullys

Hi guys,

I was debating whether to continue this. But my one of my best friends,RandomFnafWriter, also known as sian, has told me to continue. Thanks sian.

I haven't updated anything in ages. I am really sorry. Things have been happening with friends and family and i haven't been able to update. Also i have been ill this week. Hopefully this chapter with new characters, more POV's and more detail will make up for it?

Hunger games update sometime this weekend.

Anywhoo, onto the chapter.

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Picture of Jason's car.

School Bullys.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I groaned as my alarm clock awoke me from my slumber.

Today was monday.

Crap.

Today was the day my school goes back after half term. The day I have to see the people who make my life miserable.

I got up quickly and regretted it straight away. As sharp pains tore through my ribs, I bent over in agony. I had forgotten about the beating I took the day before.

Before I did anything else, I listened out for any noises downstairs.

Silence.

Phew, that means dad is either out at the bar or unconscious on the sofa.

I moved slowly towards the bathroom. Switching on the light, I walked to the mirror. Two ugly red scratches were clearly visible along with a bruise turning my face into a mouldy beetroot.

(AN not literally, it's a simile.)

I lifted the hem of my shirt I was wearing the evening before. I gasped at what I saw.

A large bruise was on my stomach, a greeny purple colour.

I turned to the sink and splashed water on my face. Forgetting again about my damaged face, i winced as the water hit it. I grabbed a towel from the rack and lightly dabbed it dry. I brushed my teeth and my long brown hair, hoping it would conceal most of the bruising and cuts.

I walked back into my room and changed into some jeans, a red adidas top and a magenta superdry jumper which was my mother's.

Dad tried to throw everything out that belonged to mum to erase all the memories that her stuff reminded us of. He forgot about the jumper, a photo of us three on my third birthday and her favourite necklace that dad bought her on their first date.

I grabbed my bag off the chair that sat in the corner of the room and slowly opened the door.

I peered down the staircase which led into the kitchen. I saw several beer bottles smashed all over the floor and the table. I saw the bloody knife on the floor among the glass. I shuddered at the memory and tiptoed down the stairs. I reached the door that led into the living room and peeked in.

My dad lay unconscious on the sofa, holding a beer bottle.

Only at those times did I feel sorry for him. Sorry that my mums death effected him that way. Sorry that he felt that alcohol was the only thing that consumed his grief. And sorry that he only let his anger out on me.

I turned around. Dodging the glass, I reached over and grabbed an apple from the bowl. Only sometimes did my dad buy food. Luckily, that was one of those times. I spun around and headed towards the door as my dad began to awake.