*tides will bring me back to you * / oliver sykes

Chapter 2.

Avery's POV:"Watch where you're going slut!" I heard someone call, but I simply ignored them and continued to walk home.

When I arrived at my house, I dreaded going inside, already able to hear the particularly loud ruckus going on inside. I sighed as i hesitantly opened the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Unfortunately, the door shut with a rather loud click, and I winced, before quickly dashing to my room.

I almost made it too. But my mother happened to intercept me, her arms crossed and her eyes bloodshot. She leaned against the wall for support and her gaze narrowed, "where've ou been?" She slurred, stumbling towards me.

I took a small step away from her, the alcohol reeling from her breath, making me cringe unconsciously.

"Answer me you bitch!" She shrieked, raising her hand and smacking me across the cheek. I winced and gently splayed my fingers over the quickly forming red welt on my left cheek. I was left awe struck; she had actually hit me. Yes, my mother had always been a bit of a pretentious bitch, but never in a million years had I ever think that she's purposely hurt me. Sure, she'd spent her time either ignoring me or calling me names, but never had she physically harmed me.

She went to strike me again when I didn't respond immediately but I managed to sidestep her, and she fell to the floor with a muffled 'thud'. I don't think it actually hurt her, as soon soft snores could be heard coming from her slightly agape mouth.

I stepped over her fallen form and shut the door of my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I let out a sigh of relief at the perfect silence that surrounded me; I just needed a break, a break from reality. That's all I wanted.

I made my way over to my bookshelf, running my fingers aimlessly along the stiff spines before stoping at one in particular, pulling the worn-out book out. It was a book of fairytales, ones where Princesses were rescued by their true loves, and they all had happy endings. However along the way to their happily ever after, dark, twisted scenarios crossed there paths, making it all the more challenging and grim.

I flipped the book open, stopping at the original tale of Cinderella, where my razor blade lay. With careful fingers, I plucked the slim piece of metal from the dusty pages and dropped the book, letting the sharp blade hover over my pulsating veins. I took a deep breath, before sharply jerking the rough edge across my delicate flesh, sighing in relief as the all-too familiar pain claimed my body. I quickly sliced my skin in more places: up and down my sore arms, down my thick thighs, and over my wide hips, even across my protruding stomach. Everything about my body was just so ugly and imperfect; no wonder my father left us, he probably couldn't stand to look at my disgustingly overweight body everyday.

I dropped the blade, collapsing to the floor with it, as I let my cooped up emotions go. I cried, and screamed and overall just let the numbness release me momentarily, just so I could have this moment, this one moment where I could feel again. I don't know how much time passed before I was able to get ahold of my feelings again, and I mentally rebuilt the emotional dam that stopped my from letting my emotions deep out of my skin. I preferred the endless hours of numbness if it meant I couldn't feel.

Because feeling alive was worse than being alive.