I wake up with a start, sweaty and breathing heavily. Damn nightmares. I take a shaky, deep breath to calm myself down. I've had these nightmares ever since I was young- I hate having PTSD. I wipe my hair out of my sweaty forehead, counting quietly under my breath to take my mind off the nightmare, the memories. The memories of my father standing over my blood-covered mother. The memories of my father looming over me as pain rushes through my body.
"Elly, come downstairs for breakfast!" My grandmother calls from downstairs in her weak, faltering voice, interrupting my slight daydream- or should I say nightmare. I sigh, rubbing my eyes to wake myself up before stretching and forcing myself to my feet. "I'll be a couple minutes, granny!" I shout down to her as I walk to my window, drawing the curtains apart. My eyebrows raise in surprise when I see people moving in across the street.
Shit. New people.
I've always had a dislike for meeting new people, and I know that Granny will make me go over there and introduce myself or some shit. My thought is cut off when a girl around my age steps out of the car, and peaks my interest. She stares at the floor, stopping me from seeing her face. Her skin is pale, yet not sickly pale and her sleek, black hair falls down to her waist. I can tell that she has a good style from what she is wearing, despite that she's dressed down- dark, greyish-blue cargo jeans and a plain, chestnut red t-shirt that she hasn't tucked in. Tied around her waist is a dark brown, faux leather jacket. She glances up to see me staring at her from my window.
Fuck, I probably look like a creep. I quickly crouch down below my window so she can't see me through it, practically praying that she didn't see me. Why do I care so much? I've never cared too much for what people think about, so why now? I close my curtains again and sigh, rubbing my face with one of my hands as I stand up. I throw on some clothes- loose fitting jeans and a black t-shirt before flopping down on my bed, sprawling out across it.
