Dear God {completed}

Mackenzie

I wake up in an unfamiliar room. The walls are a welcoming pastel blue, with christmas light decorations. The bed I'm sleeping in is a small single bed with patterned duvets and matching pillows.

I sit up slowly, my head aching, and bring a hand to my face.

Dried tears crust my cheeks and my eyes are sore. At the end of the bed lies carefully folded clothes, a towel and my school bag.

Fragments of last night piece together in my head, yet I still can't remember much. Was I drunk?

Two words stick out to me, however.

Baby Killer.

And that's enough to set me off again. I cry silently for a few minutes, before wiping my tears and grabbing the towel and clothes from the bed. I heave myself up, stretching my sore muscles before making my way into a small ensuite which consists of a shower, toilet and sink.

Peering in the mirror, I jump at my reflection. My skin looks pasty and dead and my sore, bloodshot eyes stick out dramatically against my pale, stress-stricken face.

My lips are chapped and my nose has dried snot around it. My hair looks like a birds nest and mascara has run down my cheeks. I look awful, to say the least.

It dawns on me that whoever found me last night must have seen me like this, and they probably would've called the police because I'm sure it looks like I've just been fighting a war.

Technically, I have. The war inside my head is never-ending.

But I'm beyond caring. All I want now is to have a long hot shower and scrub all this dirt off me.

And that's exactly what I do.

~~

I spend 40 minutes in the shower, turning the temperature up to near scorching and enjoying the way it burns my skin. I wash my hair twice with strawberry scented shampoo, and then condition it. I use half a bottle of shower gel to get rid of all the grime on my body.

When I get out, my fingers are wrinkly but I look clean. I quickly dry myself and dress into the clothes I've been given. There is a long, cream coloured, cable-knit jumper and black skinny jeans, as well as some underwear and socks.

I notice that they all have the tags on them, so someone must have bought them especially for me. I smile at the strangers kindness.

I decide to make myself presentable for them, as my first impression wasn't exactly a good one. I grab some make up from my school bag and apply it to my face, making myself look semi-decent. Then, I run a brush through my hair before putting it up in a messy bun. I notice that a new toothbrush and toothpaste tube has been left by the sink, so I use them too.

When I'm done, I look normal. Better than I've looked in weeks, and I smile weakly at my reflection.

I leave the room, and walk through the corridor into what looks like a living room. This must be an apartment, if it has no stairs.

There I see a young girl, around my age with long red hair and a gentle face. She smiles as I enter and gets up from her seat.

'This must be so confusing for you,' she tells me, and I nod, trying to smile back. I hope I don't look constipated. I haven't smiled in so long, I've almost forgotten how.

'I'm Amanda, you can call me Mandy,' she introduces herself and tells me a little bit about her, and I tell her a bit about me too.

I find out that she is the same age as me, and she lives here alone. She had some family problems and decided it would be best to leave. I don't tell about my situation, and she doesn't ask. And that fact alone makes me like her a million times more.

'I'm sorry you had to see me in such a state last night,' I tell her, my cheeks flushing pink.

'It's okay,' she tells me, 'I saw you and you reminded me so much of myself that I couldn't just leave you. I hope you're okay now, and I hope the clothes fit. I wasn't sure of your size.'

I smile widely and nod, 'thankyou so much, I'll pay you back when I can.'

'No worries, it's fine. I actually think I've seen you around at your school. My cousin used to go there and I picked her up once. When I recognised you, I just had to help you,' she exclaims. She seems like the type of person to get along with everyone, and I warm up to her instantly.

'Do you need somewhere to stay?' She asks me cautiously.

I stay silent, embarrassed. In a sense, I do.

She picks up on my silence and says, 'it's okay to ask for help, you know? And as a matter of fact, I've always wanted a flat mate, so if you do need a place to stay, id be happy to let you stay.'

I agree and she says she'll take me to pick my things up later. We get to know each other more over a steaming mug of hot chocolate, bacon and eggs, and I realise that it feels good to talk to her. I've missed having friends more than ever, and as we talk, laugh, and share stories, I realise I'm not so alone after all.