Chapter 8

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Chapter 8! So this chapter isn't very interesting, so I'm planning to make something happen now- I think. I'm writing too fast now, except I can't slow down. Enjoy! (Note- I know the songwriting is rubbish but just pretend it's good (if it helps fit it to the tune of Explosions by Ellie Goulding: I was listening to it while writing this))

Selena's POV

I woke up with my head pounding. Not the first time, not the last. Maybe that getting drunk idea hadn't been so good. I couldn't remember a thing. I looked around me. I was in my bedroom, that was a start. At least I was in my own bed. I felt a warm body near me. Ok, that's not supposed to be there.

I looked at the bed to see Danny on the end, it looked like he'd fallen asleep sitting there. He looked so cute when he was sleeping, dark eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks.

I checked the clock, 10 am. That was ok. I carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Danny, and walked, wobbly, into the next room. Sam's room. I didn't know why I wanted to be in here, I just did. As I stumbled into the room, a wave of nausea overcame me. I gagged and sprinted to the bathroom.

Five minutes later I emerged from the bathroom pale faced and groaning. Definitely a bad idea. I went back to Sam's room and sat down on the bed, staring at the crumpled papers and notes that were strewn on the floor. Remains of the life that would surely never continue. I thought of my parents, of their hope and joy, how proud they had always been of me. I knew I'd have to go home soon, face the house that had been my sanctuary for so many years. I didn't know whether so could cope. What did I do to deserve this? Had I done anything wrong? Sure I drank a bit, but I didn't smoke or sleep around like so many students I knew. At least I tried to be good.

I grabbed a piece of blank paper from the desk and taking a pencil out. I scribbled randomly on the page, filling one corner with swirls and designs. Drawing made me happy, but I didn't think it could cure me now.

Danny's POV

I woke up slowly, half asleep. I hated mornings. Sitting up, I realised that I'd fallen asleep on Lena's bed. Lena's empty bed. Rubbing my eyes, I could faintly hear the sound of heavy running from the opposite room to the bathroom. Glen. Mark never woke up this early after a night like that one. I almost felt sorry for them all, but it was their own fault. I had told them.

I padded downstairs slowly, grabbing my bag which still sat by the front door. I searched through it for some clean clothes and quickly changed in the downstairs loo. I didn't really care what I looked like, but it would do. My favourite dark blue jeans, combat boots and a grey t-shirt.

Walking into the kitchen, I found that Lena wasn't there. I made some toast anyway and took it upstairs, placing some in room Glen had fallen asleep in, which I had to laugh at as it was painted lilac and bright pink. He really couldn't see straight last night. As I searched for Lena, I heard a faint sound coming from the room next to her's, which I assumed was Sam's room as a large silver S adorned the door.

I entered to find Lena curled at the foot of Sam's bed, hiding behind it in the corner of the room. She slept quietly, breathing deeply. I sat next to her and was about to wake her, but then I noticed the crumpled paper that she gripped in her hand. I gently prised her hand open and pulled out the paper, reading the rough scribbles that had been written on it.

I took my rage... stuck it on the page... said to myself...

Fallen from grace... Flat on my face... Got left from the pace... One war I won't wage...

I don't know why... This war it rages inside me... It burns... I feel so afraid... That life is gonna change.

I stared at the song lyrics. She'd listened to me that day. 'Just write down whatever you feel.' And Lena was hurting. Bad.' ...It burns...' I wished I could do something to stop the pain, but I knew I couldn't. I remembered the way I had been, the days after my dad died. My mum had helped me through it, and I understood how she felt too, but with Lena, there was nobody to comfort her, to tell her it was okay. Nobody except me. She'd acted the same way I had, surprisingly, she'd gone out and got herself smashed, and was probably regretting it now. I thought girls just cried in moments like this, or stayed silent, eating ice cream or chocolate. It seemed I was mistaken.

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