Behind these walls

Falling

Ryland P.O.V

"When's mum and dad coming home?" I ask my twin brothers, who were scooping out vanilla ice-cream from a big tub, sharing the same spoon.

"Tomorrow, I think." Beau replies, watching his twin and waiting impatiently for the spoon.

Asher licks the spoon, and sticks it back in the ice-cream tub. Beau pulls it back out, and with a disgusted look at his twin, clutches the thin metal harder and hits his brother over the head with it. Asher's face scrunches up as he glares at Beau, his blue eyes challenging.

"What the hell was that for, Beau?" Beau doesn't say anything, instead he answers the question with a devilish grin.

I snicker at my brother's stupidity and watch as Asher gets a spoon of his own and hits Beau on his forehead. Quickly, they both chase each other around the kitchen, spoons in hand. I laugh even harder when I hear grunts of pain coming from them both. Then they stop, and both turn to me. I swallow, get up off the chair and back away until my hips hit the counter. They proceed towards me, one going each side of the table to trap me. Asher and Beau break out into a run as I move quickly, ducking under their outstretched arms and run out the door, into the rising sun.

Clara P.O.V.

Fresh, morning air dulls my senses when suddenly I get the sensation of falling. My eyes open in a shot of adrenaline, when I see the tree branch I was on minutes before fading out of my view. Too fast, my body hits the solid, forest ground. My lungs feel as if they have collapsed within me as I struggle to regain my breathing pattern and make out which way north is. I lay there, eyes clenched in pain heaving in raspy breaths of air, as I feel my body become one big bruise. My hand pushes my shaking, battered form off the floor gradually, whilst I hold my pained waist with the other arm. Left foot after right foot, I leisurely walk back to the direction where I think my house is, my feet giving up under my weight, I fall to the ground on my knees, right onto a broken shard of glass. They scrape and burn, dirt and leaves mixed with bright red blood create a beautiful nightmare. Blood trails down my leg, soaking my jeans and sticking to me.

After what feels like hours of walking back to my house, I see the familiar white painted wooden boards. The loss of blood takes its toll on my body, my vision is blurring and my breathing is uneven. I walk up the steps of the veranda, blood dripping down in splatters as my head swarms with dizziness when I make out the bag still sitting at the door where I left it, so I heave it onto my shoulders. The door opens immediately when I turn the handle and making my way up the stairs, every step makes me want to stop, to give up from the pain overcoming my body. But I succumb, I numb out each and every nerve in my body telling me to quit and I push forward. My body was an anvil and the pain was the hammer, striking at me again and again. I thought about where my father was and why he wasn't home. Why the door was open and not locked when he was so obviously not here.

For years I have believed scars are hideous, that they are something you should hide. But what does make- up really do, when it makes you doubt yourself even more as soon as you take it off? Why cower in fear when you can stand up and fight back. Just fight back. These thoughts go through my head as I stare at my lost reflection in the bathroom mirror. My aqua eyes are no longer filled with pain and agony, but rather determination and strength.

Opening the squeaky wooden cabinet, I pull out bandages and sterile padding to dab the wound on my knee with as I sit on the cold bathroom floor. The alcohol infused in the padding stings as I run it across my broken and bloody skin. I close my eyes and suck in a breath, clenching my teeth onto the hem of my sweater to keep from screaming out. When I open my eyes again, I look down to inspect the wound. An enormous bloody cut meanders on my delicate skin, creating a graphic art piece of pale skin and stark red. After I bandage my leg, I get to work on my ribcage, tightly wrapping the fabric around the hurt area, where a bruise is already beginning to form.