Untouchable

Chapter One

Silence.

Static.

Form those two together, and you would have the only sound that my ears picked up. The only thing any of my senses could pick up. It was a white noise - not quite a silence, not quite a sound. You know, like the sound of a window fan at night, or like an old radio caught between two stations. Static. A low monotonous noise that engulfed me; but every so often it was interrupted. The dial would turn slightly closer to a station, and you could make out words.

Sometimes I could feel the static. I know you can't really feel sound, but I could. It reverberated through every ounce of my being. At times I would get so numb my skin would start to tingle. Like insects were there. Crawling all over.

It made me go insane at times. It made me want to scream, thrash, tear out my hair. I screamed a lot in my silence. My silent noise was my insulation from the world. I didn't understand how silence could be so loud.

My name is Taylor.

Unfortunately my mom had the same name. My mom died three days after she gave birth to me-that was almost fifteen years ago; you could say my birthday was a little depressing.

Or rather, my whole life.

People, and I mean a lot-see, my mom was a famous singer. She had a lot of fans. All of those fans hated me because of what happened to her. They blamed me for her death.

I agreed with them.

Maybe some were nice enough to not say it to my face, but I could hear their silence. Their silence screamed at me-it penetrated my own iron curtain. When I walked through the school halls, they may not have been saying anything, but I knew they judged me. They analyzed every little thing I did.

Like I said, my mom was very famous. Everyone knew who I was. I stuck out like a sore thumb.

I hated that.

That's why I needed to disappear from the crowds; disappear from the spotlight; disappear from my family ties.

I changed.

My dad, he loved the change. He loved me. He showed it, and said it, and let everyone know just how much he loved me, any chance he got.

Now if only I could bring those words in my mind to life.

My dad didn't notice me. He didn't show he cared. I may not have been desperate for attention in public, but it would mean the world if my dad would notice me - want me. I was desperate for any sign of love from him, and lets just say, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Like I said before, how I needed to change, a year ago I changed my hair.

It used to be poofy, curly, super long, and almost platinum blond. A lot of people would've died for my hair, but I hated it. It made me look so much like my mom it wasn't funny.

So the first step to change was to get rid of it.

I didn't shave it off, obviously. That would just raise even more attention. But I did chop a whole lot of it off. My hair used to rest at my lower back, but after a brash self cut, it now resided at my collar bones. I liked it that way. It was more manageable, and the less I had, the less attention. Then, I straightened the hell out of it.

Of course, the work of a flat iron was only temporary, so on top of that, I used a whole lot of shit. A lot of damaging shit. I damaged it to the best of my abilities by putting heat on it when it was wet, bleaching the hell out of it so it was all limp and dry, and just straighting it every, single, day.