How did it get so bad...?

chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"I have to go to dinner, but I'll text you later ok?"

"Okay, bye Kevin!" I wait to listen for the click of the phone before I hanging up.

I flop down on my bed, and think about the day. Morning: fight with mom about whether or not I needed to wear a jacket. School: morning classes went well, lunch was hilarious--thanks to Kevin, as always, and afternoon classes were okay...until I got my French test back...

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"An 80%? Thats a B-! Fuck this class!"

"I didnt do well either...its okay Scar."

"Of course Miss Perfect, I'm sure you got a 99%. Oh what will you do?" I said, my words just dripping of sarcasm.

"Well, for your information Miss Scarlette Marcy Jones, I only got a 96%." She retorted with a grin. Only Em could turn my thoughts away from the French test, especially when i bombed it the way i had done.

"Emerald Julia Marvin! Now what will we do with you?" I said--in a very broken british accent. We burst out into laughter over my attempted change of character as I turned back around in my seat to slip the test into the waaay back of my folder.

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...but then came my favorite class of the day, and that ALWAYS went well. Economics. Now you might say it's a boring class, and yes, the class itself is boring, but the people in this class, now thats some nice shizz. As well as being the most hilarious guy I'v ever met, he was also one of the hottest. In my defense, its not my fault that he just happened to be in the same class, and he just happened to sit next to me, and he just happened to be into talking to people he sits next to. I mean, kill me for being a nice person and responding when someone talks to me. I could always count on him to make me laugh, even when I felt like dissapearing forever inside. There's this thing about him. I can't descrbe it. But it makes me smile. Well anyways.

When I got home: I got Part 2 of me and mom's jacket feud. Just another thing she found wrong with me. I really don't need a jacket. I don't get cold easily. But of course since she's so sensitive to the weather and since I'm her daughter, she thinks "well of course she needs a jacket!" Well, thats not how it is. I don't know if I'm a vampire or something but I'm like immune to the cold. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my temperature is always colder than most peoples. I really don't know. But I remember her words loud and clear. The marks on my skin isn't what hurts the most. It's the words "You didn't cry that much when your dad died." You know what? I was in shock. I could barely breathe. How am I supposed to cry if I was struggling to bring air into my lungs? huh? Answer that! And how does she know I don't cry my eyes out when I'm alone? Just 'cause she thinks she can control what she sees, doesnt mean she can control what happens when can't.

Luckily, I have a solution. A quick fix that always works no matter what. Yeah, it's not the best idea, but hey, do i have any options here? Any other options require money which we dont have much of. So i turn to the cheap way. I roll over and then crawl off my bed. I walk over to my desk. And I grasp the cold hard metal handle of the drawer. I imagine it in my mind. Open the drawer. Bottom right hand corner. Under the black notebook. Lies my worst enemy, and best friend, in one.