Dylan's POV
Niall Horan slowly made it to the counter, he lingered a bit as he looked at the displays.
"What can I get you today?"
"Hi Dylan, I'd like an iced coffee with whip on top please." He asked in his rich Irish accent.
"That'll be $3.21 ." I spoke quietly as I entered in his order. He smiled and handed me a crisp $5 bill.
"Keep the change." He spoke before heading over to the serving counter. I slightly smiled, dumbfounded by the tremendous tip.
"Have a good day." Sal spoke cheerily to Niall as she handed him his coffee. I quickly put the $5 in the cash register and slipped the $1.79 in my pocket. Normally customers don't tip us, maybe Niall didn't know that.
"He tipped you?!" Sal called as she scrubbed the sink.
"Yea, I guess he did." I answered as I leaned against the counter.
"Someone has a crush on Dill!" She smirked before making a small heart with her hands.
"No way!"
"Yes way!"
"He does not! That's impossible! A guy like that just doesn't date a girl like me."
"And why ever not? You're amazing!"
"Sal, I'm the quiet, shy, bullied girl. He's the loud, obnoxious, popular guy! It's not a good match." I argued as I waved a stir stick in the air for dramatic effect.
"What ever. I swear you teenagers and your stupid rules and guidelines." Sal sighed before blending a frappe in the blender.
I quietly shut the entry door and kicked my Vans off at the mat. General, our Golden Doodle, greeted me at the door with a wagging tail. I patted him on the head and slowly climbed the vacant stair well.
"Why are you home so late?" I jumped as Mother scared me. She stood at the banister wrapped in her fuzzy warm robe.
"Geez Mother, you scared me! I'm sorry, Sal needed me to close the shop and I had to walk home." I answered.
"It's after dark and you were walking alone outside in the night?!"
"It's not like I had a choice! My deadbeat parents can't even drive me and I have to work to earn any money around here for myself." My harsh words and tone earned me a slap on the face. My cheek stung from Mother's hand but I didn't care.
"How dare you speak to your Mother like that!" She growled before slumping back up the stairs to the bedroom, I could smell it on her. She was drunk.
I dashed to my room before she could change her mind, General following close behind. The fairy lights illuminated my room as I flipped the light switch on. I tossed my bag into my chair and stripped of my itchy uniform. My loose red hair fell from my messy bun, landing on my back. I quickly pulled on my university sweatshirt and slipped on my old track shorts. My bracelet accidentally scratched at my scars on my wrist, making my breath hitch as I remember my self harm from a week ago. I sighed and crawled under my covers, the coolness of the sheets enveloped me in calmness. With General curled up beside me and my fan buzzing in the corner, I drifted off to dreamless sleep.
Thunder broke out through my calmness, jolting me awake. I felt my body tremble at the sudden loud noise. Being that I refuse to sleep during a thunder storm I quickly turned my beside lamp on, it's golden rays blinding me for a few seconds. Once I regained my sight I pulled my MacBook out from underneath the bed. Once turned on I clicked Safari and typed in tumblr. I scrolled through blogs, reading the poems, scanning though pictures, and listening to the fan in the corner. A sudden beep alarmed me when I received a notification. A blog I had never seen had commented on my post.
"Hey Dylan, I knew McKara. Is it true that your family is screwy? Is that why she killed herself? It's your fault! She was my friend and you killed her! Why couldn't it have been you?!" The unknown blogger commented. I hadn't realized the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I looked over at my desk on the other side of my room. I knew the contents of the small box in the left bottom drawer, a blade. It called for me, beckoned me with its shiny metal. The blade had become my friend. It helped me release my emotions and fill my desires of pain. I climbed out of bed and paced the floor. Was it really worth another scar to add to my wrist? I ignored my thoughts and pulled the drawer open, the small brown box sliding with it. I slowly opened the box and gripped the cool metal of the blade. I turned the knob, releasing the sharp blade from its cover. I folded the sleeve of my sweatshirt, exposing my numb wrist. A clean patch of my skin pleaded for a mark. I slowly rested the blade to my skin and added a bit of pressure, then dragging. A few beads of my blood poked trough the parted skin. I sighed in relief as I felt the pain grow, it felt sweet yet sour. Sweet that I felt actual pain, sour that I had to feel such pain.
Just then my MacBook beeped again, notifying me of a notification. I set the blade down on the desk and approached my bed. The light of the screen was bright to my tired eyes. I clicked the notification and the screen showed the post the unknown blogger had scolded me on, a new comment had been posted.
"Why don't you go screw off or something mate, you probably have no idea what they go through, asshole." Another blogger had defended me. I read the username, "NHoran32." It was Niall, he had stood up for me. I slipped a smile as I rolled my sleeve back down. Someone actually cared, I think.
