Running With Wolves

Chapter 2

I wake up at 6:30 in the morning and head downstairs.

I wasn't surprised to see that my father was in the same spot as I left him last night. I quickly eat a small breakfast, get ready for school and leave the house. 

At school, no one questioned my face even though some people stared a bit too long. I tried my best to conceal it but I'm not good with makeup. 

After the dismissal bell rang, I waited until everyone left to start walking home. Just my luck, Josh and his gang blocked the doorway just as I was about to leave.

 "Well well. What do we have here?" Says Josh with a smirk. 

"Scarlette, where do you think you're going?" Said Aaron with an even bigger smirk. Why do these people have smirk all the time?

 "Let's give you a birthday present..." Says Brittany with a snicker. 

Everyone laughs as if they've just heard the funniest joke in the world, and while they're laughing, I try making a run for it but fail miserably when Josh grabs my backpack and flings me to the ground. 

They all start kicking me while yelling obnoxious things at the same time. I've gone through a lot of pain these past years but this was a bit more then I could handle. Suddenly they all stop and move away and just let Josh use me as a punching bag.

 I'm pretty sure I have a broken nose now too. This goes on for about 20 minutes until I'm beaten to a pulp. Josh smiles an evil smile and then turns to Aaron and says, 

"Put her to sleep and let's leave". 

"My pleasure Josh... " replies Aaron with an equally evil smile. 

With one hard kick to my head, and I fall into darkness. I wake up in the girls' washroom surrounded by blood. They must've dragged me in here and left.

 I slowly get up and my anger is now too much. I want to cut, I need something sharp, I need to punish myself for letting all of this happen. I find a sharpener in my bag and I take the blade off and as soon as the blade touches my skin, I realize what I'm doing.

 I slowly come back to my senses and flush the blade and everything else I have that is potentially harmful. 

A long time ago, I made a vow to myself that after my mother died, I would never become one of those people that cut. 

I would stay strong and let my anger out in a way that I wouldn't cause harm to me, or others.

 I still couldn't take the urge and so I punched the washroom mirror in front of me. I stared at the broken pieces on the ground and felt nothing. I looked at my fist and see that I cut my knuckles open. 

At least that's better than cutting myself with a sharpener. I need air. I need freedom. I need to get rid of all these emotions.

Only one place pops up in my mind, the woods.