Escape

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Kieria's POV

"Where do you want it, Razza?" I ask, carrying the large crate of paint in my arms. "In the garage?"

Razza came in brushing paint from his dark blue dungarees and sweeping his chocolate brown hair from his eyes.

"No, can you put it in the kitchen, Kieria," he said. "It needs a lick of paint anyway."

I made my way into the kitchen and set it down on the black tiles. About a minute later, Razza walked in, rolling up his sleeves unaware that I could see his scars, and how they scared me.

"I don't know how you carry that," he said, as he kicked the box slightly with his foot. "It weighs a ton."

I smirked at him, sardonically. "It's my talent," I said. "Like your is Wisdom, mine is Strength."

He sighed and prodded me in the back.

"You'd better get going, babe," he said. "Today is your first day at school and you don't want to miss it. Besides, I don't fancy your father screaming at me again."

I laughed and checked my phone. 4:50am. Shit. I had told dad I would be back for 5:00am but it was near impossible to get back to my house in that time.

"See you, Razza," I called, jogging out of the door. "Say hello to everyone when they get here."

He smiled and waved before shouting at my retreating back, "Have a good year!"

As I escaped onto the street, I noticed a red pick-up truck backing out of a driveway with 'Northbegin' emblazoned on the back.

Carful not to let the driver see me, I hopped on, knowing this would take straight home with time to spare.

As I watched the scenery whip by, my eyes stung when the wind blew in them. My chocolate brown hair, that was tied up in a high bun, was bobbing on the top of my head and I hummed along to 'Pissed Off' that was playing on the radio. 39Sailors, my favourite band after Riot!AtTheParty.

About five minutes later, we rounded a corner and I leapt from the cart, rolling over and over in the light green grass of my house.

As I entered the house, I was immediately hit with a metallic smell.

Wrinkling my nose, I wandered towards the smell and a was greeted with a horrific sight.

Dad.

He was sprawled out on the ground, a knife held limply at his side and two deep slits across his wrists.

I didn't realise I was screaming until my throat began to sting and I stopped.

It was obvious my father was depressed but to end his life was stupid.

"Selfish brat," I spat and stomped up the stairs to my bedroom. I glanced at the uniform and sighing, pulled it on. The disgusting contrast of the pink and purple made my stomach turn and I sighed before grabbing my suitcase, which was already packed.

As I walked into the kitchen, I proceeded to write a note to my dad and then remembered. The pen that was clutched in my hand exploded and a splatter of ink trickled down my hand, onto the work surface.

I slung my suitcase on my back, and ran out to the garage. After a struggle with the chain, I managed to strap my bag to the back and, after grabbing the bike pump, I slung my leg over and peddled away.

What did I care about my dad now.

He was dead. He had left me.

Just like mum.