Alone....Till he came

Sometimes I feel like I’m all alone in this world. I know I’m not, but it sure seems like it. I only have one friend and my family doesn’t care about me. Jason Loccie is my best and only friend. We’ve been best friends since 3rd grade. He helped me up when Stacey Mccarris pushed me off the swings. He stands up for me whenever people try to hurt me, but they still do. What they say to me hurts so much. I have no one to turn to except for Jason, but I don’t want to bother him with my problems all the time. I just hope he doesn’t turn on my like everyone else.  

My older brother went to college and hasn’t come home for years. My mother and father beat me whenever they get the chance and everyone at school bullies me. They only thing I have is my lucky knife. My knife helps me feel something. I’ve grown numb to the world over the years. I’ve grown to ignore everyone and shut everyone out. People tried to help me, but they all quit on me.

                So now you understand why I don’t want to get out of my so called “Bed”. It’s a little mattress in the corner of the room with one torn up blanket and a pillow that lost its fluff a long time ago. I don’t even have an actual room. It’s a little corner in the attic. I only have 4 outfits and two pairs of shoes. Most of my outfits consist of sweats and an oversized sweater. I live in Canada so it’s kind of chilly. My mother’s voice broke me out of my train of thought.

                “Alex! Get your fat ass down here and cook us breakfast! Now!” she yelled with her too high voice. I sighed and threw the blanket off of me. I walked to the little pile of my cloths and threw on black sweats and my paramore shirt. Paramore is my favorite band. I walked towards the door and had to give it some pulls before it opened. I descended down the three flights of stairs before I got to the bathroom. With all the stairs I have to walk my legs have a lot of muscle in them.

                I did my business, brushed my teeth and hair, and applied some make-up. When I was done I looked in the mirror. My naturally straight red hair fell to my butt. It was dull and had split ends. My blue eyes were the color of the sea, but they held no emotion. They were dull, lifeless. My skin was pale, my full lips pale and cracked. Lastly I looked down at my body. You could clearly see my rolls through my shirt, and my legs look like they were ready to burst out of my jeans. I rarely look at my body, and when I do I grow even more depressed.

                I walked out the bathroom to see my mother standing there with her arms crossed. “I thought I told you to come downstairs and make us breakfast.” She said, her voiced laced with disgust and anger. I looked down at my feet and hid my face behind my hair. I haven’t looked at my mother for so long that I didn’t know what she looks like. Last time I saw her she died her hair black, wore emo clothing, put loads of eyeliner around her brown eyes, and had a body every girl wanted. I used to always admire her, but not anymore. “You know what? I’m getting tired of you always looking down. Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She said in an angry voice. And for the first time in 3 years I looked at her.

                She wore a too-short black skirt, a deep pink shirt that stopped before her bellybutton, and pink and black high heels. Her hair was now a shade of blonde that didn’t look good against her skin-tone, and she had a cake full of make-up on. She still had her too perfect body and her annoying attitude. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear her calling my name, and by the time I noticed she’d already slapped me. I fell to the floor and grabbed my cheek that was already forming a hand print. She looked down at me with pure hatred and disgust. “You’re so useless, fat ass” she said with a smirk. I felt a lump form in my throat, but I willed myself not to cry. Instead I got up off the floor and ran. I ran like I never did before. She didn’t try to stop me.