Going home is my favorite thing these days, it used to be my least. I have no where else that's secluded, where I'm free of whispers, solely alone.
I throw open my double doors, a wonderful smell hitting my nose. I take a deep breath and walk in, looking around. I recently painted my room a soft blue with white and soft gray accents. It's so neat and organized, just the way I like it. I walk out my glass french doors to the balcony. Past my left pillar and to the stone wall, is a brick, 16 bricks up with history behind it. I pull out my secret stash of pictures. I smile sorting through happy family pictures of us. My parent's, parents and the old neighborhood kids visiting my mother's parents. My mother is very distant with her family because they aren't good enough. They make under 60k a year together, live in a tiny home, not being able to afford much. That summer day we visited was incredible; I can still smell the freshly cut grass, the sweet scent of humid, sun melted skin; my hands and mouth sticky with cherry Popsicle. The bittersweet sounds of laughter and screaming coming from all of us kids playing tag in the front yard.
I close my eyes and re-live Callum tripping me, making me fall onto the wood chips scraping my knees and elbows. My mom was so worried with the amount of blood from such little scrapes, it looked much worse than it was. The breeze blows across my face, making me feel the tears I had forgotten about.
Behind the box is a bottle of pills, oxycodien, my favorite. I reach for the bottle and take a deep breath. I put everything back and go inside, and run my bath water.
Something has to give.
But not today.
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What Labels Cause
Teen FictionHe did this. No actually, I did. Wait, do I even know anymore? Meet Mercedes. The schools slut. She doesn't have emotions, she's careless, her mother wants what's best for her, not Mercedes. Her parents love is one sided, her sister has been follow...
