Pathways

Ellie

Elizabeth Jones, more commonly know as Ellie. Born June 23rd, 1995. Born with dirty blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Her eyes were what drew you in, but her heart is what kept you there. 

I was shocked awake by the constant buzzing of my phone on the table next to me. I quickly scanned the room; blinking my eyes a few times to get adjusted to the amount of light streaming through the open curtains hanging from the ceiling. I groaned to myself as I rolled over and ran a shaky hand through my hair, that was the only indication that I needed; today was the day. Finally the day I could go out in the world and do what I want, when I want and nobody could judge me; not a single soul. Why was I so scared then?

Yes, there was an undeniable amount of excitement coursing through my veins but what was the other emotion; the one that was making me shake so much. Surely it couldn't be nerves, I had never been nervous about this day before. This whole experience was going to be new to me, yes, but it was exciting and amazing and so truly adrenaline pumping that there was no room for nerves. They were there though. Coursing through me, causing my hands to fumble a few times before finally unlocking my screen.

As I scanned over the two texts I had received my eyes shot to the clock that was ticking away above me. How could it be 11:06 already? 

I quickly sent back my reply stating how leaving in an hour was not going to be very convenient for me, but alas, it was I who had forgotten to set the damned alarm clock and I who now had a little over half an hour to get ready to get on a train and leave London for, what would seem like, forever. 

I quickly leaped out of bed and over to my closet grabbing the only thing left in their, my comfiest sweats and a crop top; probably from Topshop. My phone kept buzzing with non-stop messages from the gang, and I was quick to respond to every one of them. 

I was the one in the group that always had something to say; I could always keep a conversation going. These girls and I had grown up together, we'd all watched each other grow. Some of us were growing up into fine, young adults who would undoubtedly be snatched up as soon as our feet hit campus soil. Each one of us had unique personalities, and we all differed from each other, but that's what made us so good together. No matter the topic we'd always have something different to say, and it always led to a great, but friendly, debate. We weren't made to be part of any other clique, so we just generated our own, but I would always be the one who partied too much, left everyone worried and didn't care about it. 

In reality, I did care. I probably cared too much for that matter. I may have gone to parties and I may have been to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning once or twice, but it was never for alcohol or drug abuse, I wasn't that person. I knew my limits and I always kept within them. Most of the time it was a broken bone or a seizure, I was known to have seizures a lot. Nobody ever knew why; no doctor could ever give my family or I a straight answer, and obviously that caused a lot of worry for me in the group. It was especially nerve-wracking for them when I was as nervous as I was now, because as a nervous habit my body goes into shock mode and the only thing it thinks it can do to keep me alive is to shake uncontrollably. It made putting on makeup too difficult, so I left my face with just a layer of foundation and called it a day. 

I threw the final things littered around the room into a final bag and prayed to god I had everything because, I was less than willing to have to make the 2 hour train journey down here again in the next two weeks. It was fast approaching noon as I hurried around the room, making sure everything was in final order before making my way down the creaky stairs of our old home. 

It was a nice house, don't get me wrong, it was decorated lovely courtesy of my mother, but the stench of cigarettes and mold could never be scrubbed off of the place no matter how hard we tried. It didn't help that my dad refused to quit, even after finding out he was nearing the point of no return for the health of his lungs. My mother had begged and begged him to quit but he never bugded, always saying "I'm gonna die one day, might as well die from something I love." After that day I always knew where I got my sense of humour and opinions from.