Is Anyone Out There?

Chapter 1

A/N: This takes place before the prologue... sorry if it's a little confusing!!

I sigh to myself and examine the damage. I can already tell that the bruise on my arm will stay for a couple weeks. It's been less than 10 minutes since it was formed and it's already purple. I will have to wear longsleeves to school now, not that I don't always do, but I was hoping that I could possibly wear a t-shirt one day this week because I haven't had any new injuries in a week. I can never get my hopes too high now can I? Hope is just a myth. It doesn't really exist. If there really was any, then wouldn't I be out of this hell hole by now? No. There is just wishful daydreaming and stupidity in the world we live in. I don't fall for any of the tricks anymore. Not after what has happened in my short lifetime.

I don't bother changing into pajamas, it's not like I even have any to change into. I crawl into my sad excuse of a bed, a mattress on the floor with an old blanket so little that it was better described as a rag on top of it, and try to forget everything so I can try and get some sleep.

It's not that easy.I hear my dad, I shouldn't call him that... dad. It's a foreign concept to me, shouting at my mom through the wall. The walls are thin and definitely not sound proofed so I can hear everything that goes on in any part of the house. That means that they can here me too. I try my best not to make any noises, try not to bring any attention to myself. Maybe if they don't hear me and barely see me, they won't hurt me. I hear a loud crash downstairs and a bunch of things falling. I bet my mom was one of those things.

And then I hear silence. The silence is worse because I know what is going to happen next. It happens like this every night. And for the whole night. I hear the thumps of my dad, who is probably carrying my mom, walking to their room, right next to mine. He skips right over my room, not bothering to knock or open the door to see how I am doing. He's too busy.

The all too familiar creek of their ancient bed echos throughout the house followed by loud moaning and "Oh god, baby" and things like that coming from both of their foul mouths. I flip away from the wall that connects my room to theirs and cover my ears. I was so ready for this to end. I knew I wasn't going to be able to take it much longer.

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The next day starts off okay. My parents are already gone and the house is just the way I like it. They didn't even leave a note or anything. The only time they ever left a note, it was a warning not to touch anything and I would get a beating if they found anything out of the place. I sigh and walk out of the house, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I'm wearing a pair of old jeans, beat up converse with song lyrics written all over them and an Iron Maiden t-shirt with a baggy hoodie on top. I just ran my brush through my hair and I didn't put on any make up, I didn't have any so how could I have put some on?

I stop by this little coffee shop on the corner of the street and buy myself some strong coffee and a bagel. When I had looked in the mirror this morning, I had large, dark circles under my eyes. It wasn't attractive at all. Not that I was attractive to begin with. Well, at least that's what all the kids at school say. I know I shouldn't listen to them, but it's hard not to when that's all you hear when you go anywhere.

I gulp down my coffee and devour my bagel. I hadn't had enough time to stop and get myself a dinner, and my parents never made me anything, so I didn't have dinner last night. I was starving. I threw away my trash and looked at the second hell hole of my life. What did I ever do to deserve this?

I duck my head down, hoping that no one will notice me. That maybe, for once, I will fade back into all of the other hundreds of kids who go to my highschool. I don't even want to call it my highschool. It hasn't done anything for me. It's made my life miserable. The teachers suck, the students suck, and no one is observant enough to see who is struggling. (Big, neon, flashing arrow pointing at me).

I walk with my head down to my first class. I didn't even bother paying for a locker. I made that mistake last year. I always had some ugly note taped or written on it. And the time I spent there gave kids even more time to ridicule me. I just started carrying my bookbag around with everything in it so that I could get to my classes quicker.

I got to my home room with, surprisingly, no troubles. That never happens. They are probably planning something for later. Something big that will completely send me over the edge. I take out my notebook for this class, AP English, and tap my pen on the side of my desk. "Can you stop?" A blonde turns around in her seat and snaps. She flips back around and I catch a whiff of her strawberry shampoo.

I change from tapping my pencil to tapping my fingers on my notebook. It doesn't make that much noise, and it helps me to think and organize all my thoughts. The blonde turns around again and looks at me with her piercing blue eyes. "Stop,"

I frown and immediately stop. Today has started out fine and I don't want to ruin it. Instead of tapping something, I lay my head on my desk and draw circles on my notebook. It's soothing and it helps me to forget about everyone around me. I wish that I didn't have to forget, that I actually had a good life. A life with at least some happiness. Sometimes I wish that this was just all a nightmare and that someone would pinch me and I would wake up in a nice home with perfect parents and friends.

I feel someone standing over top of me, but I make no move to acknowledge whoever it is. Why should I? They have never acknowledged me unless it was to say something nasty. I feel them walk past me, but not without knocking all of my things onto the floor. I look at the person who has done this. Of course. It's Matt Alvord. Star quarter back and boyfriend to head cheerleader Chelsea Dane. I thought he was a nice guy. He had that image, with shaggy brown hair and green eyes, sculpted muscles, and he'd never said anything or done anything mean to me, until now. Chelsea probably got the idea planted into his mind an put him up to it.

Chelsea was the leader of all of this. She started it back in middle school, when we both tried out for the cheer team and she made it, I didn't. I feel prickling in my eyes and I can feel the tears threatening to fall down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. Counting down from ten.

10- the burning sensation is still there, strong, and I can still feel my eyes watering.

9- I can feel my face turning back to it's normal pale color, my face gets red and splotchy when I cry.

8- the prickles are starting to fade, I take another deep breath.

7- my eyes have stopped watering.

6- I deem it safe to begin to begin opening my eyes.

5- I am now staring down at my desk, my things are still on the floor.

4- I feel eyes on me, but I just look up at the teacher.

3- I hear voices whispering.

2- I finally look at everyone and they turn silent.

1- They all break out in laughter, aimed at me.