THE CLICHE GIRL

PART TWO.

The crash, how the car spun like the waltzers. The windows smashed and she broke her neck as she went through the windscreen of the car. 'should of worn a seat belt' said the cop when he arrived at the scene.

"Should of worn a seat belt". I say to myself as I walk into her room and travel back in time to half a decade ago. Already out of style posters of bands hung up on her walls. The smell of her on her clothes have now faded, her bed sheets lacking any warmth. Her CDs stacked in alphabetical order, Her books aligned from lightest to darkest colour and her clothes ordered from most to least fancy. She had everything set out, she knew what she wanted.
She had lists stuck all over her cork boards that was hung above the head of her bed. Parts of the lists highlighted... some lists laminated and one had both.
Her bucket list. Things to do before she died, now never to be achieved. I stand in this door way every evening, a ritual formed about a year after her death. My feet always just out the room, looking around trying to find new things like one of those clue games you find on the Internet... trying to solve the mystery that was my sister, Hailey Celtic.

"Honey, you've been brushing you teeth for almost ten minuets. Are you okay sweetie?"
I stop brushing then, taking the blue toothbrush out of my mouth.
"Oh no, I'm fine." I say to her, she furrows her brows and then her face relaxes into a soft smile.
"Darling... I can't understand you with toothpaste in your mouth." Her silk tone, smooth and calm.

I only need to take three steps back and I'm into the bathroom. The bright light buzzes above the mirror. God I look so tired I think to myself as I look at the bags under my eyes. I look too worn down for someone who's just turned sixteen. My completion is that of someone who's been dead for sometime.

I spit into the sink, the white, frothy paste mixes with the red blood creating a pink cream colour. I look once again at my reflection and sigh heavily. This is the shell my conscience lives in. Before I get to deep into my existential crisis my mother interrupts my thoughts.
"Bed time, Missy." She says in a light and joking voice. I feel urge to say please let me stay up another ten minutes and whine like I'm six again, I choose against this because what would I do with those ten minutes... look at my sad reflection, stare into her empty room or watch a small fragment of something on T.V.

"What even is the time?" I ask, wondering slightly because she's never told me to go to bed in about two years.
" eleven fourty-five, sweetie pie." She then adds. "Night, flower I'm off to bed."

I had been brushing my teeth for longer than ten minutes, I must off been brushing them for almost twenty... maybe that's why there was blood in the sink from over brushing. Our bathroom is dull, with beige tiles on the walls and grey tiles on the floor. The shower curtain has the design of green fishes jumping in and out of waves, the bottom of the curtain unclean and turning brown.

I walk back to my dark bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the light as I crawl into bed. I hide my body underneath the sheets, I hold onto a pillow tightly, pretending it's a warm body to hold next to me.

*

The coffee doesn't work when you're living off no sleep. The caffeinated liquid doesn't have the same buzz anymore, just something bitter on my tongue and burns my insides as it flows down my throat. Sleep can't fix this type of exhaustion so why bother?
I look into my room and opem my wardrobe, the easy task of finding my school uniform takes minutes instead of seconds. Due to the fact non of my school clothes are even there. They want us to be unique and out of the box as we all wear the same clothes and write the same things. The navy jumper scratches and tie chokes me slowly. A ladder is stretched up my black slightly see through tights where the knee is. This ladder has climbed under my rolled up my creased skirt that I found in the tumble dryer scrunched up. I walk past her room once more and feel a lump begin to form in my throat. I swallow heavily and look away and towards the closed door of her bedroom.