I went to my room. I could still hear them screaming. It had been two days, two days since mum ripped the needle I was injecting into myself out of my arm. She went through my perfectly clean room trying to find the drugs. She did and now my room is a mess and I don't even know what is happening to my body.
I lay on my bed shivering. I hated feeling like this. Just going through withdrawal as my mum had put it. But I would prefer to die than uncontrollably sweating and throwing up in the school bathroom. My leg suddenly cramped up and then kicked out. I wanted to it more than I ever have before. I started crying again. I hated my mum for getting rid of it. The needle mark on my arm was starting to get infected but I didn't think much of it. If I could just go to sleep I thought I would feel better. If only I was able to sleep.
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Teen FictionShe was angry, she had been ever since she found the syringe at the back of my bookshelf.
