Different to Them [COMPLETED]

Roses are Red

Maria:

I grit my teeth, and clench my fists hard, glaring at the ground.
"Nearly done." Calls the guy from next to me, his annoyingly happy voice, ringing in my ears.
"Okay." I squeak. I force myself not to cry, but shit. This hurts.
"It looks nice!" He says, and I raise a pierced eyebrow at him. God, I hate the people who work here. Scratch that, I hate everyone. I roll my eyes at his attempt to make chit-chat, and he shuts up. Jesus Christ, these people are idiots.
I wonder what will happen to me when I saunter back home, with my new tattoo. I wince, thinking about it. Shit.
I usually like the feeling of tattoos being done, but 'cause this guy's a trainee, it's horrible. He just can't do it properly!
I bite my lip to refrain myself from screaming at him.
I check my phone, to occupy my mind, and as usual, I have no texts. No friends.
"And..." He neatly finishes, leaving me with a beautiful tattoo, on my arm, "Done!" He smiles at me. "Well done." He wraps it up, to stop it from getting infected, then nods at me, gesturing that I can get up.
I glower at him in reply, then in the rudest voice I can conjure up, I say "Thanks." Then I slide past him, out the door. I leave him a wad of bank notes on the counter, as well as a tip even though it was shit. Urgh, today is another crappy day.

I hop onto the bus, and pay my fair, then I take a seat. I pray that I don't see anyone from school. That would be just my luck. Plugging in my headphones, I put on some music and chill. That's when I see Angelica and Eliza Schuyler, with Theodosia at the bus stop outside. We pull up next to it and I pull my hoodie up over my head, and pray. Not this bus. Please not this bus. Of course, for the sake of irony, they get on. They see me and I see Angelica's eyes gleam. Theodosia, just rolls her eyes at me, and Eliza glares at me before opening her big gob to say something. That something's probably dumb, as per usual.
"Ew, it's the freak!" Says Eliza.
"Ew, it's a walking garbage-can trio!" I shoot back, glaring at the three basic bitches. Shit is gonna go down.
"What's that on your arm freak?" Asks Angelica, reaching for my bandage.
I smile.
"I was attacked by a shark."
"What? No way. Really?" Says Eliza eyes gleaming.
"No. You're all dumb-ass bitches! Did you seriously believe that?" I laugh, snorting at their stupidity.
"No!" Says Eliza, glaring at me. "I was kidding!'
"Uh huh." I say, raising an eyebrow.
"No, but what is it?" Asks Angelica, glaring at me.
"None of your business. Fuck off." I say, crossing my arms in defence.
"Can we see it, freak?" Says Theodosia, staring at me then my arm.
"No. Go away." And with that I get up and get off the bus, which has just pulled up to my stop. Perfect timing. "Bye!" I call after them, then murmur to myself "Bitches."
I walk down the busy highway until I finally reach my block. I go upstairs in the old lift that smells like piss, and I unlock the door to my apartment.

I get inside and wipe my feet on the mat then go into the kitchen.
"What the fuck is that on your arm?"
My dad.
I don't try and be smart.
"Maria. Answer me, what the fuck is that on your arm?"
"Umm," I bite my lip, instantly regretting the tattoo now. This always happens.
"Well?"
"I got a-a tattoo dad." I hang my head.
"What the actual fuck? Another one?" He grabs my arm, "What is your problem? What is your fucking problem?!"
"I-I don't know d-dad." I tell him.
He grabs me by the face, hurting my jaw, malice in his eyes, and he whispers in my ear, "What the fuck is your fucking problem? Stop fucking up. Stop being a failure. You're failing me and your mother." And with that, he pushed me across the room and I land in a pile on the floor. He spits at me. "You're a fucking mess." Then he leaves me, abandoned on the kitchen floor, a crumpled mess. I am torn apart.

I gradually get up. There's work to be done. Bills to be payed. Meals to be made. I hear a key in the latch, then my brothers heavy work boots in the hall. "James?" I call, through the door.
"Yes?" He calls back.
"How was work?"
"It was good."
"What do you want for dinner?"
"Whatever dad wants." And with that, he goes into the front room, and collapses into an armchair. "Maria?" He calls a moment later.
"Yes?"
"Can you get me a beer from the fridge?"
"Okay."
I grab a cold beer, and bring it to him.
Just as I'm about to leave, dad says, "I'll have one too." And I grab him one, wishing something could change. Anything. I can't keep living a life like this. An unfair life. I pass it to him, and he doesn't acknowledge me of course. The football scores are way more important.

After cleaning the kitchen, and putting some chicken in the oven, I retreat to my box room, and although it's tiny, it's my favourite room in the whole house. I have a sofa bed in the corner, that folds out to make my bed, a smallish bookshelf, a fluffy rug and the walls are painted red. I have strings of fairy lights, and cushions, and photos taken with my Polaroid camera that mom got me the year she died. I sigh. I love my room, and as I take my black marker and mark another day on my calendar, I groan. It's Sunday.I hate Sundays.
I walk into the kitchen, and I make myself a pop tart, serve up the boy's dinners, then retreat to my room with a glass of coke, my pop tart and my sketchbook. I sit down, and sketch roses, and pretty patterns. It will be okay, I tell myself, you'll be fine, but part of me isn't too sure...