Some scars don't heal || m.c

0.4

Song of the Chapter- Teddy Picker by The Artic Monkeys

*TAYLOR'S POV*

Dark. So much darkness. Then conciousness came, like floating to the top of the pool; relief. But with the relief comes the pain. Worse than anything.

"Ugh," I heard someone mutter, quickly grasping that it was me, along with the moans and groans that came with talking.

"Honey? Are you ok?" My mum asks, not really sounding like she cares, but the sentiment is there I guess.

"How... What... What happened? How did I get here?" I ask, looking around at the walls of my pale pink room, the yellow swirls very prominent as I lay there.

"Your dad... Do you not remember?" Concern is clear this time in her question.

"Dad... Huh?" Fog clouded my mind as I looked down at myself where I lay on the bed, my mum leaning over me.

Bruises covered my bare arms and my the condition of my ripped skinny jeans, and the ache in my legs, I would say they were the same. My whole body ached and throbbed everywhere, especially my right side and the back of my head. Putting my hand up to where it hurt most on my head, I frowned when it came away bloody.

Looking clearly at my injuries, it all came flooding back to me as I remembered what had happened. The follow, the music, cleaning, and finally, my dad's abusive behaivor. The pain played fresh in my mind as the image of being smashed into a glass cabnit came into my head. That would explain the blood then.

"Dad... The cleaning..." I stammered softly.

"Yeah. I'm sorry honey. He didn't mean to. He'd just had a bad day that's all." My mum said, desperatly trying to defend my dad, even though not a word of what she said was true.

"Yeah, right, sure." Sarcasm dripped from my mouth.

"Now that you're up, I need to get back to your dad. Get up and I'll see you downstairs." Now that the 'concern' was over, the hard shell that I knew came back.

Watching her leave the room, I reached over to grab my laptop. I needed to check that it had actually happened. A sharp pain hit my side as I lent acroos my bed.

"Ow!" I yelped, pressing lightly on my ribcage. There was a large amount of swelling there and by the feel of them, I would guess at least one, maybe two, broken ribs. Great.

Cringing, I opened my laptop onto twitter and looked again at my notifications. There it was. It was still there. It had actually happened. Michael Clifford followed me.

As I sat there staring mindlessly at the screen, the fact that I had a new message caught my eye. Clicking on it, I lay back down in bed as it loaded, only to jump up, throwing my laptop in the process when I saw the sender.

Michael. He'd messaged back...

*MICHAEL'S POV* (gasp)

And it's the thousandth time and it's even bolder,

Don't be surprised when you get bent over,

They told you, but you were dying for it

"No!" I yelled, throwing the X-box contoller onto the ground in a huff.

I can't believe that I let Luke, of all people, beat me at Fifa. Oh well, I'll get him back later when I whip his ass at something else; this was a fluke, I don't lose.

"Calm down man, it's only a game..." Luke sassed in my face, a little smug grin on his face as he did so.

"Fuck off Luke." I grumbled and walked over to my laptop only to see Ashton already on it.