Beautiful Disasters [complete]

They Said I'm Never Around Any More

They Said I'm Never Around Any More

I will always fight back. 

The world may swallow me up, but I will always fight back. 

***

I angrily huffed, crumpling up the paper and throwing it into the trashcan. It misses. I sighed, clutching my forehead. 

Every action has a reaction, a consequence. 

This time, I won't do anything. 

"I can't use all of my ideas at once," I murmured, twiddling with my thumbs. 

"I need to make him believe that I'm done with him so that I have more time to devise ideas," I whispered to myself. 

Hastily, I threw off my pyjamas and slipped into some jeans and a pale pink sweater. Without really trying, I gathered my hair and wrapped it into a bun, aware of the imperfect bun that had stray strands everywhere. 

I could hear my parents as I crept downstairs, the cold railing transferring its lack of heat to my hands. I shivered as I tugged at my sleeve. I stopped a few steps before reaching the main floor, listening to their conversation, which was already hard to hear. 

"-- I don't know, honey, she's hiding something from us." My mom said, twiddling with her bracelet. 

"Listen, whatever it is, she'll tell us soon enough. We can't pressure her and we won't pressure her. What we'll do is be there for her, provide some resources for her if she needs it. Should we enrol her into therapy?" My dad responded, scratching his arm.

"I don't know... Let's give it some time because --" My mom began before I walked down the steps. Therapy? Hell no. Never. Ever. 

"What you guys talking about?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. They abruptly turned around, my mother biting her tongue as my dad stopped dead in his tracks. 

"How bad your father's cooking is," my mom responded swiftly as my dad nodded along, feigning annoyance. 

"My cooking isn't that bad." He interjected, trying to go along with my mom. 

I sighed, looking around in disbelief. "You guys, I'm not dumb. What good would therapy do me?" 

My mother looked down, appearing distracted before glancing up again. She sighed and stared at me, hard. "Chanel, your dad and I suspect that there is more to what is going on and you're not telling us what is bothering you. Care to explain?" 

I didn't know whether I should tell. Or what to even say. Where to begin. "Mom, I cannot tell you but I promise it's all under control. I'm okay, I'm fine. I promise to tell you but not now, okay?"

My dad stood us, anger in his face. "Chanel, you're going to tell us right now." 

I opened my mouth to protest but couldn't. What would I say? Hey, I got sexually assaulted and now I'm seeking revenge with another boy whose sister is in the hospital due to that guy? Please don't go to the police. 

I shook my head and absently stared at the wall. "Dad, I'm sorry but I can't. Please give me time." 

"Chanel --"

"Dad, please," I begged as he drew a sharp breath. 

"Fine," he muttered and walked away. Feeling a loss of appetite, I grabbed my keys and left, unable to face my mother and listen to her lectures. 

I drove to school, watching my knuckles turn white as I gripped the steering wheel. 

About ten minutes in the drive, my phone rung and I looked over to see Sebastian's number flashing on the screen. I sighed as I swiped right and answered his calling, putting it on speaker.