Bad Things Happen To Good People

Chapter 2: The Truth Never Lies

Hi people. this is the next chapter to my story, please read, vote and comment, thanks :D hope you like it xoxox

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It was just three years ago that my mother died. Hard to believe really. People used to say all the time that I was the spitting image of her, with red hair, piercing green eyes and fair skin without freckles. A lot of girls would be envious of my looks but I wasn’t. All they did was remind me that she was gone and I was still here, with him. That is why I cover myself up. Try to be as invisible as possible. Having no friends just makes the hiding easier.

He can’t stand the fact that I was here and she wasn’t, especially when I look like the spitting image of her. That is why I hide.   Every day I would ask myself why she left; I would cry myself to sleep, trying to ease the hollow in my heart. It would work for a while. I know she didn’t leave. I know it was fate and yet I still question myself. Did I do something wrong. Did I kill her? That constant reminder that my father gave me every time he came home.

I still remember the day as if were yesterday. A broken record playing over and over again in my mind. It was like reliving your nightmare every second you were awake, it just got worse at night. The crash, the horrific screams of my mother as she turned and faced the drunk driver ahead.

 The chilling, memorable silence just after; the grey smoke rising, creating a shield around our car, my mother’s bleeding body slumped over the steering wheel. Her blood drained away, just like my love. At the time I didn’t quite process what was happening, I just lay there breathing gently whilst shaking mum, trying to wake her up.

 I still remember the days after in the hospital. That sharp clinic smell, the heaviness of the air that was filled with mourning and death. To this day I couldn’t go back to the hospital.

 I had friends at that time though. They came to see me, never quite knowing what to say. I saw the pity in their eyes, the sadness in their gaze. I didn’t want their pity so I would never reply; I simply didn’t feel the need to speak after my mother had passes. Not once had my father come to see me. Eventually they just went away.

 Everyone I loves leaves me at some point. They all go.

When I finally got home, suffering with a concussion, a broken leg and several fractured ribs my father was drinking himself to death on the sofa. I dint bother to disturb him, i felt that it would be better for everyone that I just left him be drowning in his sorrows. That day was the day he stopped loving me. Everyone leaves me at some point.

Bad things happen to good people.