It'll Be Alright (Discontinued)

Chapter 1: A New Day, A New Guy, A New Friendship.

Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr.

I don't know why I set an alarm. I'm always awake at the smallest crack of dawn.

Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr.

Sighing, I turn off my alarm. Too late. My foster mother opens the door so harshly it just about comes off of it's hinges.

"What a drag," I mutter, taking care to make sure I'm not heard. "This happens every morning. What is she? A bat?"

"Huh? What did you say, you little shit?" What?! How did she hear that? I breath sharply, and promptly choke on my breath. Not sure how I do that. I huff and saunter into the bathroom. For some reason, that always annoys my foster family. They don't like me, which is just as well considering I hate them. I begin to brush my teeth when I realise the state my face is in.

I look up and choke back an ear murdering scream. On the right side of my face, there are four unbelievably fat cuts on my cheek and eyelid. Cautiously prodding each one, I have flashbacks of the previous night's argument.

"Go to your room!"

"Why? What did I do? I just played a match against him, like you asked."

"I asked you to NOT win."

"Not my fault I'm better than him."

Thud! I hit the floor with a heart shaking boom. Blood splatters on the expensive new carpet.

"Now look at what you have done! You are paying for it, little shit. No wonder your parents abandoned you." With the threat and painful reminder, I receive a well aimed kick to my stomach.

On my left side, there's a bleeding cut caused by a diamond. Sighing, I pull out the concealer and apply it to the right side of my face. Not much I can do about the left. I quickly dress, taking care not to wipe off the concealer. My uniform flatters my body. A black skirt that reaches just above my knee, accompanied by white knee length socks; a pristine white shirt; a black blazer that's the perfect size; and shiny black flat shoes. Quietly, I run out of the house and to the bus stop.

I sit (lounge, rather) on two seats. Instead of permanently gossiping on my nonexistent phone, I bury my nose in a revision book. My face is so close to my book that it looks as though the book has waist length golden-brown-blonde wavy hair.

"Hey, Fayria, did you morph into a KS4 revision book?" yells Arabella Gates. No, unlike you, I intend to learn ahead, I think, so that I excel in my chosen subjects.

"Can I sit here?" asks a timid voice, barely audible.

"I guess," I say, paying no attention as I swing my legs off of the seat, "I don't exactly care." The bus lurches forwards as I doze off, making up for lost sleep.