Scars Don't Heal, They Fade - A 1D Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Chapter One 

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I woke up to the sound of screaming.  

It wasn't the usual screaming that I was used to. I was used to hearing Mom scream at the blaring television. She screamed when she'd drop another beer bottle, which happened all the time, but that would have an accompanying smash sound as the bottle crashed onto the floor. I was used to her screaming at the cat she thought we had...which had died three years ago before she had become such a mess. 

Instead, Mom was calling me downstairs. It was time. Today was the day. I was finally leaving this hellhole. 

My parents had divorced last year, and my father had moved to England. Beautiful England, from the rolling green hills, rainy days perfect for reading, and the rich history. And he had moved to the heart of it all; picture perfect London, home to gleaming red telephone booths and Buckingham Palace, Kings Cross Station and Big Ben.  

I've always had a bit of an obsession with England, maybe it was because I always had my nose in a Jane Austen or Charles Dickens novel. Everything about the British lifestyle, from the cuisine, to the soccer or "football", to the music just made me happy. It was certainly a lot more interesting than my native Canada, home to beavers and hockey. I was absolutely crushed when the judge ruled that I would be staying with me mom until I turned 16. Once I turned 16, I would be allowed to make the international move to live with my father and brothers. 

I have seen a lot in the last two years, the two years I spent waiting to escape. My father had been smart enough to escape before me, but I had to wait another year to leave. Everything around me, and everything about me, has drastically changed. I used to have lots of friends, and go out shopping every other weekend. I used to care about what I wore, and what people thought about me. I used to think that I was somebody, maybe even somebody important. I used to be happy, I had a great life with little struggle. I used to scoff at people who cut themselves and wore dark liner, I didn't understand them. I used to have a mother who would scold me for drinking codeine like it was water, one who wouldn't let me sink into depression. I used to think that my mother loved me. But everything around me started to fall apart at the seams, and that totally changed my view about life. 

I quickly pulled off my pyjamas and stuffed them into my suitcase. I pulled on my best outfit; a mustard yellow dress, a pair of brown leather sneakers and black pantyhose, and my carry on, a yellow and leather backpack. My hair, which I had straightened yesterday, was now silky and smooth, and I pulled it into a side ponytail. I quickly walked down the familiar steps that led to the kitchen where my mother's voice was coming from. 

The kitchen, like the rest of house, and even the people that lived in it, was a mess. Mom always ate take-out, but the dirty food containers littered the crumbling countertops. Various knick knacks were strewn across the kitchen table, and the black and white tile was chipping away. It hadn't always been like this; the kitchen used to be magazine worthy, spotlessly clean. But then again, people change, and so do the atmospheres where they live in. 

Let me just tell you, this day couldn't have come any sooner. I've been counting down the seconds until this moment, the moment when I could finally leave this place, leave this woman who was so poisonous to my mind. That's why I was surprised when I walked down to see her dressed in her work clothes, makeup done without her looking like a tramp, and her hair pulled into a neat bun. What surprised me the most was that there was even breakfast on the table. 

The last time my mother had made me breakfast was the day of the hearing before the judge made the ruling saying I had to stay with my mother, a decision I questioned to this day.