Always Here

CHAPTER 1

I lay with my eyes wide; my crazy thoughts hoarding all the space in my head; bouncing off the sides of my skull; colliding into the other questions living inside of my brain. Why can't I sleep? What is wrong with me? No. seriously. What is wrong with me? I wonder if I'm the only person who can't sleep, if I'm the only person suffering. Am I allowed to say I'm suffering? There are people in worse situations in the world than you not being able to sleep, Izzy. Have I got something wrong with me? Am I mental? Do I need pills? Do I need therapy? If I get a therapist, will I want to kill them? I wonder what my brother is doing in the room next to me. Probably sleeping. No, what am I talking about? Of course, he's sleeping. Not everyone is damaged like you Izzy. I need to sleep, like seriously, if I don't get rid of these dark circles my mums going to get a phone call from school asking if I'm okay, and the last thing my parents need is to worry about me, not while we're just starting to go back to being a normal family.

I wake up to – what sounds like – the Krakatoa volcanic eruption, my eardrums ring from the racket my alarm is making and I violently bash it to shut it up, surprisingly it isn't broken from the routine of bashing I give it each morning. I must have suddenly drifted off last night during my train of thoughts and questions- probably for the best honestly, who knows where that was going. I hesitantly emerge from my bed and get dressed, without any hurry. As I walk out of my bedroom door I glance at myself in the mirror and remind myself of how hideous my school uniform is and also how hideous I look. 

I make my way down the hallway; my brother scuttles down the stairs like a savage pack of wolves and howls "PANCAKES"

"SAM! For god's sake watch it, you nearly had me flying" I retort, rubbing my sleep deprived eyes.

"don't be silly, Isabelle, humans can't fly" he says this like the sarcastic, and annoying little brother that he is.

I role my eyes at him, tracing his footsteps as i descend down the stairs. 

We walk into the kitchen where my mums making pancakes and my dad is sat, at the table, reading the Daily Mail, as per usual. It's just me, my younger brother Sam, my mum, my dad and... and there was my sister Bella, but she died last year. "Hey, you two, want some pancakes?" my mum says gently, my mum is robust and sanguine; she is a regular height, with long, luscious brown hair. Her wide, greenish blue eyes are full of empathy and she mollifies any will-quickly-turn-bad situation with just one glance; her lips are a neutral pink colour and always have a smile to them. I'm lucky to have her.

With an earsplitting roar of excitement, my brother says "yes. yes. YES."

"Can I have mine just with syrup?" I say with ease, which contrasts with the enthusiastic excitement my brother had in his voice.

"Izzy, you ok?"

I look over at my dad, he is reading an article about 'why kids are being tricked by phone companies' in the Daily mail. I can sense he can sense somethings up. But I don't let myself give in. "I'm fine." I say bluntly.

My dad is beige. I don't have a problem with him, it's just he can be... boring, at times. He is obsessed with the Daily Mail. Like OBSESSED, which results in him complaining about a lot of false; unnecessary things, like how the washing machine has got built in mics so that Samsung can tune in on our conversations (which is so obviously untrue). I'm the only one who seems to think so though, seen as nobody else brings it up. My dad is a tall man, with dirty blonde hair and a slight beard. All he ever wears are crisp white shirts with a skinny black tie, paired with smart black trousers and a blazer to go with. Oh, and shiny black shoes. So pretty plain and boring. He has vivid blue eyes and pursed lips. However, he's a brilliant dad to me and Sam. I'm lucky to have him too. I almost don't feel worthy enough to have them as my parents. 

At school, I'm greeted by Hannah and Maisie, aka my two best friends, aka my rocks, aka my life savers, aka the two people who have gotten me through this year of honest hell. Me and Maisie have been best friends since playgroup; we bonded over our love for digestive biscuits, and how we should be allowed more than one at break times; since then, we've been inseparable. Then along came secondary school and there Hannah was, looking all alone in her smart glasses (as me and Maisie like to call them) and reading Harry Potter: the chamber of secrets. Hannah just fitted in with me and Maisie, she loved digestive biscuits, so, that was a huge plus. But, she wasn't like the other girls in this school, no sugar coating or stepping on eggshells, just realness. So, since that first, frightening day of year seven, we've always had each-others back.

"You look awful, Iz" Hannah voiced

"I know, I know. I slept for two hours an-"

"TWO hours" Maisie exclaimed "Izzy! That's crazy"

"Why don't you just tell your parents?" asked Hannah

"Because... because, after this whole year the last thing they need to be worrying about is my sleeping. I mean when you put it next to all of the other concerns they have, it looks inadequate" I replied.

"Isabelle, you have got to stop making yourself second best. I know this year has been... rough, for your parents, but that doesn't mean they don't care."

This conversation between me and Maisie comes up a lot, she is the worrier of the group, each time I just avoid talking to her about it; I know she's right, but with everything that happened with Bella, and me being part of the reason she's dead, I just can't bring myself to complain to my parents about my sleeping pattern.