Highest Fall You'll Ever Grace •a bastille fanfic•

CHΔPTER THREE

I went home to find my mom lying on the couch midlessly flipping through channels on the TV. I rolled my eyes and went inot the kitchen, sighing heavily as I remembered we didn't really have any food.

I opened the fridge. Old yogurt, moldy lettuce, and... a bra? I reached inside and lifted out one of my bras.

"Mom?" I shouted.

"Hm?" I heard her grunt.

"Um... why is one of my bras in the fridge?" I asked. I know I didn't put it in there.

"I don't know, Jessalyn," my mom replied impatiently. "But bring me some food."

I was going to tell her we didn't have any, but handed her the yogurt instead. She took one look at it and set it on the coffee table, resuming her channel surfing.

"How was school?" she said monotonously.

"Lovely," I replied sarcastically.

She glared at me, "Don't give me an attitude."

I sighed and slumped down on a chair. I always complained to her about school but she never did anything about it.

"Mom, can I please switch schools or something? I'm tired of being treated the way I am by everyone there."

She narrowed her eyes at me and flipped through a few more channels before finally setting the remote down. She sat up from the slumped over position she was lying in and looked me in the eyes.

I stared back at her. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, and knowing her she probably hadn't. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, make-up from the previous night was blotted on her face from not being washed off, and she smelled like beer and cigarette smoke.

"Jessalyn, I can't afford to send you to another school, because the school with robot kids that wear nice uniforms and act like little angel children cost money," she said coldly.

"You don't have any money to send me to a nice school because you hardly work and all you do is go out and party and drink!" I was almost shouting.

"I work hard to raise you!" she raised her voice back at me.

I scoffed, "Bullshit!" Anger was burning in my chest. I wanted to hit something.

My mom didn't work hard at all, raising me or otherwise. I practically raised myself. And any money she did have she spent on drinks and probably even drugs.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!" she stood up, towering over me and screaming in my face.

My face was burning hot from all the anger I was feeling. I stood up and walked over the old shelf we had in our living room. It was full of framed photos of me when I was younger and my mom and I before she was the crazy, unstable lady standing before me today.

I swiped my hand across the shelf making all the photos fly off. Glass shattered everywhere. Before my mom could say anything I ran off to my room.

I heard an angry gasp behind me and knew she was probably so angry she couldn't think what to say to me.

I slammed and locked my door and flung myself on my bed. I groaned into my pillow as tears spilled out.

I found myself crying way too often.

I rolled over on my back and caught a glimpse of my arms... all covered in faint little scars. Whenever my mom and I fought like this I always found myself needing to hurt myself even more than I already was. I hated myself for doing that to myself.

And before I even realized what was happening, I had found the box with a few razors under my bed and had one pressed to my skin. I choked out a sob, trying to tell myself to stop abusing my body.

Without thinking, I dug the razor deep into my wrist, blood spilling out onto it and trickling down my arm. I winced at the pain and threw the razor across the room, scared by what I had just done.

I picked up an old tattered shirt from my floor and pressed it onto my cut, trying to get the bleeding to stop.

It hurt and I couldn't breathe. I tried to take deep breaths but it was too hard to. Panic attack.

Tears flew down my face as I heaved my chest in and out, pressing down on my wrist.

The pain eventually started to fade and the bleeding slowed down. I got up and laid on my bed, burying my head in between two pillows and eventually drifting off to sleep.