(Canceled) Before I Shatter (FNAF Highschool) (Book 1 of 3)

Chapter 4

===Foxy's POV===
     
      "LEAVE HER ALONE!" I remember myself yelling as I put myself in harm's way. Just to save a thorn in my side. But now... that pain is my friend. Probably the only one I'll ever have in this damned world.
      I'm exhausted. Having to get up every morning just to go to school and slave away for hours isn't really my cup of tea.

      I groan with exhaustion  while staring with glazed eyes at the grey ceiling. Watching all of the cracks, following each with a strange curiosity. My arm lies across my chest, feeling it rise and fall with every one of my breaths gives at least some sense of timing. The soft press of my mattress makes me feel as though I'm sinking.
It's a Saturday. The longest awaited break of my life. A pause from the headache of school, and everyday life in general. Which reminds me. The scene of Springtrap throwing Mangle around. Hurting her. I should've killed him. But my mind wonders from that and onto what Mangle said to me in the aftermath. The absolute sureness in her voice still holding true in my mind.

"I do want something." Mangle said with a kindness in her voice.

"shoot." My words sound cold as they echo.

"I want you to be my friend." The warmth in her voice seemed to pierce through my walls that had been built to resist theses sorts of things. Guess it just wasn't thick enough. She wants to be friends with a loner. Not only that, one that told her to stay as far away as possible. Why? Why trust someone like me? As friends?It just doesn't add up in my mind. I become frustrated and swing myself out of bed.

A black shirt, black pants and my black hoodie are taken out of their usual spaces and thrown into the bathroom while I turn on the shower. Gradually the water heats up, and I prepare myself for a shower. Stopping to stare at my face in the mirror. My empty golden eyes search the reflection, going over every little detail of my face. Noting each and every line. I look thinner today. And my face looks older. Another line appeared underneath my sleep deprived eyes. All those dreams did this. Those damned dreams that haunt my existence every second.
The sound of the running water and the touch of the steam calms me, like the smell of fresh rain falling from a grey blanketed sky. Those are my favorite days, the days that are gloomy and pouring with rain. I remember watching the rain with dad and smelling the specific odor it gave off. We would sit and watch it for hours, sometimes not even saying a word. The sight of the mirror becoming foggy tells me the water is hot enough. I give a heavy sigh and step in.

As soon as I'm done with my shower I start in on making my breakfast, giving more time to think... or go insane. Which ever comes first.I can't tell if she's being smart or completely foolish for trusting me. I'm unpredictable. Dangerous. And she wants to trust me.

The smell of burning bacon snaps me out of my head and pulls me back to the grim present. The house feels dark, quiet and entirely uncomfortable. Like my father's ghost is standing at the back of the darkest corner just watching us. Mostly me. Just staring at the one who survived and couldn't save him. The thought of this is enough to make me shiver, even though I have no belief in the supernatural.

My food goes down with out resistance, and I let out a heavy sigh while leaning my head back and noticing a post-it note hanging off the fridge. Neat scribbles stain the thin piece of paper as it rubs thinly between my fingers.

Need you to go grocery shopping. Already put the money in your account. -Mom

For the first few months after dad died, mom just lounged grimly around the house. Never eating and screaming herself awake at night. It took a toll on her sanity, and mine alike. I too never ate or slept soundly, but I still tried to press on. Tried to keep living my life like he would've wanted me to. It was hard. I had to cook, clean and look after my mom while she sat in her dome of darkness. Children would always talk about their fathers and what they do for work, and grown ups would always try to give their condolences, but I never wanted any of that from anyone. And every time a child would try to comfort me about him.... I wouldn't stop punching till I was pulled off by force or my hands were stained with their metallic, crimson blood. This sent me to therapy for a while... it didn't help. I was always angry and, for me, there was nothing to suppress such demon like anger. Soon I was known all over the school, by both children and adults alike, as the demon child. This is why I prefer to be alone. Not only as a preference, but as protection. Not for me, but for everyone else. The anger never went away, it's just waiting. Biding it's time till I've broke so many times that I finally shatter.