Don't Speak

Chapter one

Chapter One

Five months later

When mum shouts my name, I know today is going to be one of those days. The morning sun leaks through the blinds with a streak of dust floating in the light. I groan at the sight of it, pulling the blanket over my face and wishing I never had to wake.

“Ella! You’re going to be late for school!”

Mum’s voice grinds through my ears and I kick the covers back. “I’m awake!”

Lazily getting to my feet and pulling my nighty off, I kick the clothes that are sprawled on the bedroom floor until I find my uniform. I slip into the short, navy skirt, throw on the light blue polo shirt and shove my jumper on.

Once in the bathroom, I apply foundation that’s two shades darker than my pale skin before taking a black eye pencil. The longer I look at myself, the faster my hand moves, making my eyes water as I vigorously colour the lining around them.

“Ella!”

Oh my, God, just shut up.

“I’m coming!” I yell, launching the eyeliner at the glass. Letting go of a breath, I tip my head back and shake my hands by my side, telling myself to calm down.

Mum’s sitting on the sofa as I head into the living room. Her bobbed blonde hair is immaculate and straightening into place, as always. She wears little makeup, just mascara and pink gloss covering her thin lips. But the façade doesn’t fool me. I know she’ll break down, like she does every night.

“You really need to start going to sleep earlier. I’m sick of doing this with you every day,” she says, taking a cigarette and lighting it.

Maybe I would go to sleep earlier if I could. But it’s not that easy. Nothing is ever that easy.

I traipse through the open plan living space into the kitchen, grabbing my black shoulder bag from the dining table and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Why do you keep wearing your jumper? It’s bloody roasting outside.”

I step into my trainers. Her lips crease as she squeezes her mouth around the cigarette, sucking in the smoke then blowing it out. “Have you got your keys? I’m working till six.”

I tell her yes and open the back door.

“Ella, you haven’t had any breakfa-” she starts, but I slam the door, lighting a cigarette as I hurry down the driveway. Mum was right; it’s another stifling day, I feel like I’ve just walked into an oven.

As I inhale on the cig, mentally shouting at the cawing crows to shut up, I really do wish I could take this damn jumper off.

Later that day, it’s back to the usual spot – the ‘Dog Beach’. The smell of seaweed, the call of seagulls and the calm water washing over the sand is all that surrounds me. This place helps me see beauty in the otherwise bleak world – it’s the only place that makes it easier to breath. My knees are hugged into my chest as I gaze at the crystal water being sucked in and lazily rolled back to shore.

It funny, really, that even though I’m sitting firmly on the sand, I feel like I’m falling, slowly, into a black hole with no hope of escape. All I can do it pray for the day I hit the bottom.

A woman walks past, throwing a Frisbee for her dog. She looks my way and smiles. I bow my head, wondering what the hell she’s looking at.

She thinks I’m ugly, a loner, sitting on this beach alone. That poor girl mustn’t have any friends. I bet that’s what she’s thinking. Oh, shut up!