He Told Me I Wasn't Fine

Chapter 1-My Story

Chapter 1-My Story

Camille's P.O.V.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm singing, "Everything's gonna be all right. No one, no-"

I reached over the toilet to the sink and hit the off button. How sweet of a lie, my life will never be alright.

Now you may be wondering why I woke up in the bathroom. I sleep here.

My oh so loving family gave me an actual closet for a room. What they don't know is that I added in a secret door that led to a nice bathroom with enough room for a pallet.

However, I never actually slept on a bed or anything. They say I don't deserve anything, and I usually pass out from exhaustion after I cut my worries away with a knife.

Slowly, I stood up from the floor and looked at my appearance. My wavy, golden hair looked like it was ran over by a car and the bags under my eyes proved my sleepless nights. The people I live with don't deserve to be called family.

I was adopted. They divorced, went with my mom, she remarried and left us, I went to my step-father's, then to his third ex wive's family, she sent me to my first dad's cousin, and now their second wife with her husband who was my step-father's, ex wive's third cousin.

Confused yet? So am I.

Well they have one son who just happens to be number one in the school, I will never know what the hell they see in that abusive man-whore. And guess who he releases his anger out on? If you guessed me, you get a gold star and a pat on the back.

Usually the idiot, Emmet, has five friends over. All of them help out Emmet by punching, kicking, and ordering me around. Except for one guy, he's my only friend. His name is Jessie. Jessie has strawberry blonde hair that is quiffed in the front. His eyes are a bright brown that twinkle when he see's food. Not once has he hit me, but all he can do is watch. Sometimes he randomly yells names at me or records so Emmet and his followers don't suspect anything.

Now don't get me wrong, Jessie is smokin hot. But I don't like him that way. Rarely, he'll talk to me. Sometimes he'll help me clean my face's cuts and brusies from the guys. But if he ever tries to push up my sleeves or the legs of my pants, I just walk away. He doesn't need to know some things.

One of these things is that I street fight. Every night I punch my probems out and I lost some weight from that, but not enough. Surprisingly, I still get verbally bullied there. Even though I'm the best, and only girl, I have beaten every single guy besides the number one guy. I've never seen him, and girls say he's sexy. I'm number two, but I want to be number one.

Every day I count down the days till my eighteenth birthday when I will be free to leave this living hell hole, and get a real life. I want to go to college, and have a career. I want that day to be the start of a new life, where I'm a blank slate like a baby.

As I drift out of my thoughts, I pull on some black leggings, a loose, longsleeved, black tee and my maroon vans. I guess that's the color of them. A little red, purple, and brown in one. What am I saying? I don't even know what maroon even looks like! My guardians might hate me, but their rich friends and them have some loose change that fall into the pockets of the couch I vaccume daily. Thank you for the five, hundreds that were so kindly donated to the couch foundation Mr.Kingsly!

Quickly, I brush out my golden hair and let it flow down to my peirced belly button in long waves. I do all the other morning stuff and throw on a black tobogin. The air is starting to cool as the summer ends. Suddenly, I look at the time and start my early morning chores.

After that, I grab all of my school gear and throw my longboard into my backpack. Some of the guys at the fight club took me to one of the pros and showed me cool tricks. I usually practice before fights on the weekends.