Untitled Story

Chapter One

     "Elliot, you need to wake up! You can't keep missing school," my mom shouted through the door. It was locked, and she knew that, but she still jiggled the handle in hopes that it would open. 

     "I know, I'm awake," I said, getting up to unlock the door. It was locked out of fear, not of my parents, but of strangers. I have a decent relationship with my parents, though I do a lot of things that probably annoy them.

     I opened the door to see my mom still standing in front of the entrance. She didn't look too happy, but she wasn't going to tell me that. I greet her with a simple smile, and continue on my way. My home was pretty minimal, as my parents both believed that they should only have things that had a use. Any decoration usually was a photograph or a plant, which left the house feeling barren. I hated that thinking, and hated the way the other parts of the house made me feel, but it was unavoidable. I couldn't move out, as I am both too young and too scared to, so I didn't complain. 

     I got to the bathroom and locked the door, just there to brush the mess of a hairstyle I had. It wasn't anything special, just a dirty blond strip of hair with black, shorter sides. Though I liked the style, it constantly gave me the same lingering thought. 

     "You should cut it off, no one likes it, they'll like you better without it," the voice rings from the back of my head. I looked towards my dads razor, blindly listening to my own anxiety. I grabbed the razor, and began looking for the proper guard. My head felt muddy, my ears were ringing, and nothing felt real. I was numb, and yet I still managed to get the razor ready.

     "Elliot, what are you doing in there, we're going to be late!" I snapped back to reality, tears clouding my vision. Although I felt weak, I quickly tried my best to gather myself so I can leave the bathroom without getting questioned. I sprinted out the bathroom and quickly made my way back to the other side of the house, where my room was. My room was a lot more cluttered, and I probably owned more things than both of my parents combined. I found a pair of pants in my closet and threw those on, forgetting completely about changing out of the shirt I slept in. I grabbed my bag and made my way to back to the main room. I set my bag on the couch, still shaking from my episode. I felt my dad enter the room, and I tried to leave to the kitchen, but he noticed me first.

    "Good morning Elliot, how are you?" my dad said.

    "I'm fine," I said, avoiding facing him. My eyes still burned from nearly crying and I knew he would notice.

    "Quit lying Elliot and just tell me what's wrong for once."

    "I'm fine." I repeat, and hurried into the kitchen. I heard him grumble something, and though I can't hear him clearly, I knew it was about me. I tried not to cry about it while picking out which cereal I wanted to eat. I decided against eating anything, but stayed in the kitchen. I heard my mom talking to my dad, again not loud enough for me to hear exactly what they're saying, but loud enough to hear the tone shift every few words. I hated it, I hated them talking about me, and I hate that they avoid telling me about their concerns. 

    "Are you ready to go yet?" My mom calls from the living room, which was her way of saying we needed to go. I made my way back to the couch to grab my bag, when my dad glares at me. I looked away, shaking a bit harder as I felt like I was bothering him.

     "Bye Dad," I manage to mutter out before heading to the car. Although I can legally drive, my mom doesn't let me drive to school. She says I won't show up to school if I drove myself but I knew that wasn't true. I never acted out because I knew it would make her sad. I got in the passenger side and pray that my mom doesn't lecture me the entire time.

     "Elliot, the school counselor called and said that she'll be meeting with you today," My mom said as she got in the car, "Make sure you actually talk to her today instead of getting pissy when she tries to help." Ever since my first few visits with the school counselor she has had to call my mom so I know when she'll pull me out of class, because any time she forgets to warn me, I end up not showing up. I don't mean to avoid going, but it's almost habit to go to the bathroom when I'm panicking, even though the smell of nicotine hurts my nose.