The Outcast

13- Hate

[ I can so relate to the quote attached. Just sayin... ]

WHEN I WAKE it's two in the afternoon.

I sit up slowly, rubbing the back of my head. Pain rushes through it when my fingers brush over the skin. I must have a bruise there. I hesitantly touch the skin around my eye. I sigh in relief when I realise that the bruise isn't sore anymore.

Wait... It's two on a Tuesday. I should be at school, like, now.

I quickly swing my legs out of bed and stumble over to the doorway. I pull open my bedroom door and poke my head out. Looks like no one's home.

I then hear a loud thump coming from the direction of my parents' bedroom. Well, no one sober is home at least... I walk quietly downstairs, not wanting to disturb anyone. I find a note on the table. I pick it up and read it.

Hi Cass,

You looked sick this morning and you were very tired so I let you sleep.

I hope you feel better soon. There are some painkillers in the bathroom if you need them.

Drink lots of water and there's some food in the fridge for you.

Love Mum xx

Looks like I'm home for what's left of the day. With my drunk or hungover father. Awesome. While some kids would jump on the chance to stay home, I'd seriously rather go to school. Actually, I'd rather no where. My favourite time of the day is after I've gone to bed. When I'm with my phone, wasting the wifi and then I sleep. Where I can pretend nothing's wrong. Where I can put my struggles into words.

Where I can escape the hell hole called reality.

-

I open the fridge and see my lunch, packed neatly into a container. I hold it in my hands, staring at it. My stomach grumbles. I pick out the apple and the protein bar. I empty the rest into the bin. I know it's a waste but I actually feel like throwing up when I see the huge sandwich placed with cheese, ham and other fattening things.

I quickly take the bag out and throw it in the large bin outside, so it's never found. I walk back up to my room. I down the bar and save the apple for later. I pull out my phone and scroll through my Instagram feed.

I pass many posts saying 'love her' or 'hanging with the bestie' etc. I'm seriously starting to loose interest in instagram. Seriously, what's it even for? No one really uses it to keep in touch. They just use it to boast to other people about all the cool stuff they're doing or to see who can the most 'likes' or 'followers'.

Seriously, why are they even called that? We wouldn't go around following people in real life, watching everything they do and liking and commenting on it.

I sigh and turn my phone off. I wonder if anyone has noticed I'm not there.

My head is still slightly sore. I get up and walk towards the bathroom. I pick up the packet of painkillers. There's twenty four of them. I flip the packet over and read the large red writing.

Warning: do not take more than the recommended amount.

I bite my lip. I take out the standard two. I down them and stare at the rest of the packet in my hand. Should I?

I sigh and put the packet back down on the white vanity.

I knew it, the voice jeers, no guts at all.

It's right, of course. I don't have any guts. I couldn't do it if I wanted to. And I'm not sure of I want to or not.

I sigh and walk slowly back to my room. I lie out on my bed. I pick my phone back up.

Really? That's so typical of you. Why don't you actually do this thing called exercise? The voice asks meany, it's words piercing my heart like ice.

Because I'm lazy, unfit and fat. And you know what? I'm not afraid to admit that.

I know a lot of people lie when they say they're ugly and fat but I don't. I speak the truth. I'm not really fat but I'm just sorta chubby. I guess I have puppy fat that I just can't shake. My hair reaches a few inches above my elbow, it's thick, dark and boring. My eyes are just brown, almost black and my eyelashes aren't very long. My skin is sort of tanned but I can still get a nasty sunburn. I'm not special or pretty in any way. I'm just plain old Cassidy.

I plug earphones into my phone and switch on some music. I lie back and stare out the window next to my bed.

'We know full well there's just time. So is it wrong to toss this line.

If your heart was full of love, could you give it up.

Cause what about, what about angels?'

I sigh, letting the music calm me. I love music. I just wish I was good at it because I really don't have the patience or skill to learn.

Why can't I be perfect?

I start scrolling through all the pictures hashtagged to 'perfectgirl'.

I wish I was her, or her, or her, or her, or her.

Why do I have to be me? Why can't I be pretty? Or at least have a semi normal life. No one else I know has to deal with drunk dads, friendships falling apart, a dead mother and stepmother who is always working to try to keep your family afloat.

It's just me who has to deal with this.

Why God, why?

-

When I wake up the next morning, it's fourteen past six. Uh. So early...

I swing my legs out of bed and practically force myself out from under the warm sheets. I stumble sleepily down the stairs and rest my head on the kitchen bench.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

My dad still isn't home. I heard him leave at about ten last night. He argued with mum and then walked out, slamming the door shut. I spent the next hour and a half trying to get a crying Alice to sleep while my exhausted mother went to another shift at her work.

Alice is at day care. She goes there five days a week for around eight or nine hours. She has to, I guess. I kind of feel bad for her. It must be hard being three and not understanding all this.

I wonder how she feels, always being the first there and last to leave.

I sigh and push myself back up to my feet. I finish getting ready for school and walk out the front door, backpack slung over my shoulder. I walk through the sprinkling rain to my bus stop. A few drops fall onto my drooping eyelids, waking me up slightly more.

When the bus finally pulls up to to my stop, I'm wet but not soaked. Seriously, would it kill them to put a freaking roof over the bus shelter?

Obviously it would.

I slide into an empty seat and put in my earphones to let music drown out the constant chatter on the loud, overcrowded bus.

Why is life so repetitive? Always doing the same things every day, a routine.

In the morning, I get up early, get ready for school, Alice is already at day care. I go to school, come home hours later, spend the rest of the afternoon looking after Alice, have dinner, sometimes watch tv, put Alice to bed, go to bed, spend a few hours on my phone in bed, waiting for my dad to head out to drink his life away and then, finally sleep.

I wish I could live by the quote 'don't hate the things about yourself that you can't change' but I can't. Because it's the things I can't change that I hate about myself the most.

-----&&------

AN

Hey guys hope you liked it!

Sorry for the lack of updates...

Please vote, comment and share!

Question: What's your favourite song?

My answer: either Steal my Girl by 1D, any song of Ed Sheeran's or awkward by Sian Ciasco.

Thanks for all the reads, votes and comments on this book!

:)