■ safe at home ■

(one)

Saraha-Jezzibelle's POV

"Saraha-Jezzibelle Wolfeschlegeldorff!" my mother screams from downstairs. "Get up!" I roll over and groan, catching a glimpse at the clock. It's 9:30, which is at least two hours too early to be up on a Saturday. Ew.

"SAHARA-JEZZIBELLE!" Mom screams again. That's it! I can't take it anymore!

"SHUT UP!" I yell, and before I can even blink, my mother bursts open the door and pins me down on the bed, hands wrapped around my neck. I shriek as she throttles me against the mattress, her fingers digging into my throat. Black spots dot my vision, and I struggle to escape. This is my life everyday.

Hi, my name is Sahara-Jezzibelle Wolfeschlegeldorff. Ya, I know my last name is long. You don't have to point that out to me. My mother is abusive, and my father is dead. He died in 2010 when I was only ten. Life has been literal H*LL since then.

"I said," my mother growls through her teeth. "Get up. Valentina is here!" Despite the fact she has her hands around my neck and is suffocating me to death, I smile. Valentina is my best friend, and she is perfect in every way I am not. She's short and curvy but not fat, with long naturally red hair that she braids on either side of her head. She is a real life Princess Anna of Arendelle, except even prettier! I suppose I'm her Elsa. I'm tall and blonde and very thin, yet toned from years of gymnastics. I have emerald eyes that sparkle when I smile and straight white teeth. I am not pretty at all, or at least I don't see it. All I see are my imperfections, and my mom constantly pointing them out me doesn't help at all! 

Mom stops murdering me with her bare hands and gets off of the bed. She adjusts her skirt and smiles pleasantly. She is such a liar. Everyone loves her. She won Miss America when she was eighteen, so tricking people into liking her comes naturally. Gross, right?

I stand up, stripping off my pyjamas and sighing as I touch the bruise developping in my shoulder. Damn it, I had just healed! I put on my favourite crop top, one that says 'UNCERTAINTY' in pretty letters. I designed it myself. I put on my tribal print leggings and Uggs® and throw my hair up into a messy bun. I head over to my dresser to put on makeup, but my sunkissed poreless skin is already looking decent today, so I skip it and head downstairs instead. 

Valentina is wearing her favourite tall leather boots and red miniskirt, denim jacket slung over her shoulders.

"Morning, babe," she says, kissing me in a friendly way. "Here's your Starbucks."

"God bless!" I say, taking the steaming venti skinny mocha capuccino with skim milk and a shot of vanilla flavouring. The warm coffee soothes my aching oesophagus. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick you up because..." she pauses dramatically. "WE'RE GOING TO A CONCERT!!" She grins expectantly.

I groan. "I don't want to."

"You have to," Valentina pouts. "You don't even know WHOSE concert!"

"It's Panicville, isn't it?" I exhale sadly. She's obsessed with those guys, but I don't like them. I've never listened to them, but I know I wouldn't like them. They're too happy. I only listen to sad emo music.

"PanicLAND," she shouts with exasperation. "And yes, but they're really good! Please come, you're my BFF!"

I think about it for a minute, then finally give in. "Fine, I'll come with you to see this damn Anxietyland band."

She jumps up and down excitedly, kissing me again. "YES! I'M SO EXCITED!! LET'S GO GET READY!"

We head up to my room and get changed. I put on a strapless white sundress and platform sandals, strewing my favourite blue cardigan over my exposed and bruised shoulders. I have to hide those. I do my make up, winging my eyeliner like an expert and putting on my favourite NARS® lipstick in "Honolulu Honey®" from Sephora®. I quickly give myself a French manicure as Valentina throws on my black jeans and sparkly halter top. I stare jealously at her shoulders.

Finally, after we've curled our hair and made ourselves extra cute, we're ready to go!

TBC