One Maniac at a Time

School, dreaded school.

A/N

Okay, some of these chapters are going to become a little triggering and it will get more and more triggering.  Please be careful reading I love you guys and hope you stay safe.  Read on!

(don't forget to comment and follow)

2011

Tara's POV

Ashlee and Dad are over, thank god.  There was too much fighting.  Bronx is two, such a cute little guy.  I hear my alarm go off.  It only tells me I need to get ready, I didn't even sleep so no biggy there.  I pull my dark hair back into a top knot.  I look around my gray room, it was a mess, I like it that way.  Dad comes bouncing the halls, but frowns when he sees me awake.

"I was gonna wake you up." He pouts.

"Poor Petey." I stuck my tounge out.  He laughed and went down to make breakfast.  I walked into my bathroom and turned on the scale.  It read 80.45.  Great, more fat.  I had a bad body image, people say I'm perfectly healthy, I don't.  I just see fat.  The worst is the hate I get from my Dad's fans.  He doesn't realize it, oh well.  I pull on a gray v-neck and maroon skinnies and balck converse (high tops of course)  I put on my wrist bands and walk down stairs.  Dad made me chocolate chip pancakes.

"I'm not hungry." I said.

"Are you feeling okay kiddo?" He asked.

"Yeah, fine." I said.  He handed me a banana.

"Eat this at least." I did.  Dad is always over protective.  He worries too much, but at the same time not enough.  We get in the car, Bronx is in the back.  We drive to school is silence.  Bronx is giggling in the back.  Pretty common occurence, what a kid.  Dad drops me off in hell and I make my way down the hallways, earbuds in.  I hated middle school, sixth grade was horrible.  

"Hey, look at the cutter!" I heard someone call, I don't cut, not yet, but I don't.

"Didn't cut too deep last night did wee?" A girl by the name of Bridget cooed.  I flipped her off. I didn't ask for them t harass my everyday life, it just happened.  I ignored her dragging my feet to english, it was only October, I hated school.  I looked around and saw my friend Sophie, she was chill, didn't take bullshit though.  I smiled.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey." She replied.

"Oh, look it's the lesbians, you two gonna go commit suicide together?" Annabel asked, she was a part of Bridget's gang.  I was not lesbian, I have no problems with lesbians, good for them, but it isn't an insult, it shouldn't be used that way anyway.

"No because we aren't suicidal nor lesbian, but you can wish all you want." I told her, she stomped off, what a bitch.  Class started.  We were writing pieces in the style of Sylvia Plath.  She was depressed as fuck, like damn girl.  I wrote and listened to music, same old.  Period ends, onto the next, so boring.  So done in my opinion, but still whatever.  Science, computers, lunch.  Time for lunch, oh joy.

I sat at a table with my friends, we all liked music, hated bitches, and didn't give a fuck. It was great.  I sat drinking some water.  Bridget passed by.

"How's anorexia going?" She giggled.  I ignored them.

"Damn, those bitches fucked up." Molly said, she was tall and had short wavy dark hair.  

"Can we just go and beat them up?!" My friend Lily said in her, 'someone's gonna die' voice.  

"No because then we would be expelled." I pointed out.The day passed on, history, math, health, then art.  Done at last.  So fucking done, I was tired.  Dad picked me up.

"How was school?" He asked.  I grunted.

"So everyone is a troll?" He asked.

"Or a bitch." I muttered.

"Language." He scolded.  I rolled my eyes.  Fall Out boy had been on hiatus, I knew he missed it. He loved it.  Playing, making people smile.  He still talked with the guys, they were all pretty chill.

"Hey, Patrick is coming over Friday." He said.  I nodded.  He gave me a look as we pulled up to the driveway.

"What's wrong?" He asked me.

"Nothing!" I said.

"I thought nothing too, but that's not what happened." He said.  He did not just play that card.

"Dad, I'm not suicidal, I promise." I protested.  

"Fine." He said.

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Pete's POV

I knew something was wrong.  I went into her bathroom and took her scale from her bathroom.  I know that might make it worse, but I don't want her ddfining herself by a number.  Meagan and I had been talking a lot lately, she said Tara was probably fine, but no chances with my baby.  I sat in my bedroom writing songs, I don't know why I bothered these days, but when we did get back together I wanted it perfect.  I heard a scream from Tara's room.

"Daddy!" I came running.

"What's wrong baby?" I asked.

"Where are my Doc Martens?" She demanded.  I shrugged.  She rolled her eyes and continued to dig up clothing until she retrieved them at long last.

"Going somehwere?" I asked.

"No, just felt like it." She smiled.  I looked at her smiling back.  I loved her.  

"So no boys, drugs, alcohol, sex or walks of shame at this party you're sneaking off to." I said.

"It wouldn't be a party then and I can't go anywhere I have homework." She said smiling.  she went and re-aplied her eyeliner.

"So proud my child who puts on eyeliner to do homework." I laughed.

"Style or not at all." She sassed.  

"So what do you want for dinner?" I asked, hse went a little pale.

"Um, I'm still feeling a little sick." She said.  

"Then how about some chicken soup?" I suggested.  

"Okay." She said hesitently.  I knew I needed to talk to her, but how?  I can't just say, 'Are you anorexic?  If so you need to eat anyway.' I know it's more complex than that.  Maybe I'll ask Patrick and the guys, they delt with my depression well.  I went to go warm up the soup.  Bronx was fooling around, he had a mop of blonde hair that made him visble.  

"Hey dad, I'm gonna go grab some more eyeliner and shampoo!" Tara called from the doorway.

"Okay, stay safe!" I called back.  Once she left I called up Patrick and told him we needed to have a meeting with the guys tomorrow.  He agreed.  Tara came back and we sat down to dinner.  She didn't seem very keen to eat.

"See I ate half, can I go get ready for bed now?" She asked.

"Fine." I said.  She went off, I heard running and barfing noises next.  I ran into the bathroom to see her bent over the toilet, tears streaming down her face, her dinner in the the toilet bowl.

"I think I have a stomach bug, I don't feel good." She said. I knew that wasn't what had happened, but agreed to her lie.  She didn't have a tempurature.  That's good.  I just worry about her.