A Chaotic Type Of Beautiful (UNDER EDITING)

Chapter 2- Run

"Sorry," I swallow. "For disobeying you, being antisocial, unhelpful and insightful, and having a horrid work ethic and little empathy and commitment to what my Mum is feeling and how hard it must be for her to put the clothes on the radiators without my help."

There's a hint of sarcasm in my words but you can't hear it in my tone alas, my Dad's so incapacitated that he probably thinks that I'm a talking hotdog. I wouldn't be suprised. He probably drank the whole bottle of wine.

"It's Mummy. Don't call her Mum. Or are you so high and mighty, now that you're older? Remember, you're not an adult until you're eighteen." My Dad says something along the lines of this, except less articulate and with more slurring.

I can't wait until I can leave for good - with no legal complications, because I'm pretty sure they won't allow me to leave before 18... It seems too good to be true.

"Darling!" He shouts to my Mum. "Your daughter thinks that she's an adult now and doesn't need to listen to us. But of course it's all my fault!"

My Dad always made out that he was the center of the blame so that my Mum would redirect the blame to someone else (I wonder who...). "No it isn't." I say gently.

"Well, you always say it is. It's always my fault!" He shouts.

"No one said it's your fault!" I exclaim. I was this close to snapping. I doubt he was even hearing what I was saying. "Oh, so it's your fault! Finally! Whoohoo! You own up to it! You're right... It's all... Your... Fault."

I hate how he phrased that. I hate how he twisted my words around. I hate the satisfied smirk he gave as my Mum started shouting at me. "She's so lazy! She hasn't even come here to help me!" She shouts.

"I know! She's a lazy cow isn't she? The arrogant little..." He swears. "Go and help your Mother." Finally, he lets go of my sore wrist and I rush to my Mum, only to find that the work is done. I can't be bothered to be angry, so I just go back upstairs again and hide under my bed covers. I fall asleep to the sound of my parents arguing and complaining about me.
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"Geez, you're quiet aren't you?" The girl sitting next to me asks. "Ghost, right?". I nod - going by the nickname is easier, besides, it sounds kind of cool (which is kind of sad that I think that). Laughing, the girl looks away from me and writes some notes in her book. My parents' taunts and words pound in my head.

Worthless.
Nothing.
Useless.
Mistake.
Cow.
Lazy.
Arrogant.

I take a deep breath. "Miss, may I be excused?" My teacher looks me up and down. My hands are shaking, my palms are sweating and my throat's closing up. Thankfully, she gives me an apologetic look and allows me to leave quietly - not typical of most of my teachers. I used to be the favourite, but now I'm just the quiet girl, who's friendly enough when you talk to her but hardly anyone does.

I walk down the corridor silently and head to the bathroom. I don't bother going in a stall - it's empty anyway, so I just stare into the mirror.

I'm used to not feeling emotions. But every so often, when I do, I have panic attacks. I keep on ruminating and obsessing over everything. I always feel as if I'm going crazy and no one else can see it. I hold so many secrets, that when I overhear new unheard things, horrible pieces of gossip, I feel as if I'm loosing my mind and the whole world seems too bright. It scares me. It really does.

I know too much for my own good.

Worthless.
You're nothing, you're a mistake.
You should go.
No one would notice.
They don't care about you anyway.