Frequencies [UNDER HEAVY EDITING]

December 25th - Under editing

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I groaned and smashed the snooze button, nearly hitting my alarm clock to the floor. The seeping realisation that it was Monday crawled in and the fact that I had to go to school made me want to curl up and bury my face in a pillow. Knowing Sophine was already waiting for me downstairs, I got up though and let my feet hit the cold floor.

"Goodmorning." Sophine said cheerfully once she saw me enter the kitchen. "Sit down." She pointed to a chair. Like every Monday morning, I felt a little like I was sitting with a psychologist.

I sat down and she took the bag with equipment from a cupboard. Like she was my mum or something, she stood in front of me, opening the bag and carefully laying out the tools. "Roll up your sleeves." She commanded and I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, Soph, you know I'm not cutting again, it's been months." I winched slightly, remembering the times and the way the blade stung at my skin.

Sophine placed her hands on her hips. "I don't care, roll up your sleeves." I sighed and did as she said, smiling a little as she caringly checked my arms. I looked proudly at the scarred skin, the faded while lines among the slightly tan skin. I wasn't proud of the scars, cutting had never been the answer, but I was proud of the fact that I haven't cut myself in four months.

About a year ago, when my dad was put away, I was barely holding together. I was scarred, hurt, and I hated myself, my body, everyone. But I did hold up. Until seven months ago my mother went on her endless vacation, leaving us two alone, me and Sophine. It quickly went downhill after that. I lost hope and saw no light anymore. Within a month, I was an alcoholic, addicted to drugs, adrenaline and what not, I cut myself and in the end, I was about to commit suicide. And that was when my sister found me.

I was standing on the balcony, tying a rope to the edge, already wearing the other end around my neck. Sophine took the mother role over after that, the role my mom never took. Imagine a fourteen year old girl, acting like a mother to her seventeen messed up sister. I couldn't do that to her. She helped me quit the drugs and throw away the blades, reducing the alcohol to a normal teenager's level. But since I wasn't too happy about her checking up on me every time I was alone, we made a deal. Every Monday morning,  we would wake up 15 minutes earlier and let her take her time to check on me. Like right now.

"When did you take drugs last?" She asked, looking stern. Usually I'd make a little fun of her expression, but this was serious.

"3 Months." I answered proudly and sat silently when she checked my blood with a small device. She nodded in approval.

"Last drink?"

"Yesterday. For god's sake, we opened the Christmas champagne together."

"Right, you have a point," she nodded in understanding. "How many joints or blunts a day?"

I gasped in shock. "Soph, you know I ditched the weed long ago! I only do cigarettes now."

She chuckled evilly, causing me to smile  "I know, I know, but how many cigarettes a day then?"

"Usually just two Soph, really, I'm fine. I don't want to go back to that madness again."

"One last question," She replied softly. I loved her so much for caring about me like this. I honestly didn't know what to do without her. "When was your last fight Becca?"

I groaned and planted my forehead on the tabletop. "Two weeks ago. Look, the fact that I'm trying to leave the gang doesn't mean I have a fight every day. I'm almost out and the fact that Aaron is the leader helps a lot."