Broken Home

2

I wandered off to my bedroom, which was just a bare room with clothes spread all over the floor, and my guitar. My football bag was also piled on top of the mound of clothes that was slowly building higher and higher. I had a job when I was 15 to pay for all of my things because our money situation wasn't great. That was all until I was drunk on the job, which was a couple of years ago now. I was in Sixth Form College but I still called it school. Mum works full time at the local bakery, whereas dad didn't work at all. I got dressed out of my blood stained school shirt and into a clean blue one and black trousers. I pulled my beanie over my hair, which was damp with sweat from my physical encounter with dad. I reached over to collect my gig bag and climbed out off the window. Our house was opposite Paddington Station, and that's where I headed. I set up my chair from my bag a little left from the bustling queue behind the counter of McDonalds. I had a small amp which I plugged into my guitar and placed it on its stand. The microphone and its stand took almost double the amount of time but the end result is always worth it. I left the gig bag open in front of where I was playing, indicating that I was busking. I play covers of current top hits and at the moment, the most listened-to band was One Direction. One Direction had a Harry, Harry Styles, and people asked me for photos because I look like him. Same brown curls. Same emerald eyes. Same charm. Their latest single was 'Little Things' and because it was trending on every radio station, that was what I started with. Slowly, I started to gather a crowd, mostly of girls, and people where dropping pounds and fivers left, right and centre. A couple of people requested songs, but this one girl wrote a note and left it in my hand that was written on the back of her McDonald's receipt that all she wants for Christmas was me, and her phone number. The last song I played was an acoustic version of 'One Thing' which made the whole population of the train station scream. After I strummed the last chord, I pulled out my phone and realised, while I was so caught up in the love I had for music, I was out several hours later than I intended to be. While I lifted my gaze up from the screen, I noticed that most places had closed up for the night like WH Smith and the information centre. Packing up was the most time consuming thing but I loved being able to count the money that I had made up. I earned £51.75p, which was enough for a beer. I am not an underage alcoholic, but I am an underage drinker. I decided against the urge, because I didn't want to turn out like dad did. I ended up spending £7 at Maccas, which paid for a Big Mac meal and a McFlurry. While I walked home in the rain, all I could think about was this girl.

I was soon at home, and climbing back through my window to hear mum snoring in her room down the hall, fast asleep. I had a fast but quiet shower, and the water made all of my cuts sting. Then I settled into my own room for the night. I decided to call the girl who had taken up so much of my concentration only to be taken through to her voicemail. She had an adorable Irish accent and a beautiful name. Amy. I googled her name on my phone and she was head of her form in her extremly academic college, Paddington College, which was only opposite from mine. I sent a message to her number, a very simple and uncomplicated hey before drifting off to sleep.

Mum was shaking me violently to wake me up the next morning telling me to get ready. I seemed to recall my phone vibrating several times, and I was right. Amy had messaged me twice, asking if I wanted to meet up with her on Saturday. I felt anxious. This was a random girl who I didn't know but something inside of me told me I wanted to. I didn't reply right away but when I did, it wasn't a very convincing maybe, but I started a conversation up about her. It was Friday, which meant school PE uniform or my football shirt. I slipped my white PE shirt over my head and fastened my buttons while walking down the corridor into the kitchen, trying to find my school shorts and socks.

"Lazy bones, you can't even get dressed," mum said throwing the rest of my uniform at me.

"Thanks," I mumbled back at her, turning to walk back to my room to pull on my black shorts and my white socks. While I was in my room, I grabbed my bag and stuffed my phone and earphones into my short pocket. I was in the kitchen rummaging around all of the cupboards and draws trying to find some contents that I could use for my breakfast. Eventually, I found some spinach and complemented it with almond milk, kiwi fruit and yoghurt in placed it in the blender. Mum walked in behind me and ruffled my curls, wearing her bakery shirt and black leggings. The swelling on her face had reduced slightly but she still looked a mess.