Stories Of A Selfharmer
I
xxmeliridesrainbowponiesxx
*Cameron's POV*
"Mom, I just really don't want to go to a new school," I whined as I placed the milk back in the fridge and slammed the door. She glared at me.
"I don't care. I understand this is a big move for you, but there's nothing we can do about it. Now, eat your cereal before you're late," she ordered me.
"We move too much. I'm getting sick of this shìt," I yelled as I threw my backpack with all of my new supplies over my shoulder and stormed out of the door to my bus stop.
Waiting at the bus stop. I was running my fingers through my tangled-overly-curly-bleach-blonde-bedhead hair to try to pick our some remaining knots. A boy with slightly-too-long hair and a grey Neff© hat walked up to the bus. He has some cheap drug-store earbuds plugged into the scratched up iPod touch he was clenching in his boney hands. I tried everything not to make eyecontact. I was waiting for what felt like forever swaying from my heels to the tips of my toes. I started counting the fading stars in the sky, it was too early to go to school; If I still lived in the UK then I'd still be asleep. I really hated America. People were rude, and had no class. My mother thought Detroit would be a good move for me. I'd rather be in some teen youth group home orphanage.
The bus finally arrived, this was the first stop, so the boy and I were the only ones on at the time. I sat in the first seat closest to the door. It felt weird for the driver to be on the wrong side of the car. The boy trudged himself along to the back of the bus and slumped down in the very back seat. I sat up straight and brushed my silky pastel pink skirt down and adjusted the bracelts on my wrists, hiding what I had been trying to hide for months now: my scars.
See, the thing you don't know about me is that I used to self harm... a lot. It all started when I was 12. I had witnessed the scariest thing ever...my father pulling a trigger on himself.
*Joshua's POV*
I sat in the back of the bus like every other year. New school year, same slores (you can figure that word out for yourself), same jocks, same preps, and same me. Same invisible me. This girl moved in down the street from me where Tarah used to live. She seems like a slore too. My dad met her mother. They apparently moved from the UK so her daughter can start a new better life and maybe get into Harvard or some other bullshìt school like that.I don't get why anybody would move to Michigan, and then send their kid to Chippewa Community Schools to try to get them into some preppy school.
I was basically thrown onto the floor when the bus slammed to a stop at the railroad and to the next bus stop. Girls wearing too-small yoga pants with ugg boots and guys wearing their Northfaces unzipped just enough to show their Hollister shirts climbed abord the bus at took their seats, being the loud and obnoxious twâts they are.
"What's up fâg?" a voice called as I was hit in the head with a wadd of paper. Of course. Matthew Spinks. We were bestfriends in elementary school. Then middle school came, and I came out. Ever since then, he's done nothing but picked on me. This is my senior year. 6 years of torture from somebody you cared about so much can do so much damage to you.
**Please comment how you guys liked it, and if I should keep going? :D Thanks, lovelies.
XxMeliRidesRainbowPoniesxX