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.
0
reply
just_fly · 1 decade ago
0
reply
keep going!!!