Hey guys, I'm back! I know you think I died but no, I was just busy and too lazy to do anything in my free time. So, here's a new one, loosely based off of my old story, Crack Heads.
Umano
Chapter 1
'Oh God, school starts today.' I think groggily as I slam the beeping contraption on my night stand. I lay in bed a few more moments, enjoying the last bit of warmth before I threw myself into another long, cold day of work.
"Get up! You're gonna be late!" this obnoxious shout was followed by a loud pounding on my door.
I grumbled incoherently and pounded my alarm some more. After I managed to shower and get dressed in an outfit that generally resembled a clean t-shirt and jeans, I joined my mother for breakfast.
"Good Morning!" she said with the extreme perky-ness that she was all too early in the morning for me.
"Morning." I grumbled as I shoved some toast down my throat.
I was brushed the crumbs off my shirt when I noticed Renee eyeing my ensemble. "What?" I asked, mouth still half full of toast.
"Don't you want to wear something nice today?" she asked warily.
"No, why should I?" I shrugged nonchalantly. "People'll get all excited, expecting another great 'Bella Original' only to be let down when I show in this for the rest of the year." I wave my hand in the air near my clothes.
"What if you wear 'Bella Originals' all the time?" she was peeking at me from behind her glass of orange juice, this question was said quieter than the last.
"Do I own a single 'Bella Original'? No." I rebutted shortly.
"We could go shopping, the two of us. I'd buy you a new wardrobe. Would you like that?" she fiddled with her fingers half-knowing the answer, half-hoping I'd changed over-night.
I clasped my hands together like a cheerleader with fake enthusiasm. "OH YES, Mommy-Dearest! I would love to shop all day with you and spend all that money you don't have! It'd be a blast!" I dropped my hand heavily and raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Yippie." I deadpanned as I twirled a finger in an invisible circle.
Renee looked hurt at my spiel. "You don't have to be so mean about it."
I found some grapes and commenced popping them into my mouth. "And what would Phil say? I bet he'd love it, too." I nodded, I thinking back to the banging this morning. "On second thought, let's do it. I'd love to see the look on his face when they ring up hundred dollar jeans."
A brown paper bag was shoved into my hand and a push on my back. "Go to school."
I peeked in the bag and saw a half empty booze bottle and a full pack a cigs. "Wrong sack." I tossed it back to her, displaying my extreme lack of all physical coordination and ended up throwing it at her knee. It bounced off, rebounding off the cabinet corner and shatter on the floor.
I quickly looked up and was met with a death glare. I turned on my heels, grabbed my backpack and high-tailed for the door.
"ISABELLA SWAN! I CAN TELL YOU, PHIL WILL BE HOME EARLY-" I didn't stick around to hear the rest. She might stand there and scream fir another ten minutes then go out and buy more B&Cs, as we like to call them.
The walk to school was brisk, I was putting as much distance between the house and me as possible, knowing no amount of space was enough. It wasn't the house itself that I didn't like; it was the events that took place there.
At school, I slumped down into my homeroom and scanned the people I've known since pre-k.
There's Jessica, head cheerleader and prep extraordinaire. Lauren, Jessica's tag-along puppy and booty call queen. Mike, Jessica's boyfriend, head QB and jerk extreme sits to her right, groping some part of her body at all times. They really were a match made in high hell; they both are athletic and happy and live by the 'Looks before Books.' theory. There's Angela, the quiet girl next to Ben, her man candy, is the student body president and violin protégée. Ben, well, basically is a sweater-vest person. He's professional all the time and destined for Harvard as the third generation of lawyers in his family. In the back, there's Tyler and his cronies hang, milking the last of their high before school starts. There's Eric who sits in front, pen in hand, eager and ready to absorb all and any little tidbit the teacher may with to bestow into his oh-so-geeky head.
As a woman in a pair of black slacks and a grey sweater walks in, presumably the teacher, a sheepish student attempts to sneak into class. He is crouched over, trying to make his tall frame seem less tall. His tousled bronze hair looks like bed head but to the trained eye of a hair dresser's daughter, it was clearly gelled in a very on purpose fashion. He has pale skin that greatly contrasts with the navy blazer he has thrown over his shoulders. His piercing green eyes cut into mine as visual confirmation was made that, yes, he is the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
While we were lost in our world, the rest of the class joined me in staring at him. Some were ogling, some were glaring, but only one was tapping her boorish shoe impatiently.
"I take it that you must be Mr. Cullen." the lady spoke.
"Guilty." he said in a slur that was either the early morning drawl, from which I also suffer from occasionally, or one hell of a sexy accent. Either way, it's all attractive; I think I heard a girl in the back sigh (loudly I might add).
"Well, that makes two things then, take a seat. Tardy is not the way to start off the year." she then proceeded to drone on about something that fell on deaf ears because 'Mr. Cullen' was choosing a seat.
The air thickened as he scanned the room for empty chairs. He seemed to spy one in my general direction and my heart began to palpate over the fact that he (being fresh, incredibly gorgeous, meat) would be in my wing of the classroom, not Jessica's. Because if he went over there he would be sucked in by the glitter, as I was, then suffocated by the fake fluff she considered conversation.
He took a few loopy steps and plopped down in the seat next to me. The teacher talked for the rest of class so I never got to see if his voice is as beautiful as his face.
The rest of the school day passed without a hitch, but I soon realized that the biggest hitch of the day would always be going home.
The short cobblestone path leading to the ornate front door seemed all too short as I tested the handle, open. The foyer and kitchen were both empty but that isn't anything out of the ordinary. The living room is the nucleus if our house, Phil slumps in his worn, faded orange striped armchair. While Renee busies herself at the little coffee table, fiddling with papers or cloth. Walking past the room proved my memory true, minus Phil who hasn't gotten home yet.
I continued on my path to my room and began working on the standard beginning of school homework.
At roughly seven, Phil came home from work. I heard him bang around for something to eat downstairs then yell at Renee about some missing booze. I heard a loud crash and then large work boot stomping up the stairs.
"Oh God." I whispered to myself under my breath. I sat at my desk, staring at the door, knowing he would burst through the doorway and yell and scream and kick me on the ground. I contemplated running and blocking my door but I stopped that idea in it's tracks, knowing that would infuriate Phil even more, despite the fact that he's always mad. As I hear his footsteps get closer, I feel almost impatient because of the adrenaline in my system. I was ready to fight back this time, tonight would be the start of a new Bella, a woman who wasn't afraid to stand up for herself. I heard his step pause at my door and I stand in anticipation, locking eyes with the doorknob. I swallow, the saliva going down my throat sounds like a giant squish in my anticipating ears. I heard a light touch land on the handle and I bend my knees, coiling for the fight. My breath is heavy and loud, my fingers tremble like an addict suffering withdrawal.
What I wasn't expecting was for the hand to be removed from my doorknob and the heavy steps to continue down the hallway. I plop down on the edge of my bed and think about what a stupid idea that would to stand up to Phil. That would end in my blood all over the floor. What made me think I could fight; I can barely connect a high-five, let alone a full on punch. I shake my head at my own idiocy.
I became so engrossed in my thoughts I didn't notice the boots running back down the hall until they burst into my room. My head snapped up and my jaw fell open. The door banged open and the walls shook with vibrations. A dark frame looms by the door, moving in place from foot to foot. He steps slowly and carefully towards me. Just as slowly, he raises what's in his hand; an amber bottle, broken roughly in half glints ominously in the dim lighting is gripped in his fist.
"Do youknow what thisis?" he slurs, waving it in the air while approaching me. "Why did you break it? Was it yours?" he doesn't wait for me to answer; he begins to raise his voice. "I DON'T THINK SO! IT WAS MINE!" he lurches forward, drunk without the extra alcohol.
I whimpered. "It was an accident!"
"NO!" he roared. "YOU were the accident!"
With that he began to swing the bottle wildly. He missed the first few swings, spraying booze around the room like a gentle mist early in the morning. Finally, he came in contact with my leg as I tried to run for the door. I fell and he smashed most of the bottle on my back, sending little shining glass stars across my vision. They landed in my hair and embedded in my hands and forearms. I turned to face him and all the pain hit me at once. It seared and burned and I found breathing very difficult.
"How do you like that, bitch?" he stuck his face near mine, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Does it feel good?" he smashed the bottle over my shoulder and kicked me in the stomach. "Well enjoy it. You deserve it."
He disappeared after conking my head with the mouth of the bottle. My vision blurred and grew dark at the edges. As I lay down to die, I watched the red and blue lights flashing outside through my open window.
Well, what did you guys think? Any suggestions or comments, you know what to do!