I continued to sit there, shocked. Luke Hemmings, my childhood best friend, just came and complimented me? The person who made the whole school turn their backs on me, including my best friends? I sat there, dazed. Suddenly the bell rang, making me jump back to my senses. I quickly placed the guitar neatly in the store room, and ran off to my first class.
School was always the same. Me getting picked on in all classes by both students and teachers, me trying my hardest to not cry, and running to safety at the music room during breaks before I got beaten up by the other students. It wasn’t easy getting through the day, but somehow I’ve managed it for the past 4 years. I’m not saying it doesn’t affect me, because it does. And you would think that I would’ve looked forward to going home every day, but that’s not how it is at all. Instead, I dread going home.
It all started when I was 10. It was a hot summer’s day, and I was whining to my mum about how I wanted ice cream so badly. Mum listened, and went out to buy me my ice cream. I eagerly waited for her to come home, waiting by the front door, waiting for the doorbell to ring. What I didn’t know was that the doorbell would never be rung. Not now, not later on in the day, not ever. I didn’t know that was the last time I would ever see my mum. After waiting by the door for hours, the phone started to ring. I slowly made my way to the phone and picked it up.
“He-hello? Natasha speaking,” I stuttered. I never liked talking on the phone.
What I heard next changed my life forever. Turns out Mum was involved in a car crash, and didn’t survive it. Dad was crushed when he heard the news. For the next few days we stayed in our rooms, not going out for food or anything. Just lying in bed, trying to make sense of what just happened to Mum.
About a week after Mum’s death, dad finally left the house. He left at 9pm and came back at 3 in the morning, drunk. He blamed me for Mum’s death, saying it was all my fault, that everything was my fault, and that I was better off dead than alive. I believed him, and I always have, always will. Dad abused me from then on, physically and mentally. I didn’t go to school, and I just stayed in my room, crying. I started to become suicidal and depressed, and started to cut myself. But If I were asked to make a list on why I was still alive, I would only have two words on it;
Luke was there for me during this time. Straight after school he would come over and keep me company. He’d give me food and attempt to make me smile. I told him everything, thinking that I could trust him, since we had been best friends since birth.
After a month of me skipping school, I eventually got enough strength to leave the house and go to school again. I slowly started to get better, even though my father continued to hurt me every day. No one knew about my mother’s death, or my father’s behaviour towards me. Luke was the only person who knew, and I trusted him.
Years passed by and suddenly we were starting high school. Luke got himself a girlfriend, and I was happy for him. His girlfriend hated me though, and I still don’t know why. Maybe she was jealous of how close Luke and I was. I don’t know. She treated me horribly, making fun of my flaws, always making fun of me. I usually laughed it off, not telling Luke about any of this. If she made him happy, then why should I interfere with them?
But one day, I guess his girlfriend had had enough of me. She told Luke that I had been hitting her, making rude remarks about her for ages now. Luke was enraged. He screamed at me, telling me that I was worthless and stupid, that I was better off dead than alive. He then told the whole school my secret. That my mother was dead and I got abused by my dad. He also told everyone I was depressed and suicidal. Everyone made fun of me, teased me, called me names. Even my friends turned their backs on me.
I endured everyone teasing me for a whole term. But one day, I got beaten up during lunch, and I guess that’s when I had enough. I always kept a bottle of pills in my pocket, and I guess I thought that was the day to end my life there and then. I went into the toilets and started taking the pills. Suddenly I heard the door open, and in came Mrs. Jones.
I thought she was going to ignore me, since that was what all the students and teachers would’ve done at that time. But instead, she came and took the pills away, and carried me towards her car. She drove me to the hospital to make sure that I would be fine. The doctors said that I’d live and that I was fine. Though Of course, I wasn’t emotionally fine.
I sighed, trying to make sense of what my maths teacher was saying. School use to be so easy for me, now everything’s just so difficult. I put my head down and tuned out, slowly going to sleep.