What happens when you go suicidal by overdosing on Midol? Your parents get all overprotective...
What happens when you go suicidal by overdosing on Midol? Your parents get all overprotective....I couldn't help the fact that no one at my goddamn school liked me. They still don't. I'm just the emo bitch that walks the halls alone. I have no friends, no job, no car. I freaking 17 and my parents don't let me go out on Friday nights. They never even got me a car. I just sit at home, no phone, no car, no video games, no mangas. I just got to sit at home, with the parental block on my TV. I wasn't allowed to watch movies like Odd Girl Out or even Accused At 17, two of my most favourite movies. It was almost like my parents were afraid I would go suicidal again if I had any friends or any fun. Yeah. They won't let me watch what I want or do what I want, instead they leave me alone every day in a house full of Midol, Ibuprofen, and prescription drugs. Real smart Mom and Dad. Real smart.
"Fallynn Nichelle Foster!" my mom called from the base of the stairs.
"What?" I complained from my room.
"You have school, young lady!" she called.
I groaned and rolled out of bed. I picked out my favourite black skinnies and a skin-tight tee. Quickly, I dressed, brushed my teeth and my short black hair, did my makeup, et cetra. Then, I went back to my room, slipped on my knee-high black All Stars and then put on my favourite tie and my clip-on belt. A clip-on belt, for those of you questioning it, is simply a belt in which you do not clasp together and instead just hook it to your beltloops.
I jumped down the stairs, slipped into my Slipknot hoodie, and slung my bag over my shoulder. Without saying goodbye to my parents, I walked out the door. I always went to school earlier than needed, mostly because I walked instead of riding the bus. I couldn't take the harrassment from the other students. It was just too much...
"Fallynn Foster?" someone asked from behind me.
I turned my head, continuing in my stride, and saw a boy with the same fashion as me. I turned back to watch where I was going and he caught up with me.
"My name is Ezra Patterson," he said. "I'm new, just came to the school last week, but I've heard talk of you."
"Imagine that..." I grumbled, not looking at him.
"They said that your eyes are actually red," he said in awe. I looked at him and he said, "That is so cool!"
"Not for me it's not..." I sighed. "I'm just the suicidal emo bitch that walks alone, so if you want to maintain a rep, I'd suggest a different "bestie" than me."
I ran across the street, ignoring the boy completely, and stepped onto the school parking lot, where I was immediately confronted by the school preps. Another Friday just like every other. It was my weekly beating. I threw my bag on the ground and spread my arms, closing my eyes, and waited for the pain to begin.
"This is becoming a ritual for you, isn't it?" the lead cheerleader snickered.
"Can we just get this over with?" I growled. "Just beat me and let me go to the counselor just like every week so that I can lie and let you guys keep your position at the top of the food chain."
"Wait..." one girl said. "This isn't right. We shouldn't be doing this..."
"Shut up, newbie," the cheerleader growled.
The new girl gasped and sighed and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my ex-best friend, the most recent quarterback, Michael White. He was glaring at his girlfriend.
"And people wonder why she was suicidal..." he growled. "Leave. Now."
I looked at the girls and they nodded and walked off. All except one that I had never seen before. She hesitated and then Penelope (the head cheerleader) called for her and she ran off. I turned and looked at Michael.
"Why didn't you say anything about them?" he demanded.
"Because you, along with everyone else in the entire goddamn school, stopped talking to me after the incident!" I snapped and turned to walk away, but he grabbed my hood and held me back.
"Dammit, Fallynn, why do you do this to yourself?" he asked harshly. "You let them beat you!"
"Did you ever stop to think that I'm waiting for the moment that they can finish what I started?" I snarled, jerked away, and stormed off.
I stepped into my homeroom class and took my seat in the very back, in the darkest corner of the room. I crossed my arms on top of the desk and stared out the window at the cloudy, rainy Washington sky. I knew what I was doing tonight. I was going to a rave while my parents were out. And I wasn't coming back until I was totally freaking sober.