Shed Your Yellow

Pain shot through her arm as she slapped the snooze button of her small alarm clock. She winced heavily, cradling her arm into her chest protectively. She didn't move in fear of irritating the injuries she had gained the night before.

"Charlotte dear, are you ready for school?" A voice called from behind the mahogany door of her bedroom. 'Shit!' she cursed mentally.

"Uh, I'm not feeling too good Mum, I was wondering if I could stay home today?" She lied, biting firmly on her lip. She had no chance, but to stay back from school today and if her mum did not permit her from it now, then she'd have to spend the next few hours out of the house on her own.

"What about your attendance?" Her mum asked; her voice steady and full of genuine concern. Sober, Charlotte decided cursing her luck once more.

"Its not like I've really been off at all this year" There was a silence as her mum considered the reasoning. Finally, she heard footprints padding off along the hall and heading down the stairs. The teen let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding in.

With that much going her way, she clambered gingerly from the bed, gritting her teeth as the bed sheets were pulled away from the bloody legs they'd dried to. She uncurled her fingers looking at the angry pink marks her long fingernails has imprinted on her palms; 'Do I even notice pain anymore?' She mused, quickly answered as the back of her hand smacked up on the extruding corner of the desk. Taking in a deep breath she finally pulled herself to her feet, and padded gently into her en suite bathroom- light on her feet to protect her heavily bruised ankles.

The incandescent lighting of the bathroom seemed to make her injuries look a lot worse, but she knew that was simply her brain taking in the extent of them. She pulled her shirt from over her head and her trousers from her legs, leaving her standing semi-naked in front of the body-length mirror. Normally, she'd be tormenting herself about the band of fat around her lower stomach, but today she didn't even think about it. She pulled her red-hair back into a bun, gaining her access to her neck as well before pulling several bottles and salves from the shelves of the medicine cabinet.

She was almost thankful of her paranoia remembering the reasons that led to her storing the medication in her bathroom; the day she thought her mother had drunkenly overdosed. Truth be told her mother just couldn't find the right box with ibuprofen in it and hadn't cleaned up after herself after emptying the contents of the medicine cabinet out on the kitchen benches, but it was enough to instill the possibility that it could happen into Charlotte's mind and that night she had relocated every bottle, jar and packet- not even leaving plasters and bandages behind.

The water was cold as it splashed against her porcelain skin, but she was thankful for the somewhat more pleasant wake-up than the alarm clock had given less than five minutes ago. After scooping up the water once more and throwing it over her face, she blindly reached for the towel, then patting her face with it.

As usual, she hesitated when pressing the TCP against the grazes on her legs. She was sure the TCP hurt a lot more than getting the actual injury. That being said, Charlotte always stood by her gatherings that smaller abrasions hurt a lot more than breaking bones and punches.

After bandaging herself up -noticeably bolder around her ankles and ribs- she returned to her room and fell into her bed, leaning her head against the wall. The covers were soon pulled around her shoulders and they stayed there until a short lived hour later she was nudged from her half-conscious state by a smash that reverberated eerily around the house.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but all the same her muscles tightened and she threw the quilt off leaving it on the now vacated mattress. She nimbly tip-toed to her bedroom door leaning against it, listening for sound of movement. Waiting for a minute to pass, she decided no-one was on the uppermost floor of the Davies' house and breathed a sigh of relief, creaking the door open. She couldn't see anyone as she peered over the banister and down the spiral staircase, 'Doesn't mean they can't see you' she chided herself, snapping back and breathing deeply.

The stairs groaned as she edged down them, each sound winding her up further. She dismissed the thoughts of embarrassment she foresaw if there was no-one below her after all. She looked around the hallway, ignoring the fact that in her current position left her no cover if someone did emerge from the four doors leading off of the narrow passageway.

Her paranoia taunted her, finally causing her to just snap open the kitchen door; no-one. As was the story in the smaller bathroom and the small cupboard they'd stored coats and boots in, which she opened in three second intervals. She stood nervously outside the lounge door, this was the last door available and if anyone were actually in here, she was utterly fucked.

The door opened slowly, void of the fluid crash that she had previously used and she peered around the door nervously, gasping as she took the sight in before her eyes. The patio doors yanked open towards the back of the house and the furniture and little decoration the typically minimalist room offered were scattered across the room- smashed, torn and broken. She paid little attention to this as she all but flung herself across the room to meet her mother.

She cradled her head in her lap as her eyes shot around the room trying to piece together what had happened, she didn't notice the glass that pierced her skin or the tears that rushed furiously down her cheeks, she barely noticed as she plucked her mothers mobile from the floor and typed in the emergency number, asking for an ambulance.

It took exactly 7 minutes and 49 seconds for the aforementioned emergency services to get to her home and in that time she had decided that they had smashed her mothers head through the glass coffee table and followed on to flee upon hearing her footsteps. 'Whoever they may be'.

The paramedics asked her a few questions as they shifted her mum onto the stretcher they had hauled into the living-room through the front door, but soon took pity on her as they realised she was still in shock and could not answer them. She held the cold hand of her mother as they travelled the distance to the hospital, her hand clamming up with cold sweat.

The journey consisted of her blocking out the arrogant wails of the siren and bouncing around the irrational theories as to what had happened in the house around her head, and as they 7 or so minutes to the hospital passed she noticed they'd become more and more chaotic and unbelievable as the minutes progressed.

The sitting room was undoubtedly the worst, she concluded. Her time in there was spent wondering what purpose such a room stood for- simply to torture the unfortunate few that were enclosed to the rooms, or to keep them from under the feet of the doctors that were on duty, patrolling the halls, as she noticed the amount of people intercepting them to ask questions. 'Both' She nodded viably and then began proposing what they others in the room must think of her, or whether they were questioning her sanity. 'Probably not' she muttered.

She watched, with intrigue that only could accumulate from a visit to the waiting room, as a middle-aged man strode across the room to the coffee machine in the corner, flicking his money into the slot and positioning the cup underneath. She pondered his story, why was here? Daughter? Wife? Perhaps a parent... perhaps more than one although she spared prayers not.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did in moments of high fatigue, stress or duress about more philosophical matters. Why did people pray if there were not a God of some description? Was it an instinct embedded in Humans or a behaviour picked up throughout years of exposure to Religious beliefs? She stopped her train of thoughts as her eyes briefly lingered on the door. Even if there were a God, a Heaven or a Hell, she wouldn't be going to the preferred of the two. Not by the standards of the life she lead.

The red-head glared at the door as if it were the one to attack her mother and she swept her fiery locks from her face, studying her nails. The moan of the waiting room door opened and she part of the overwhelming fraction of those whose gaze shot instantly to it, taking in the timid nurse. The nurse cleared her throat, teasing all of them in the room and Charlotte felt a rush of sympathy for everyone in the room. She glared at the nurse hardly, as her curious eyes shot around the room.

"Charlotte Davies?" The teen stood smiling weakly at all the parents that watched her leave, feeling genuinely bad for them. The ignorant nurse strode away, leaving Charlotte to follow her and once again Charlotte felt a rush of anger towards the fairly short woman. A doctor stood outside the private room that she assumed her mum was in.

"I'll warn you, Miss. You'll need to be gentle with her. it appears there are signs of what we hope to be short term amnesia." Charlotte felt her eyes well up with tears as she put her hand on the door handle.