The Horrifying Secrets Of A Teenage Girl
The Story Of Polly Keating
I didn't expect my mum to die. She was healthy, didn't smoke, 40 years old.
"It was an accident!" they all said.
But I'm the only one who knew the truth.
The person I loved the most in the world was my mum. I talked to her about everything and anything. She thought me how to straighten the back of my hair, how to wrap a present properly, how to whistle. Mum was beautiful. She had black, curly hair that flickered down to her middle-back, she had eyes as dark as the night, but they shone like the moon. She had dark skin the color of oak wood, and her smile would bring Simon Cowell's dentist to his knees. People knew how close I was to my mum.
Especially Mark.
Mark was my boyfriend. Mum warned me, stay away from him. She had not heard any stories, she just had a feeling. I should of known. Mark was a bad boy. We had this chemistry that would set off a firework. I met him when I was 14. He was my first everything. My first love, my first kiss, my first sex. I was 16 when he broke my virginity. God, I really wasn't ready, but I loved him so fucking much. Mark told me I was beautiful. He said he loved me. Well, if he loved me, why did he cheat on me? At a wild party, I walked in on him and some redheaded girl. Everyone knew she was a slut, and maybe that's why Mark went for her. That girl was like a fucking supermodel, firey red hair, long, lean legs, all 5"10 of her.
I screamed at him to get out of my life. He had betrayed me. He told me, babe, I was drunk. It didn't mean nothing. The bastard. When we were alone later that night, I roared at him and cried like a child. I was so heartbroken. I told him I was leaving him. As I spun to walk away for the last time, he grabbed my arm and pinned me against the alleyway wall. He was slowly crushing my trachea and fear exploded in my body.
"Don't think of leaving me," his whisper was quiet and dangerous.
I spluttered helplessly.
"If you do, I will crush you in the most horrible way possible," his eyes flickered with evil.
He let me go and I stumbled to the ground. I walked a good few feet away from him. I turned and looked him in the eye.
"Mark, I'm leaving you," quick as a flash, I ran, tears streaming down my face.
I was sure he was going to catch me and kill me. But I heard no footsteps. The next day, mum was driving me to school. She was chirpy and upbeat, I was racketing with fear. We didn't see it coming. A car plowed into the front, and mum's head crushed against the steering wheel. My forehead smacked into the c.d. player and I flung back. It was only a split second. I saw his face. Mark. He sat in the car that was killing my mother. His eyes were in a mad, blood-thirsty frenzy. His lip and eye were cut. All of this was happening in slow motion. He looked at me with an expression that I could not understand. The last thing I saw was him mouthing, 'I told you so'.
Blackness. I woke up in the hospital two days later. Mum was dead. All I felt was hatred and revenge. I could not let him get away with this. The next few weeks were pure agony. I could not think. I could not speak. I had lost the most important person in the world to me. One day, it took over, and I made a plan. I knew his exact route to football practice, Friday 5:30. I revved my engine and the steering wheel was slippery under my sweaty hands. The car sat in the driveway of some house I did not care about. Did I care about anything anymore? I tilted my head and saw his new car speeding over. I closed my eyes. I pressed onto the accelerator and the car burst onto the road with a mighty roar. They collided as quick as a lightning flash.
This time, Me and Mark didn't wake up.
"It was an accident!" they all said.
But I'm the only one who knew the truth.
The person I loved the most in the world was my mum. I talked to her about everything and anything. She thought me how to straighten the back of my hair, how to wrap a present properly, how to whistle. Mum was beautiful. She had black, curly hair that flickered down to her middle-back, she had eyes as dark as the night, but they shone like the moon. She had dark skin the color of oak wood, and her smile would bring Simon Cowell's dentist to his knees. People knew how close I was to my mum.
Especially Mark.
Mark was my boyfriend. Mum warned me, stay away from him. She had not heard any stories, she just had a feeling. I should of known. Mark was a bad boy. We had this chemistry that would set off a firework. I met him when I was 14. He was my first everything. My first love, my first kiss, my first sex. I was 16 when he broke my virginity. God, I really wasn't ready, but I loved him so fucking much. Mark told me I was beautiful. He said he loved me. Well, if he loved me, why did he cheat on me? At a wild party, I walked in on him and some redheaded girl. Everyone knew she was a slut, and maybe that's why Mark went for her. That girl was like a fucking supermodel, firey red hair, long, lean legs, all 5"10 of her.
I screamed at him to get out of my life. He had betrayed me. He told me, babe, I was drunk. It didn't mean nothing. The bastard. When we were alone later that night, I roared at him and cried like a child. I was so heartbroken. I told him I was leaving him. As I spun to walk away for the last time, he grabbed my arm and pinned me against the alleyway wall. He was slowly crushing my trachea and fear exploded in my body.
"Don't think of leaving me," his whisper was quiet and dangerous.
I spluttered helplessly.
"If you do, I will crush you in the most horrible way possible," his eyes flickered with evil.
He let me go and I stumbled to the ground. I walked a good few feet away from him. I turned and looked him in the eye.
"Mark, I'm leaving you," quick as a flash, I ran, tears streaming down my face.
I was sure he was going to catch me and kill me. But I heard no footsteps. The next day, mum was driving me to school. She was chirpy and upbeat, I was racketing with fear. We didn't see it coming. A car plowed into the front, and mum's head crushed against the steering wheel. My forehead smacked into the c.d. player and I flung back. It was only a split second. I saw his face. Mark. He sat in the car that was killing my mother. His eyes were in a mad, blood-thirsty frenzy. His lip and eye were cut. All of this was happening in slow motion. He looked at me with an expression that I could not understand. The last thing I saw was him mouthing, 'I told you so'.
Blackness. I woke up in the hospital two days later. Mum was dead. All I felt was hatred and revenge. I could not let him get away with this. The next few weeks were pure agony. I could not think. I could not speak. I had lost the most important person in the world to me. One day, it took over, and I made a plan. I knew his exact route to football practice, Friday 5:30. I revved my engine and the steering wheel was slippery under my sweaty hands. The car sat in the driveway of some house I did not care about. Did I care about anything anymore? I tilted my head and saw his new car speeding over. I closed my eyes. I pressed onto the accelerator and the car burst onto the road with a mighty roar. They collided as quick as a lightning flash.
This time, Me and Mark didn't wake up.