Status: Active c:
Bad Girls Club
A Withered Past, And A Blurry Future.
My groan sounded through the classroom when I glanced up at the clock on the wall.
"Is my lesson boring you, Mika?" Mrs Alford asked, staring straight at me.
"Of course not," I mumbled, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee but never letting my eyes leave hers.
Finally, she averted her gaze, making me snort quietly. Teachers are pussies. They are cowards who take advantage of their authority. I only met two genuine teachers in all 13 years of my education. Those were my Nursery, and year 9 History teacher. Now sixteen and in year 12, I liked most of my tutors. Apart from this woman. At least she only took me for Religious Education. Which was compulsory in this college, unfortunately. I loved it though. I could finally study what I like. Psychology, History, Classic Civilizations, Creative Writing and Law.
Having gotten 9 A*s (English Language, English Literature, Maths, Biology, Chemistry, German, Music, History and Japanese), 2 As (A Level Law and R.E), 2 Bs (P.E and Physics) and 1 C (French) in my GCSEs, the college was more than willing to offer me five subjects for my A-levels. French had never been my best subject. I hated it with a passion and put no effort into it. Up until this day I have no clue whatsoever how I passed it.
14 GCSEs, all good grades, ensured my place in this college, and if all went well over the next two years, Oxford or Cambridge University. But that was my parents' dream. I wasn't sure yet. Sure, university sounded cool, but I didn't want a job like my parents; a Lawyer and a Banker. I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do.
I had always wanted to be a tattoo artist, but I stopped drawing completely last summer. He had always encouraged me and always got me to draw all his tattoo and CD cover designs. But when he left, I couldn't anymore. It wasn't only his fault. It was my parents' and mine. They forbade me from seeing him and completely forced me to change myself. But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't complain. I bit my tongue, cut my hair how they wanted it, wore the clothes they wanted me to, did what they wanted me to do, until recently. Three months, to be exact. It was now November. 24th November. Three months and two days ago, they returned my make-up, my lighter, my piercings, my clothes, my drawer of hair dye, my ipod, my books, unblocked my laptop, started giving me my allowance again. I could finally go out every weekend, not once every two months. That was what tore him and myself apart. Barely any contact.
I got a tattoo done when I was fifteen and a half, the summer of 1999. They took everything away. The tattoo was enough, but when they discovered I had lost my virginity to a man seven years older than me and had taken MDMA, LSD and smoked weed regularly, they snapped. They were good parents, I won't deny that. My actions just pushed them over the edge. They had warned me time and time again. They already let me do enough, I was the only one with a nice allowance, with the latest curfew. I was always a good student and a good kid, so my parents didn't mind me drinking. They said it was alright to experiment, but not to my extent.
I honestly don't know where it all went out of hand. He didn't make me do anything, he only gave me drugs once in a while when I wanted some. Otherwise, I got it myself. He tried to discourage me, but I didn't think I was getting that bad. He went with me to get my tattoo done;
"Hello there, the angel from my nightmare." in cursive on my wrist, with gorgeous pastel rainbow wings on either side of the line. Dedicated to him, of course. I was stupid. I thought it would last. But he still mattered to me more than anyone or anything, so I didn't regret it.
Soon enough, the bell signaling my freedom sounded. Carelessly, I shoved my pencil case into my bag and rushed out, keen to get home quickly. It was freezing, and my earphones had broken just this morning. Sucks, right?
I walked briskly before realising my mum's car was parked in the parking lot. I rushed over and opened the passenger side.
"Your dad and I want to talk to you." My mum said in a business-like tone when I hopped into her car.
Uh-oh. This couldn't be good.
"What about?" I asked, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.
***
I have never thrown a tantrum in my life. Ever. Despite what you may hear about rich kids in movies and whatnot. Never since I was in nappies, have I thrown a tantrum. Not until that very cold Friday 24th November 2000.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I had shrieked, tears rolling down my face. "ALL THOSE YEARS OF WORK FOR NOTHING! WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER CHANGING FOR YOU?! WHY DID I GIVE UP EVERYTHING I HAD, JUST TO PLEASE YOU?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! AMERICA?! LAS FUCKING VEGAS? YOU'RE REAL CLEVER, YOU KNOW?! YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN FROM BRIGHTON, TOKYO AND MANCHESTER! AND YOU CHOOSE A COUNTRY WITH A SHITTY EDUCATION SYSTEM AND OVER 2000 MILES AWAY! EVEN TOKYO WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER, AT LEAST THEY HAVE AN INTERESTING CULTURE, A GOOD EDUCATION SYSTEM AND WE HAVE FAMILY THERE!"
Did I mentioned I had never cussed at my parents before, either? I guess I deserved it when my mother grabbed my shoulders, her manicured nails digging deep into my skin, and shook me so hard that I felt as if my head and neck were made out of cotton candy.
I sat there and cried after apologising. I hadn't cried in front of them since my big brother Vincent had died when I was fourteen, a few days away from my fifteenth. That's when I went crazy.
Later that night, dad took us out to dinner to the expensive Japanese restaurant in central London, about 25 minutes drive from our home in Chelsea, in traffic.
I knew they were trying to make me feel better, so I shut my mouth and tried to think of the positive aspects of moving to Las Vegas. And I couldn't pretend I still felt foul when dad ordered us a sushi boat each, with a small bowl if chicken ramen noodles and two bottles of Soju. Poor mum had driving duty today, so she couldn't drink any.
"Itadakimasu!" We all said with smiles when Itamae handed us the food he had prepared in front of us.
"So, when are we moving?" I asked with a defeated sigh after my third round of Soju.
"When the school term finishes." Dad told me. He always switches to Japanese whilst tipsy.
"When exactly?"
"8th December, 15:30. So you have exactly two weeks to say your goodbyes, Mika."
I nodded and went back to my sushi.
"Is my lesson boring you, Mika?" Mrs Alford asked, staring straight at me.
"Of course not," I mumbled, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee but never letting my eyes leave hers.
Finally, she averted her gaze, making me snort quietly. Teachers are pussies. They are cowards who take advantage of their authority. I only met two genuine teachers in all 13 years of my education. Those were my Nursery, and year 9 History teacher. Now sixteen and in year 12, I liked most of my tutors. Apart from this woman. At least she only took me for Religious Education. Which was compulsory in this college, unfortunately. I loved it though. I could finally study what I like. Psychology, History, Classic Civilizations, Creative Writing and Law.
Having gotten 9 A*s (English Language, English Literature, Maths, Biology, Chemistry, German, Music, History and Japanese), 2 As (A Level Law and R.E), 2 Bs (P.E and Physics) and 1 C (French) in my GCSEs, the college was more than willing to offer me five subjects for my A-levels. French had never been my best subject. I hated it with a passion and put no effort into it. Up until this day I have no clue whatsoever how I passed it.
14 GCSEs, all good grades, ensured my place in this college, and if all went well over the next two years, Oxford or Cambridge University. But that was my parents' dream. I wasn't sure yet. Sure, university sounded cool, but I didn't want a job like my parents; a Lawyer and a Banker. I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do.
I had always wanted to be a tattoo artist, but I stopped drawing completely last summer. He had always encouraged me and always got me to draw all his tattoo and CD cover designs. But when he left, I couldn't anymore. It wasn't only his fault. It was my parents' and mine. They forbade me from seeing him and completely forced me to change myself. But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't complain. I bit my tongue, cut my hair how they wanted it, wore the clothes they wanted me to, did what they wanted me to do, until recently. Three months, to be exact. It was now November. 24th November. Three months and two days ago, they returned my make-up, my lighter, my piercings, my clothes, my drawer of hair dye, my ipod, my books, unblocked my laptop, started giving me my allowance again. I could finally go out every weekend, not once every two months. That was what tore him and myself apart. Barely any contact.
I got a tattoo done when I was fifteen and a half, the summer of 1999. They took everything away. The tattoo was enough, but when they discovered I had lost my virginity to a man seven years older than me and had taken MDMA, LSD and smoked weed regularly, they snapped. They were good parents, I won't deny that. My actions just pushed them over the edge. They had warned me time and time again. They already let me do enough, I was the only one with a nice allowance, with the latest curfew. I was always a good student and a good kid, so my parents didn't mind me drinking. They said it was alright to experiment, but not to my extent.
I honestly don't know where it all went out of hand. He didn't make me do anything, he only gave me drugs once in a while when I wanted some. Otherwise, I got it myself. He tried to discourage me, but I didn't think I was getting that bad. He went with me to get my tattoo done;
"Hello there, the angel from my nightmare." in cursive on my wrist, with gorgeous pastel rainbow wings on either side of the line. Dedicated to him, of course. I was stupid. I thought it would last. But he still mattered to me more than anyone or anything, so I didn't regret it.
Soon enough, the bell signaling my freedom sounded. Carelessly, I shoved my pencil case into my bag and rushed out, keen to get home quickly. It was freezing, and my earphones had broken just this morning. Sucks, right?
I walked briskly before realising my mum's car was parked in the parking lot. I rushed over and opened the passenger side.
"Your dad and I want to talk to you." My mum said in a business-like tone when I hopped into her car.
Uh-oh. This couldn't be good.
"What about?" I asked, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.
***
I have never thrown a tantrum in my life. Ever. Despite what you may hear about rich kids in movies and whatnot. Never since I was in nappies, have I thrown a tantrum. Not until that very cold Friday 24th November 2000.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I had shrieked, tears rolling down my face. "ALL THOSE YEARS OF WORK FOR NOTHING! WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER CHANGING FOR YOU?! WHY DID I GIVE UP EVERYTHING I HAD, JUST TO PLEASE YOU?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! AMERICA?! LAS FUCKING VEGAS? YOU'RE REAL CLEVER, YOU KNOW?! YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN FROM BRIGHTON, TOKYO AND MANCHESTER! AND YOU CHOOSE A COUNTRY WITH A SHITTY EDUCATION SYSTEM AND OVER 2000 MILES AWAY! EVEN TOKYO WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER, AT LEAST THEY HAVE AN INTERESTING CULTURE, A GOOD EDUCATION SYSTEM AND WE HAVE FAMILY THERE!"
Did I mentioned I had never cussed at my parents before, either? I guess I deserved it when my mother grabbed my shoulders, her manicured nails digging deep into my skin, and shook me so hard that I felt as if my head and neck were made out of cotton candy.
I sat there and cried after apologising. I hadn't cried in front of them since my big brother Vincent had died when I was fourteen, a few days away from my fifteenth. That's when I went crazy.
Later that night, dad took us out to dinner to the expensive Japanese restaurant in central London, about 25 minutes drive from our home in Chelsea, in traffic.
I knew they were trying to make me feel better, so I shut my mouth and tried to think of the positive aspects of moving to Las Vegas. And I couldn't pretend I still felt foul when dad ordered us a sushi boat each, with a small bowl if chicken ramen noodles and two bottles of Soju. Poor mum had driving duty today, so she couldn't drink any.
"Itadakimasu!" We all said with smiles when Itamae handed us the food he had prepared in front of us.
"So, when are we moving?" I asked with a defeated sigh after my third round of Soju.
"When the school term finishes." Dad told me. He always switches to Japanese whilst tipsy.
"When exactly?"
"8th December, 15:30. So you have exactly two weeks to say your goodbyes, Mika."
I nodded and went back to my sushi.
♠ ♠ ♠
Idk. I'm excited about this story. It may seem typical. But there's always a twist in my stories. :) its probably a twist you haven't come across yet.