Project Speed-Up

Beep. Beep. Beep.
I stretched out my arm and slammed in on the alarm. I turned over to face the wall, away from the alarm.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
*Shut the hell up already!*
I thought to myself as I unplugged the piece of shit I call an alarm. Honestly, why did I even think keeping the thing would make my life any better?
**Well, I don’t know. There’s a lot of things you thought that would make your life better, like parents.** The voice spoke.
I chose to ignore that thought.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I let my bare feet touched the cold floor of my room. Or should I say basement of my house.
Ladies and gentlemen that’s right! My poor excuse of parents shoved me away to the “foreign” regions of the house, the basement. Don’t get me wrong, I frigging adore the basement. It’s away from all the chaos my parents cause. I stretch, cracking almost every bone in my body, and drag myself to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, the girl staring back at me had a look of disgust on her face.
Her red hair was sticking up in all directions. Her blue eyes, once filled with sparks, have been quickly replaced with terror and anger. The deep purple bags do not help the situation. Her brown eye brows furrow together in frustration at how pale her skin is becoming. The scars lining her wrist constantly remind her of how much of a push over she’s become to her parents and how much people dislike her. The thin line around her neck, another reminder of how the rope fails to put out her misery.
**But you still got me** The voice in my head rang.
I turn away from the mirror and settle for a hot shower, turning my iPod in shuffle. While singing in the shower, my nerves got the best of me, determining the worst was going to happen today.
Which of course it was.
Ever since the bankruptcy in Detroit, jobs are being cut back in here in Warren and in Troy. Everyone has been extremely bitchy. If not, more. I’m just lucky I got to keep my job at the music store. But school always comes first.
Ugh.
I walk out from my shower and blow dry my hair straight, not having enough time to let it air dry and run to my closet. I grab some black skinny jeans and a red plaid button up shirt. I run to the bathroom and brush my teeth as I go into my room in search for my beat up Vans. Cheering in success, I slip my shoes on; grab a jacket, and my book-bag. Taking the keys off the key hook, I walk out my back door, which is in the basement, and walk outside into the chilly Michigan air. I quickly run from the door to a spot by the mailbox that held an item precious to me.
My camera.
Sounds lame, I know. But besides my real friends, this is my best friend. I take one look at the shop. Yes, I live in a shop. It’s actually a book store. My dad bought the property years ago when he used to work here. But now a man in his twenties works here while my dad goes off and does whatever. My parents live in the top portion, with actual bedrooms. Me, on the other hands, lives in the basement, where anyone can easily pop the lock on the window, kidnap, rape, and murder me. Luckily for me no one really likes me, so there’s a slim chance of that happening.
Slim.
**So slim, it’s not real.**
I have an hour before school starts, so I make my way to the old Graffiti. It’s a bridge that has graffiti so high up, with beautiful designs and quotes, that is amazes me. I wonder how they got up there high. But the best thing about Graffiti is the flowers growing around the patchy grass. Every time I see those flowers, it gives me hope that I won’t be stuck in this damn city forever. Graffiti is a fifteen minute walk from my house, thirty minute walk to school. I walk away from the mailbox, camera in hand, and make my way to the bridge. I wish I could spend all my time at the bridge, but no. I have to go to school and deal with the horrors of being Junior. What’s messes up is all the popular people give me a hard time because one of the jocks likes me.
That’s right, me.
Gross.
His name is Ryan. I can’t fucking stand him. The story is, he and miss bitch queen herself, Sarah, used to date. This was when he was my neighbor. Anyway, we used to hang out all the time, making her quite jealous. This was in eighth grade. They were on and off for years, until he broke it off for good. He told me he had feelings for me, but with my abuse, I didn’t need a relationship.
What did he tell her?
He fucking loves me!
Now every popular person has something against me, while Ryan keeps trying to get me to go out with him.
Something I freaking refuse.
So, yeah. That’s part of my living hell.
Oh! My parents!
This story is, a few years ago, at the age of twelve, I came home late from a friend’s house and you know what happened? My parents went ballistic. First it was constant yelling with horrible, horrible words. When I turned thirteen, the abusing came in. in the past three years, I have had a broken arm, sprained wrist, twisted ankle, broken leg, bruises here and there, slash on my thigh from the beer bottle at my mother’s attempt to kill me last year.
Oh yeah.
Feeling the love.
But, I usually don’t let them see how much their words hurt me. I started to become really sarcastic and it helps me through…….some times. Including the sassy, yet intruding voice in my head. Seeing Graffiti in sight, I began to position myself by the flowers and take pictures. Someday I would look back on this. Time seemed to fly by because before I knew it, my alarm went off signaling time for school. Groaning, I stood up from my position and walked the road towards Detroit High.
“Hey!” I turned around to see my best friend, Anna. She was the definition of beautiful. Her eyes are a brilliant blue and along with her pale skin, they matched her long brown hair.
Wow, I sound gay.
I waved at her as she slowed her pace next to me. We begin our usual retinue. I would show her the pics I took, she would ask me about my huge crush on this guy and then I would turn the tables on her and ask her about her life. Soon, the high school was in sight and unfortunately, we only had a couple classes together, considering she’s a senior.
Yay me!
“Hey Mute!” one of the jocks, Ethan, called. I didn’t even bother with them. I just carried on. You know what they say,
Keep Calm and Carry On.
Pathetic right?
**The person who made that obviously hasn’t live in Warren.** I agree.
Welcome to my fucked up life.