Nothing Is Perfect, chapter 1
Was all I had going for me running away? The only thing that had ever mattered to me in the whole world was Green Day. I just couldn't deal with this anymore. This was the last straw. I just couldn't deal. And, for the the third time today, I was being yelled at.
"Look at you, why don't you!" my Dad shouted hoarsely at me. "Leaving your crap everywhere! I hate you! Get out!"
Insult after insult.
I could feel the tears rapidly burning in my eyes till I could nothing but let them fall helplessly into my lap, where they made dark patches in my jeans. I slumped down at the kitchen table.
"Don't start the fucking water works with me!" my Dad yelled suddenly, spotting the tears glistening on my cheeks. He marched over to me and grabbed hold of my arm.
So to me. My name's Michelle. Michelle Cedar. I was 16, and living with my father. But I loathe him, and that's pretty obvious. My Mom died when I was 5, right in front of me. It was one of those heart failure things. I can't remember it too much, however. So, my Father, not being able to deal with the loss of my Mom, turned to abusing me. Maybe it makes him feel better, maybe it boosts his ego, I don't know. All I know, is that it's normal, and it happens to me everyday. Bruise after bruise after bruise.
My Dad grasped my ear with his free hand, and smashed my head against the kitchen wall violently. The pain seared into my skull painfully, making my eyes water with pain.
"That'll teach you to obey me in the future won't it?!" he raged, spitting in my face. And the weird thing is, I'm used to this. It's my everyday life.
"But no, no," I thought to myself. "I'm not obeying you this time. Not anymore you spineless bastard."
He, meanwhile went over to the fridge and pulled out a large slice of meat, sprinkled it with salt before popping it in his mouth. My stomach rumbled noisily. I didn't really get a lot to eat. My Father also happened to be a selfish greedy pig. He saw me staring hungrily at him, and he started laughing.
"What?" he asked me, chuckling to himself. "Hungry?"
I ignored him. His remark got inside my head. God. This was my Father. My OWN Father. And was this how he was supposed to treat me? I couldn't bear it. I sprinted upstairs and into my bedroom which was small, dark, and dank. I had large black curtains over my window, blocking the sunlight streaming into my room. I had a small plain duvet, and a few tatty school books on my bed. I reached under my bed, into a large wooden box and pulled out a small CD Player. I hid it under my bed, along with my favourite CD. My only CD. Green Day's American Idiot.I loved it so much, Green Day had to be my favourite band. Well, not that I knew the name of any other bands. My favourite song was Jesus of Surburbia. Easily the best song on the record. And like every other girl, I was in complete love with Green Day's lead singer. My personal opinion of him was drop dead gorgeous, sexy, and the voice of an angel. But who cares? I'm a helpless teenage girl, what do you expect? I had a big scrapbook with all pictures of Green Day from magazines
I did go to school, just in case your wondering. It didn't really bother me that much, school. Partly because it was a way to get out of the house - and away from my Dad. Even though I had hardly any friends, it didn't matter. I'd much rather it be that way anyway, I liked it better when it was just me. All I wanted was to be alone. I had absolutely no grades whatsoever, I couldn't revise for exams because I had hardly any money and my Dad certainly wouldn't buy any books or calculators. So yep, I usually failed in tests. I couldn't go over to classmate's houses to revise, or even just to go round for dinner. My Dad wouldn't hear of it. Not that I particurly wanted to go to anyone's house. I was always that run down kid, the one with only one parent, quiet and mysterious. Whispers always followed me in school, and even the people I thought were half decent I had heard talking about me on more then one occasion. I usually got called emo or goth, but I ignored comments such as these. I was the "rocker" with the tatty 3 year old uniform who was always felt sorry for.
Damn fucking right.
But really, I was serious about running away. I was already beginning to pack my bag, stuffing my CD in it. I packed a few clothes, not that there was a wide range of them in any case. In these clothes it also included my favourite t shirt which had "I love Green Day" written on it in black marker. Glancing in the small mirror on my wall, I saw how bad my hair looked. I combed it quickly, and added my brush to my bag. I had light blonde hair with black highlights underneath, and starry blue eyes. I slipped my trainers on, one of which had a small hole at the tip of the shoe. I crept downstairs quietly and poked my head round the hall doorway... my Dad was in the kitchen, mumbling something and swigging down a bottle of beer. Typical.I was about to run towards the front door when something caught my eye.
It was a small photoframe.
My Mom was wrapping her arms around me while I was on a swing, my Dad just in sight in the background, grinning. I hadn't seen him smile like that in 10 years. My Mom was smiling in the picture, and me, well I was laughing with glee in a little pink anorak. What ever happened to those times?
My Dad should've been supporting me, not abusing me. I ran my finger over the edge of the photo and removed a large think layer of dust that had settled on top of it. My eyes burned, but I held it in. But why was I dwelling on what had gone? It's not like my Mom was ever going to come back.
Ever.
I grabbed the photoframe on the side and hurried down the hall, putting it in my bag safely as I went. I thrust open the front door and a breath of fresh cold air swept my face. I felt the happiest I had in ages. I felt free; I felt alive. I couldn't help but smile. I felt a bit shaky, I mean, I was leaving my home and I had no idea where I was going. But that thought died away, as the afternoon sun beamed down on me with realization. Why on earth had I not left before today?
I guess I couldn't of run away when I was younger, but now I was pretty much a legal adult. I pulled the little front gate open and began heading down the street. I didn't look back, maybe I was scared to, I didn't know - my head was running with too many thoughts. It wasn't long before I heard my Father calling my name angrily. I spun around to see him striding towards me, the now empty beer bottle in his hand.
"Where the fuck do you think your going?" he enquired dangerously, trying to keep his temper under control. He knew he couldn't lose it in front of the street. What if someone was peering out their window, or perhaps walking through an alleyway..?
"Getting the fuck away from you," I said coolly, smirking at him. It was the first time I'd answered him back in years. He raised the bottle but for the first time ever, I wasn't scared.
"Going to do it in front of the whole street?" I whispered, laughing. He must've been thinking the same thing too, for he lowered the bottle to his side.
"Your getting back in that house," he ordered, his teeth clenched. "If it's the last thing I do. You always do what I say. And you always will."
"Not this time," I whispered. I followed my instinct, and it told me to run. I hurried down the street and shot to the left, into a small alleyway, into the next street and until another. I noticed it was getting dark, the horizon was a light pink and I started to slow down. Realization was starting to seep into my skin, and I felt scared all of a sudden. I guess I had been rather rash there, making a big decision in a little space of time. But I felt like it had to be done. But now, I had a mixed feeling of anxiety and fear. Where was I going to go? I had hardly any money on me; but I thought it was a start if I headed into the pub and asked for any nearby motels.
I was just going to push open the door when someone came out just a second before me, and I barged into them.
"Oh I'm really sorry!" I apoligised.
"Me too," the guy said, and he removed his sunglasses.
Remember that whole feeling of fear and anxiety? Forget I said that, because who I had just ran into was much much more scary, and even more embarrassing then scary. My face turning a bright red, I stared back into those beautiful emerald green eyes...
"Look at you, why don't you!" my Dad shouted hoarsely at me. "Leaving your crap everywhere! I hate you! Get out!"
Insult after insult.
I could feel the tears rapidly burning in my eyes till I could nothing but let them fall helplessly into my lap, where they made dark patches in my jeans. I slumped down at the kitchen table.
"Don't start the fucking water works with me!" my Dad yelled suddenly, spotting the tears glistening on my cheeks. He marched over to me and grabbed hold of my arm.
So to me. My name's Michelle. Michelle Cedar. I was 16, and living with my father. But I loathe him, and that's pretty obvious. My Mom died when I was 5, right in front of me. It was one of those heart failure things. I can't remember it too much, however. So, my Father, not being able to deal with the loss of my Mom, turned to abusing me. Maybe it makes him feel better, maybe it boosts his ego, I don't know. All I know, is that it's normal, and it happens to me everyday. Bruise after bruise after bruise.
My Dad grasped my ear with his free hand, and smashed my head against the kitchen wall violently. The pain seared into my skull painfully, making my eyes water with pain.
"That'll teach you to obey me in the future won't it?!" he raged, spitting in my face. And the weird thing is, I'm used to this. It's my everyday life.
"But no, no," I thought to myself. "I'm not obeying you this time. Not anymore you spineless bastard."
He, meanwhile went over to the fridge and pulled out a large slice of meat, sprinkled it with salt before popping it in his mouth. My stomach rumbled noisily. I didn't really get a lot to eat. My Father also happened to be a selfish greedy pig. He saw me staring hungrily at him, and he started laughing.
"What?" he asked me, chuckling to himself. "Hungry?"
I ignored him. His remark got inside my head. God. This was my Father. My OWN Father. And was this how he was supposed to treat me? I couldn't bear it. I sprinted upstairs and into my bedroom which was small, dark, and dank. I had large black curtains over my window, blocking the sunlight streaming into my room. I had a small plain duvet, and a few tatty school books on my bed. I reached under my bed, into a large wooden box and pulled out a small CD Player. I hid it under my bed, along with my favourite CD. My only CD. Green Day's American Idiot.I loved it so much, Green Day had to be my favourite band. Well, not that I knew the name of any other bands. My favourite song was Jesus of Surburbia. Easily the best song on the record. And like every other girl, I was in complete love with Green Day's lead singer. My personal opinion of him was drop dead gorgeous, sexy, and the voice of an angel. But who cares? I'm a helpless teenage girl, what do you expect? I had a big scrapbook with all pictures of Green Day from magazines
I did go to school, just in case your wondering. It didn't really bother me that much, school. Partly because it was a way to get out of the house - and away from my Dad. Even though I had hardly any friends, it didn't matter. I'd much rather it be that way anyway, I liked it better when it was just me. All I wanted was to be alone. I had absolutely no grades whatsoever, I couldn't revise for exams because I had hardly any money and my Dad certainly wouldn't buy any books or calculators. So yep, I usually failed in tests. I couldn't go over to classmate's houses to revise, or even just to go round for dinner. My Dad wouldn't hear of it. Not that I particurly wanted to go to anyone's house. I was always that run down kid, the one with only one parent, quiet and mysterious. Whispers always followed me in school, and even the people I thought were half decent I had heard talking about me on more then one occasion. I usually got called emo or goth, but I ignored comments such as these. I was the "rocker" with the tatty 3 year old uniform who was always felt sorry for.
Damn fucking right.
But really, I was serious about running away. I was already beginning to pack my bag, stuffing my CD in it. I packed a few clothes, not that there was a wide range of them in any case. In these clothes it also included my favourite t shirt which had "I love Green Day" written on it in black marker. Glancing in the small mirror on my wall, I saw how bad my hair looked. I combed it quickly, and added my brush to my bag. I had light blonde hair with black highlights underneath, and starry blue eyes. I slipped my trainers on, one of which had a small hole at the tip of the shoe. I crept downstairs quietly and poked my head round the hall doorway... my Dad was in the kitchen, mumbling something and swigging down a bottle of beer. Typical.I was about to run towards the front door when something caught my eye.
It was a small photoframe.
My Mom was wrapping her arms around me while I was on a swing, my Dad just in sight in the background, grinning. I hadn't seen him smile like that in 10 years. My Mom was smiling in the picture, and me, well I was laughing with glee in a little pink anorak. What ever happened to those times?
My Dad should've been supporting me, not abusing me. I ran my finger over the edge of the photo and removed a large think layer of dust that had settled on top of it. My eyes burned, but I held it in. But why was I dwelling on what had gone? It's not like my Mom was ever going to come back.
Ever.
I grabbed the photoframe on the side and hurried down the hall, putting it in my bag safely as I went. I thrust open the front door and a breath of fresh cold air swept my face. I felt the happiest I had in ages. I felt free; I felt alive. I couldn't help but smile. I felt a bit shaky, I mean, I was leaving my home and I had no idea where I was going. But that thought died away, as the afternoon sun beamed down on me with realization. Why on earth had I not left before today?
I guess I couldn't of run away when I was younger, but now I was pretty much a legal adult. I pulled the little front gate open and began heading down the street. I didn't look back, maybe I was scared to, I didn't know - my head was running with too many thoughts. It wasn't long before I heard my Father calling my name angrily. I spun around to see him striding towards me, the now empty beer bottle in his hand.
"Where the fuck do you think your going?" he enquired dangerously, trying to keep his temper under control. He knew he couldn't lose it in front of the street. What if someone was peering out their window, or perhaps walking through an alleyway..?
"Getting the fuck away from you," I said coolly, smirking at him. It was the first time I'd answered him back in years. He raised the bottle but for the first time ever, I wasn't scared.
"Going to do it in front of the whole street?" I whispered, laughing. He must've been thinking the same thing too, for he lowered the bottle to his side.
"Your getting back in that house," he ordered, his teeth clenched. "If it's the last thing I do. You always do what I say. And you always will."
"Not this time," I whispered. I followed my instinct, and it told me to run. I hurried down the street and shot to the left, into a small alleyway, into the next street and until another. I noticed it was getting dark, the horizon was a light pink and I started to slow down. Realization was starting to seep into my skin, and I felt scared all of a sudden. I guess I had been rather rash there, making a big decision in a little space of time. But I felt like it had to be done. But now, I had a mixed feeling of anxiety and fear. Where was I going to go? I had hardly any money on me; but I thought it was a start if I headed into the pub and asked for any nearby motels.
I was just going to push open the door when someone came out just a second before me, and I barged into them.
"Oh I'm really sorry!" I apoligised.
"Me too," the guy said, and he removed his sunglasses.
Remember that whole feeling of fear and anxiety? Forget I said that, because who I had just ran into was much much more scary, and even more embarrassing then scary. My face turning a bright red, I stared back into those beautiful emerald green eyes...
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