I begin to tremble. ‘This isn’t real… this isn’t real..’ I mutter.
‘As a matter of fact, it will be.’ The voice: cold as a stone in the winter. He smirks from behind his hood that belongs to a cloak that covers his bony face and falls all the way down to the floor. The material: in near tatters from the continuous movement of the owner.
I begin to scream but I can’t hear any noise coming out of my throat but a wisp of dry air and suddenly the darkness engulfs me.
4 days before.
I hit the floor. Gasping and grasping for something solid; eyes closed and I begin to touch what feels like the wall for some sort of stability in this world before opening my eyes. I let out a small cry for the horror that I had just witnessed and look up. The sun is shining through my white push up blinds. I put one hand on the windowsill; I take a deep breath and the other hand follows before I manage to haul myself up. Legs wobbling, I push up the blinds to let the natural light through and move over to the left slightly to open the window and let in the fresh summer breeze. I get changed and gather up my books for today’s lessons. ‘Don’t forget to weigh yourself.’ I can hear my conscience laughing somewhere in my head. I weigh myself every morning because I have an unhealthy obsession with my weight and I just feel as if I’ll never be happy with it. If I have a bad result, I won’t eat for days until I lose at least 2 pounds. It’s a horrible process but I can never feel comfortable in my own skin. I couldn’t ever bring myself to purge… I can’t stand it. I check my BMI frequently to make sure that it is at the most at 18. I grab the scales from its perch at the bottom of the bathroom sink and step on. I instantly feel disgusted. For someone my height at 5ft 3, I should be this heavy. I start to feel sick and my hands instantly go to my stomach and before I realise, my hands start to really pull at it. I have to put my hands in the air to stop myself from doing any damage and force myself to put the weighing scales away and continue getting ready.
“Hurry up, you’re going to be late!” My mother nags. This is the usual. She shouts at me for rushing and being ‘late’ when I get there, I end up being early anyway.
I quickly grab my bag, my ipod, keys and headphones and descend the staircase where my mother is standing holding a mug full of coffee. She looks at me with as worried look. “Your packed lunch is in the kitchen. You should take it.”
Without looking straight back at her, I take the mug of coffee; take it like a shot then go to the kitchen to put the mug in the sink. I don’t even so much as look at the food that’s already laid out for me on the table and rush out of the kitchen, through our small corridor before opening the door and shutting it behind me. I just need to continue walking and ignore the whole subject of things. I pull out my iPod and putting on some ‘Pierce The Veil’. The music begins to drown out the world that a majority of people deem miserable and a gloomy place to live. Those people can be positive and think of the greater things in life but it never comes as easily as the saddening thoughts. I look up at the sky and see the sun wash over everything with its happiness and in turn, I also try to be positive for the rest of the day. I then cross the road to see a familiar face standing outside his house.
“Good morning, Blake” I smile but when I look closer, he doesn’t really quite return the usual happy smile. “What’s up?” I ask.
He fakes a smile. “Nothing. Good morning.” He replies, but I know him so much better than that. Something’s obviously happened between his parents again. I don’t push for it because I don’t want him feeling any worse.
“I have an idea. Why don’t we skip our 3 hours of college that are filled with boring subjects and go out somewhere?” I say. He just replies with a single smirk and we dump our bags in the middle of the bush in his garden and walk in the direction to college. We then cut away from the hustle and bustle of our busy city of Newcastle and take the metro to Southshealds beach and enjoy the warmth of the day. We loiter on the sandy shore, enjoy the practice for the air show on Saturday and splash around until we are nearly soaked. Just the two of us and smiles and laughter and I don’t think anything could have gone wrong in those moments before it started to thunder. I yelped at the first clap and I fell over. I hate it and I’ve never liked it. I stay there almost senseless on the floor until Blake picks me up and finds us some dry shelter. I whisper a small “Thank you” before burying my head underneath my hoodie before he pulls me in for a reassuring hug.
“I think we should go home” he says as he smiles down at me and lifts the hood of the jumper off of my head. “It’s starting to get late.” I simply nod and we move rather quickly through the closing fairground and down the stretch of the street to the metro that takes us back to the safety of his house. It’s dry in Seaton Deleval so I hope we dried off enough so it isn’t noticeable. We pull our bags out of the bush as his mum opens the door. That disapproving look says it all…