Don't Get Too Close (Justin Bieber Love Story / Fan Fiction)

Part 1- One: Remembering New York

A/N: This story could be triggering. If it is to you, please don't read it.
*For help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.*

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Part 1: /Natalie's POV/
One: Remembering New York
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Song of the chapter:
Unwanted by Avril Lavigne
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I slid my last bracelet over my left wrist before looking in the full length mirror that stood against the lavender wall of my bedroom. Putting these bracelets on was a part of my morning routine. I had four of them- one was pink, blue, and white thread I had braided together, two came in a set I got for my birthday that was black thread and white thread with a silver charm on each, and the last was one was thick with orange and yellow thread. These bracelets were very important. They kept my reputation exactly where I wanted it. I didn't want people to know how weak I was or how sad I was. They covered what they needed to cover perfectly. Normal people would call these things that go around your wrist "friendship bracelets," but I didn't considering I had no friends. More than half of the school was afraid of me.

If anyone were to see me walking down the street and they didn't know who I was, they would have no idea about my bad attitude towards everything and my short temper. I was short with medium length dirty-blond hair and green eyes-- the exact opposite appearance of someone of an intimidating nature. Once they talked to me once, they knew not to come near me.

That was why I had no friends. With just one conversation, they would already have an opinion on me. Of course, some people scrounged up remarks from others too. No one cared to get to know the real me, and I didn't care to let anyone find out.

The person looking back at me in the mirror was someone I had never been truly pleased with. I wanted to look like Miley Cyrus or Demi Lovato or one of the Kardashian's-- but I was far from it. I just looked like-- well, Natalie. I was a mixture of the two people I hated more than anything in this world: my mom and my dad. Luckily, they were no longer in my life. They lived back home in New York while I lived up in Stratford, Ontario with our family friend, Mark. He was my dad's best friend in high school, and they worked in the police force together. He was more of a father to me than my real dad. Mark took me in after the police came to my house on the night that everything went wrong. The cops were called by someone in the neighborhood complaining about noise. I didn't plan to talk about that night again.

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It was a warm night in July, and I was sneaking back inside from a concert I went to with a girl who was kind of close with me at the time. I was only fifteen years old. I knew my parents would be knocked out cold somewhere in the house from their never ending drunken nature, but I still had to be quiet in case they heard me.

Slowly, I pushed the front door open and cringed at the familiar scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke. I gently closed the door and shut my eyes tightly, hoping and praying to God that they would be asleep and stay asleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw the living room was illuminated by the light of the small television. My dad was sprawled out on his recliner chair with a can of beer practically dangling from his cold, clammy fingers. My mom was sitting on the couch with her head leaned back and mouth gaped open slightly. Her hands lay beside her lifelessly. If one didn't know about her alcoholic tendencies, they would think she was dead. I knew she wasn't, though. A part of me wished she was-- both of them, actually. But then I would think about what life was like when I was younger, and I'd suddenly have a change of heart. I used to have the perfect parents.

Seeing them now, they looked like totally different people. My dad's thick brown hair was now thin and frayed. He had dark circles under his now red and bloodshot eyes. His button-down shirts quickly transferred to white Hanes t-shirts with stains of who-knows-what on them while his work pants turned to distressed Levi jeans.