One Push to Suicide

Chapter 1

*Trigger Warning*
Contains descriptive scenes of self harm, abuse, strong language, slight sexual content, eating disorders, suicide and depression. Don't read if your sensitive to any of the topics listed above, but it's not as depressing and mature as it sounds. Trust me on that one :)

Quick disclaimer: all of the character and the story line belong to me.

A/N I can't even count the times I have started a story and never finished it, but I have high hopes for this one. I don't usually do boy x girl stories anymore, but there's a first time for everything.
Enjoy the story, my chinciacios xxx

••••

Mikaela P.O.V

••••

Fantastic. My dad is going to kill me. Yet another day when I don't make it home at the time he set for me. Just fantastic. I'm going to get it this time.
I run across a street, and sprint down the road adjacent to mine. Its a bad neighbourhood; with run down houses and ragged men walking about at any time of day. But, no one at school knows so I guess I'm good. As long as I have a place to keep my razors and cry myself to sleep, how can I complain? It's not like I deserve anything more after what happened to my mom.
I quickly take the crumbling steps two at a time, and halt close to the front door. In truth, it barely held on its hinges, so as carefully as possible I open it. It gives a loud creak, and I shut my eyes tightly, praying he doesn't hear. Well, it's me we're talking about and I have no luck whatsoever so of course he heard.
"You filthy bitch! Do you have any idea what time it is?!" Damn, he's not wasted, which means he has much better aim. And his anger is more focused.
"Sorry." I whisper through my tight throat, but he doesn't listen. His red face and barely any hair are coming closer to me. I'd lie if I say I wasn't terrified of the monster in front of me. His hand strikes me across the cheek, resulting in black spots covering my vision and a white hot pain to explode in my right cheek and jaw. That will leave a mark. The impact causes me to fall to the floor, in a whimper of pain but I fight the tears. I can't have him thinking he won. Even though he did, a long long time ago.
"Next time be here on time." He approaches cautiously and I cower back. Then, out of nowhere, pain explodes in my stomach and I can't stop the cry of pain this time. I clench my teeth, anticipating where he's going to kick me next. I receive multiple kicks; to my stomach, back, arms, before he stops an spits on me before walking away. I'm left a bloodied mess in front of the door, so I slowly pick myself up to walk upstairs. The house is a mess; glass everywhere, dust and barely any furniture. Empty beer and vodka bottles are scattered everywhere you look. I drag myself up the clattering stairs and into my room. It's freezing cold in here, thanks to the broken window that my dad never bothered to fix. I plop down on my bed face down, and my black and blue hair scatters everywhere. And that's when the tears come. You'll think I'm weak and pathetic; wrong. I try so hard everyday to hold the emotions in check, and sometimes my defence crumbles. It's like my walls are shattered by both my dad and every one who ever comes past my line of defences. The tears quickly stain my torn pillowcase and I curl under my covers fully clothed and still with my makeup on. When your life seems like it's shit, you don't bother with simple stuff like that.

I wake up from my restless sleep and the first thing that hits me is the headache. I gasp in pain before I get sort of used it. My legs are stiff and my whole skin is covered in bruises from yesterday. I poke an especially green one and clench my teeth. So what does a girl that's hurting do? I walk on sore legs to my nightstand. Well, I call it a nightstand but in reality it's actually a box after bears turned over. Underneath it my fingers close around the familiar object; a razor removed from a shaving blade. Then I pull down my clothes from yesterday to uncover lines upon lines of scars, all over my arms and thighs. Tears well up in my already red eyes when I look on the ruin that's my body. But I press the blade anyway. We're all addicted to something that takes away the pain.
Three lines. Three deep lines on each of my arms well with hot red blood that starts trickling down my now bare arms. I shiver from the cold but I'm too mesmerised by the sight of my pain going out of my body that I don't move. But eventually I have to because I have to go to school or otherwise my father would kill me. And I don't think that's meant metaphorically. So I quickly walk to the bathroom, which is actually a really disgusting shower and a single toilet with a small sink. We barley have any hot water and when we do my father obviously uses it all up. So obviously no hot water now. The cold removes the rest of sleep from my body and stings my arms a little but I stand there anyway. It's almost unbearable but I have no choice. When I'm shivering and can't stand there any longer I begin washing myself then putting on fresh clothes. I throw on a huge jumper on top to cover the bruises and cuts on my body. The jumper is actually my dad's. The night he first hit me I curled up in his bedroom and put on that exact same jumper. A couple of years later it's still too big but I love it so much because it reminds me of the times when I was happy.
Anyway, I do my makeup and hair, grab my school bag and run down the stairs and out the door before my father can stop me. The bus is long gone because I woke up so late, but that's okay. If I'm late I doubt the teacher will notice anyway; they don't care about me for shit. What a surprise.
I run and it's just my luck for it to start raining. The world is truly against me. So what's the point of staying here? I shake my head and run faster, with my bag swaying this way and that. I reach the school fifteen minutes late and I'm soaked through. I push my fringe out of my eyes and take the steps two at a time. The lady in reception takes a long look at me and raises an eyebrow. I run down the corridor, my wet boots making splashing sounds. I shiver and run faster. Luckily the halls are empty so no one can push me about. As soon as I reach my math class I stop dead in my tracks. Everyone will look at me. Everyone will see the 'emo' girl and laugh. I wipe my sweaty hands on my wet pants and shake them restlessly. So what if I miss class anyway? The teacher won't care. Nobody does. I stand there for two minutes having a silent argument when the doors open and I nearly have a panic attack. I take a step back and my eyes widen in silent terror when I see who opened the door. It's my usual bully; Elijah Stone. He just can't seem to find a reason not o hate me. His eyes land on me and he smiles. A cold, ruthless smile that chills me more than the rain ever could. He quickly shuts the door after him and takes a step closer to me when I take one back. We go like that; taking turns to take steps until my back inevitably hits a locker and I gulp. Elijah's brown hair shines in the low light of LDE light bulbs and his brown eyes reflect amusement.
"Well well well. If it's not the infamous emo bitch." He raises his hand to slap me, when he notices the bruise on my cheek which I tried covering in make up. Some f the foundation must have washed off because his eyes widen to match mine. Although his display surprise. He then shifts his gaze to my eyes and I blink the silent tears back. I can't show weakness, I won't show weakness. But I can't stand here and wait for him to kick me, so I turn around and bolt down the corridor, where I can't stop the tears from flowing feeling down my cheeks. So many tears, in so little time.

A/N Comment, vote and share and I'll update the next part soon.