Stepping onto the bus, I grab onto the metal pole along the steps, cold rushing up my arm yet not reaching the place I need the relief the most. I sit down two rows back on the left side my normal seating, my left arm lingering in the aisle a second to long gets bumped into and squeezed against the side of the bus seat. My face contorts in pain as the burning sensation runs through my nerves, causing my breathing to be a bit shakey. I quickly move it and sit with my back against the window, cradling my arm to my chest. It burns so bad. Lifting my sleeves up I let the cold winter air envelope my forearm, making sure it's facing towards me.
30 minutes pass and I'm getting off the bus walking to the room we always meet in. My sleeves once again covering my cuts, just the rubbing against them is torture so I try to move my arm as little as possible. Walking through the doors into our room, I walk over to my friends smiling. They are talking about a test coming up in Biology, we all have Ms.T, possibly the worst teacher to have. Why? Because you learn nothing that you have to learn then she'll tell at you for failing, crazy right!
YOU ARE READING
Her Story
Teen FictionA mixed drink if one part tragedy 3 parts pain Rae is a girl who faces many difficulties from her mother to the one she thought she could trust but not everything is always what it seems
