I awoke to the crisp, winter sunrise streaming through the crack in the curtains, the dark colour of the material making the light stream in much brighter. Peeling the covers back off my single bed, I rose slowly from the mattress with my bones creaking along with the old frame. I reached to the ceiling on my tip toes stretching out the knots in my muscles from yesterday's run. The clock leaning against the plain wall on the floor read 7:10, the usual time I awoke from my slumber.
Like every other morning since the winter season rolled around, I drew back the curtains and opened the window. The birds chirping happily, the dogs occasionally barking, and the people out for their morning jog were oblivious to my observing out the frosted glass windows. Living their lives, moving on. Before the cold could run through my thin pyjama layer, I sprinted back to my bed and dove under the covers, revelling in the remaining warmth by tucking the covers up under my chin. Facing the window, with that same ray of light that woke me now streaming over my face I take a deep breath and smell the winter air. Somehow, the crisp feeling made me think everything was okay, that hopefully things could get better.
A slight gust of wind invaded my room, sweeping across my face and making me shiver. The feathers on the useless dream catcher tied to the head frame of my bed swayed dramatically, finally doing something other than being a useless waste of money. After about 5 minutes the breeze began to pick up more, making my posters rattle against the wall and the tacks to come loose. Sighing heavily I rolled out the side of the bed, "Moving on.." I thought to myself.
Rushing to the window I slammed it shut, small pieces of ice crystals flying off into the wind in the process. Stepping around my bed I opened my bedroom door out to the hall and made my way to the family bathroom. As soon as my foot creaked on the squeaky floorboard, I knew what was coming.
"No! Move out of my way bitch! First born, first person to use the bathroom!" my older brother by 2 years bellowed from down the hall.
As expected, Alex came charging from his teenage boy hellhole shoving me into the wall as he passed and muttered "useless waste of space" under his breath. Sticks and stones Jane, sticks and stones... I reminded myself, these days the phrase is becoming a running mantra in my head. Being 17, I have experienced the taunting of my fellow classmates for several years, but now starting in a whole new town, new city, new state, I was hoping for a somewhat semi-fresh start to the new school term.
After losing a few pounds, I felt like I no longer deserved the name calling. Jelly Jane, Giant Jane, Jumbo Jane. The emotional scars I hope to wear off in the future, but for now the names still felt like sticks and stones. My self implemented excessive exercise regime and special diet meant I was unlike the old Jelly, Jumbo, Giant Jane, and a better looking Jane. With a slight 6 pack I may add..
Feeling my feet start to lose sensation I shuffled back to my room and stuffed my feet into my too small slippers, before returning out to the hall and into the kitchen. I saw my mother sitting at the kitchen bench with a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Healthy breakfast! When I entered her vision she stopped reading the magazine in front of her and looked me straight in the eye, her black heartless eyes burning into my soul.
"We moved her for you Jane. So the school would stop sniffing around our family for all the bullying you attracted to yourself. So you had better hurry up and get ready for this new school year, because at this rate it may be your last." she said, her eyes never once leaving mine.
I didn't know if that was a reference to the ending of my education, or to the ending of my life. Not wanting to question it in fear of the wrong answer I stayed silent, knowing whatever my reply, she would end up screaming at me. After a good minute or two she sighed heavily, rolled her eyes and muttered the same words as my Brother, "Useless waste of space." Sticks and stones Jane, sticks and stones.
A solid 20 minutes had passed before a billowing mass of steam erupted from the bathroom, my brother also releasing the strong smell of his awful cologne with the humid steam. "It's not going to make a difference Jane, no matter how many times you shower, the smell of whore will never leave," Alex remarked while passing me with a towel wrapped around his waist. His tanned back, the polar opposite to mine, retreating back into his bedroom. I gnoring his favourite saying I entered the bathroom, lock the door and stripped down. The mirror fogged up, I leaned toward it and wiped the moisture off with the leg of my pyjama pants with a loud squeak.
A slightly blurry version of Jane stared right back. Her bright blue eyes, still dead inside stood out against her naturally brown red hair and complemented her pale winter skin. Her face flawless, the snowy complexion unmarked from freckles, moles or acne. I stepped back from the damp mirror, now with hands at my sides I inspected what my diet and exercise had improved. Deciding to make a change to my lifestyle and eating was the healthiest decision I had ever made. My toned stomach, the gap between my thighs, my thin neck, all resulted from my strict program of 10 km run per day, and no dairy or meat. With that diet leaving sweet nothing to eat in the household I regularly skipped a meal, with no fuss from my mother.
I turned the tap on the shower, now running slightly late I jumped in, the water still with a chilling edge. School was never a problem to me, grade wise that is. I inherited my hard work, determination and ability to achieve highly from my father who was a biology professor at the local university. Unlike my Brother who inherited his lack of motivation from his father, who was unemployed and feeding off the government. I think that was the main reason Alex hated me so much; his father left, and I was the result of a new relationship for my mother, leaving him no hope of having the perfect family he longed for.
My professor father left my mother when I was six, leaving me also with a shattered dream of a perfect family. Why my mother hates me? I can only guess it's because I was his child, and she despised every fibre in his being once he left. Lathering the shampoo into my waist-length hair, I thought of my father, who also had the unique browny red hair. If you asked me now where my father is I couldn't tell you. My mother blocked all his phone calls and intercepted all letters from him, eventually resulting in less attempts on my fathers behalf. Rinse, wash and repeat. Fully showered I quickly walked into my room, drips splattering along the floorboards.
A large gust of wind blew through my once again opened window, sending shivers down my spine and making goosebumps appear instantaneously on my bare arms, legs and neck. Alex. Just another prank he though was funny. After slamming the window shut AGAIN I threw off my towel and dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, black woollen jumper and my khaki coloured parka jacket.
Now 7:45 I had 20 minutes to get to school. In less of rush, not seeing the importance of arriving on time I sat on the end of my creaky bed and laced up my red converse. Deciding to make a little bit more effort, hoping to escape bullying on the first day, I took out the blow drier from my cupboard and dried my damp hair. Soft curls were now cascading down my back reaching just above my waist. Fetching my school bag I had prepared last night, containing a pencil case, texts books and a binder, I walked out of my room and down the hall, exiting out the front door and locking it behind me.
Taking a deep breath of the crisp winter air, I walked out the gate and stopped. 'Was it left? Or right?' the increasing nerves causing me to forget the 25 minute route to my new high school. I went randomly chose left and continued along the sidewalk, dodging patches of ice. After 10 minutes of walking I finally came to the conclusion that I had chosen the wrong way. Typical Jane luck, I thought. It seemed I wasn't the only one lost at this point either though.
A man, whose face I couldn't see, was in front of me looking left and right down both sides of the intersection. A gruffled noise of frustration left his mouth, along with the cloud of breath due to the cold air. Deciding to ignore the man, I decided to turn right, seeing as left had done me no good before. Walking along the path, paying less attention to where I was going, and more to the possible fate of the man I slipped on a patch of black ice.
My foot skidded out from underneath me and I fell to the ground with an unhealthy 'thwack!' onto my side. I heard footsteps behind me, making me feel embarrassed that someone may have seen my ungrateful slip to the concrete.
"Are you alright? I saw you fall!" a gruff male voice sounded from behind me. "I'm fine.." I mumbled, a slight blush of embarrassment forming on my frozen cheeks. Trying to gain my composure and any dignity I still had, I scrambled to my feet with the stranger holding my elbow from behind me. Though knowingly to 'Jane luck', while composing myself before thanking the stranger I slipped on the same piece of ice.
However this time, it was different. A strong pair of arms encircled my waist, saving me from another beating from gravity and slowly hoisting me back to my feet. The large hands holding on to my waist spun me round to face the stranger. And I stopped dead in my tracks.
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Hey! Please comment and vote! I'd love to hear your opinions and feedback! Also, there is a picture of Jane on the side, played by Alexis Bledel.