"Don't try to fight the storm,
You'll tumble overboard,
Tides will bring me back to you" - Deathbeds, Bring Me The Horizon
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So, you could say I live the normal life of a 17 year old girl. But that would be over exaggerating it.
I don't live the normal life of a 17 year old girl. I don't have good school reports, I fail almost all my classes, I don't listen to people, but I couldn't care less.
When ever I try to veer into the normal side of life, everything turns upside down. But when that happens, I just sit down and draw. For some reason all my ideas flow when I'm angry. So whenever I want to draw, I just think about how irresponsible and shit my dead-beat dad is. And how he doesn't give two shits about me and my brother, Ryan.
Ryan seems to know what to do when I get too angry. He's a year older than me and is sort of like a dad to me. He always makes sure I have my wallet with me before I leave the house, makes sure I have my phone on me and it's charged, makes sure I have enough money for food and enough to get home. He just takes care of me, in a way my actual dad has no idea how to.
Mac, well, he's the brother I never had. He's my best friend and always knows how to put a smile on my face regardless of my mood. I've known Mac for as long as I can remember. My mum and his mum were best friends.
So that's a bit about my life so far...
But now I'm stuck in this shit school. Ramblton, the school for prissy pussies. And as I sit in front of the school counselor, I know that my life isn't going to get any better any time soon.
"So, Amber, how have you been feeling lately?" Mrs. Prick asks. I'm not even joking, that's her name.
"So much better." I smile sarcastically. All counselors I have been to have one goal, to try make me cry. But that's not easy for me. When my mum died I didn't even cry. Mrs. Prick, or as I like to call her, "Pock" because of the crater-size pockmark on her cheek, smiles a fake white smile.
"Now, sweetie, remember how this counseling thing works? I ask you questions, and you open up and let everything flood out. All your emotions and thoughts." Pock says. I roll my eyes and pick at my nails. I have run out of every other indication that I'm bored. If this doesn't work, then I'm in for a hell ride. She stares at me blankly and I huff a long sigh.
"So I'm going to ask you again. How have you been feeling lately?"
"I told you, better." I smirk. She clenches her teeth and stand up. I stay seated as she walks over to her coffee maker. I look around. The walls are filled with posters of teens with their heads in their hands and quotation marks filled with things like, "Katie didn't like it when I laughed at her," and, "It just gets worse and worse as I keep it bottled up,". Vomit. Ever since my mum died, I have been having counseling sessions. By force. I don't have a choice. they thing it will help me become a "good girl". So far they have failed miserably. Pock sits back down with a fresh cup of coffee. She sets it down on a cup coaster and looks at me.
"Do you want to talk about the marks on your legs yet?" She asks, her eyes hazy with compassion. I chew the inside of my lip to suppress a smile and decide to throw her a bone...
"No. It's too painful..." I hang my head and pull my skirt down over the scratches on my thighs.
"It's okay to talk to me about it. Why have you been doing it?" Pock asks. The thing is, I'm not self-harming. I just use my finger nail and scratch away until it looks believable. I do it so the counselors think I have something to talk about. I still hang my head, trying to wipe the smile off my face. I replace it with an extremely blank expression and look back up at her. I keep my mouth shut. She has leant forward, like all counselors do when they think they're on the brink of something. I try not to laugh at the look on her face, but I can't help it. I let out a small burst of laughter and she looks at me with a strange expression on her face. I chew the inside of my lip to stop myself and go back to the blank expression.
"Fine. We will move onto the next question. How about your mum? How do you feel about her death?"
"Would you rather I start bawling?" I ask, raising my left eyebrow. She clenches her jaw again and rolls her eyes.
"Okay, how about your dad? How do you feel about him?"
"Oh, I love him! Especially when he hits me and yells abuse at me. Yeah." I spit. "Look, you're not going to make me cry and this isn't doing anything but wasting my time, so can I go? Thanks." I stand up and leave Pock's office without another word. She calls for me to come back but I don't I just head back to class.
As I walk down the empty corridor, Mac comes out from the toilets. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up.
"Mac!" I laugh. He places me back down and puts me in a head lock as he walks me to my locker.
"So how was your counseling session, with Pock?" He smirks.
"Oh absolutely divine. I talked to her about everything. Every little detail." I laugh. Mac unlocks my locker for me and grabs my books, while keeping me in a head lock.
"That sounds fun. We have art, so you know, I'll keep you in this head lock until we get to class."
"Mac, you are so dead when I get out of this!" I shout. A teacher pops his head out of a classroom and shushes us. We flip him off and keep walking. Well, I stumble behind Mac as he drags me towards the art room.
Mac is like me. Except his family is all happy. But Mac gets me. He understands me and he listens to me. Mac has black hair that is shaped like Matty Healy's from The 1975. He has a black lip ring, black noes ring and a black stud in his right earlobe. He's really good looking and so many girls swoon over him, but he just ignores them and pushes them away. I don't know why.
Finally we are outside the art room and he releases me from the head lock. I punch his arm hard and he whines.
"Get over it you baby." I laugh. Mac scowls at me, but laughs.
"So what are you going to do today?" Mac asks.
"Probably mess around with the paint." I smirk.
"You are such a rebel." He chuckles sarcastically.
"Oi! It's all I feel like doing. Plus, I can make tons of mess with the paint anyway. Wanna join me?"
"Sure." Mac opens the classroom door and we both enter. All eyes are on me, because everyone knows I'm bound to do something stupid. And they're usually right. Also because they're all scared of me. I'm not the most approachable person in the world. I chew the inside of my lip, a habit I picked up from my mum, as I walk up to Mr. Richards, our art teacher, is sitting at his desk, assessing work. Mac is at a table by himself. He takes a seat and places my books beside him. He beckons me over. I hold up a finger signalling to give me a minute. He nods and watches me intently. I walk up to Mr. Richards and wait for him to give me his full attention.
"Hello Miss. Brooks." He sighs, sounding exhausted.
"Hi Mr. Richards. I just wanted to explain to you why I was late to class."
"I don't want to hear your excuse." He says, turning back to a painting of what looks like a demented horse. I chew the inside of my lip and put on a pout.
"You don't want to hear my excuse?" I whimper.
"No."
"You're mean!" I shout. Everyone stares at me and I smirk as I strut down the isle to my seat. Mandy Fuji, the bitch of the school, smirks at me as I pass her and she sticks her leg out to trip me. I jump over it and pull her chair out from underneath her. She falls onto her arse with a scream and everyone laughs. Mr. Richards glares at me and I curtsy with a smirk. I sit next to Mac who high fives me. This lesson we are all finishing off our final pieces of art work. I've drawn up some one with their head being ripped off. Although it doesn't sound so nice, it looks better. I have already completed my painting so I hand it up to Mr. Richards with an explanation of what it is and represents. He gives me a nod of approval and continues marking other paintings. I sit back done next to Mac. He smiles at me and signs his signature at the bottom of his work, finishing it. He hands it up and then sits next to me. He studies my face for a moment.
"New piercing." He finally says. "God! It's been bugging me all day. I knew something was different I just couldn't put my finger on it." I laugh and nod. He brushes my jet black hair behind my ear and looks at it. I have three piercings in both my ear lobes, 5 in my both helix, one in both my tragus and my new one in the rook of my right ear.
"Did it hurt?"
"Like hell. But I'm happy with it." I smile. He pulls my hair back over my ear and starts playing with his lip ring.
We both got our lip and noes piercings together and we both got the same colour ring. "Friendship piercings," as Mac calls them. I twirl his ear stud and then see the black paint. I glance up at Mr. Richards. He's too busy marking work. Now's my opportunity to get messy. I pop the lid off the black paint and dump the lot of it on our table. Then I grab the red and do the same. Then I grab the white and guess what I do with it? You guessed it. I dump it all on the table. By now, the table across from us are staring at me. Mac grabs the purple and blue paints he was using and does what I did. I shoot the other table a glare and they immediately go back to work. I start spreading it around and mixing all the colours together. Then, once I've made sure my smock is completely paint proof, I slap my hand right in the middle of the paint. It splatters everywhere and makes a loud slap. every student looks at me and I chew the inside of my lip. Then Mac joins in. We start slapping our hands against the table, splattering paint everywhere. We make a good drum beat together and then we wipe our hands over the table and push all the paint onto the floor. None splatters on mine or Mac's shoes, but everyone around us... Let's just say their legs look like they have fallen into the black lagoon. Me and Mac glance up at Mr. Richards. He is storming towards us. I play with my lip ring with my tongue. As he gets closer, he steps into the war zone of paint. He is about 10 feet away from us when he slips onto his butt. I let out a loud laugh and everyone else joins in. Mr. Richard looks like his face has been painted red he is so angry. I chew my lip as my heart thumps loud and clear in my ears. Mac takes my hand under the table and squeezes it tightly. I look at him. He looks so happy when he laughs. I laugh even more. Mr. Richards manages to stand up and then points to the door.
"Get out of my class room!!!" He bellows. "NOW!!!" We wash out hands, take of our smocks, grab our books and sprint out of the classroom. We put our books away and head out into the school yard. No way were we heading to the principal. We run behind the block of toilets and sit down. Mac pulls out his lighter and cigarettes. He offers me one and I take one. This was going to be the second time trying one and I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Mac puts his between his teeth and lights it. I put mine between my teeth and Mac lights it for me. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out through his noes. The wind catches it and takes it away. I take a drag and start coughing and spluttering.
Mac is 18, so he is legally allowed to smoke. But me, I'm almost 18. Almost meaning 5 months, 6 days. So that's close enough.
"That is disgusting!" I frown. Mac laughs and takes my cigarette from my mouth. He butts his out and uses mine. He takes another drag and blows the smoke into my face. I screw up my face and cough. I shove him and he laughs.
"Give it here. I gotta get used to it." I say taking the fag from between his teeth. I take a deep breath and then put it in my mouth. I take a drag and close my mouth. I cough and blow the smoke out at the same time, but I managed to keep the smoke in my mouth for a while. He takes the cigarette back and gives me the thumbs up.
"Good job." He says through the smoke. I laugh and rest my head against the cold brick of the toilet block.
Mac and I wag the rest of school, sitting behind the toilets, talking, laughing, sharing cigarettes. When the bell rings, we butt out the cigarette and run to our lockers to grab our bags. Then we walk home together.