Your tears don't fall, they crash around me.

A Story by Lottiee

This is my part for amelia, we're collab'-ing together. Should be cool, check it out and tell me what you think?

Numb from emotion, she hastily walked away. The day could only get easier. Nearing the staircase she readied herself. In her head she counted the steps, knowing full well that 28 steps later she’d be happier then she was at the bottom of the staircase. The cold locket rapped on her chest bone, silently dancing across round her neck...26...27...28...she stepped one last time, sighed and looked around. Trying not to run, she sped towards the room. Its exterior was cold and dull but through the small window colour poured. As was routine now, her hand lifted and her knuckles tapped the thin glass. Pausing only to pull her bag back onto her shoulder she entered, she was free now.

Approximately 20 minutes later, give or take, she left the room. Her happiness level restored but walking out was like a baby being snatched from its mother. The whole sense of comfort and love just washed away as the noisy hum of school children drummed in her ears. She had media next; a perfect opportunity to draw or sleep or do anything that wasn’t work. Scarlet, like many other teenage girls, was an extreme procrastinator. Avoided everything in life, delayed even the most important things. I guess you could say she was procrastinating when she had to tell Miss House.

Miss House’s beautiful dark eyes locked with mine. I could feel her love pouring from her. It was essential I got this out, but telling her wasn’t easy, nothing ever was. The silence was disconcerting. My news hung in the air, and it seemed Miss House was coming along with a massive net and fishing them out of the sky, word by word. It was too surreal, too bizarre, too out of the blue for it to be true, but it was and even Miss House’s kind, loving smile couldn’t heal those wounds. There was something about her face, her smooth skin, her pink lips glistening in the light, her dark brown eyes, with that familiar fleck at the top. I watched her mouth as the words poured out from within. Subconsciously I began to form them into sentences.

When she snapped back into reality her name was being repeated, over and over. Not in a violent way, it was soft and welcoming but at the same time it was powerful and overwhelming. Scarlet glanced up, this time the tears drained from her eyes. Lightly they crashed onto her lap dampening her trousers slightly. The bell rang, its deafening screech piercing her eardrums. She stood, her legs were weak and she collapsed seconds later, this time tears streamed from her eyes, wave after wave of tears bombarded her, mascara partially smudged across her face.

Miss House passed me a tissue and she gently stroked my cheek as I tried to stand once more. Her arm reached round me, holding me lightly. I felt her warmth and wanted to remain here forever. She walked me to tutor, telling me things were going to be alright. Just as she walked away I glanced back, watching her wipe the tears from her eyes and scurry down the stairs, she turned into welfare and disappeared.

That was it, this was serious now. Scarlet would have the whole team of staff on her case. She knew that ultimately this was the ONLY outcome but in her head she wished it was simpler. She felt that now familiar hand grasp her shoulder and she let out a little gasp. No matter how familiar it may have been it was still a shock. Scarlet was lead up the corridor, class room upon class room of smiling children flew past. They reached the class. The door swung open and scarlet stepped in, it was time.

My mind flashed back to when I told Miss House. Her kind eyes watering at my every word. They seemed to scream silently. Part of me wanted to reach out and hug her but the rest of me wanted to grab the scissors on her desk and swipe cleanly from left to right across my wrist .I did neither. I simply sat there. Waves of guilt flushed over me. She shouldn’t have to listen to this, she didn’t deserve this. I had watched her over the course of the year. Her mood worsening by the day and it was my fault. Entirely my fault. I could say sorry a million times over but what use would it be? Watching her now I could see her salty tears falling onto her lap. I reached for the tissues but her hand beat me to it. I clenched my fist, wished her well and promised her I’d return. Wanting to clear my head, I walked next door. I knocked once and let myself in. It took me one glance upward and I was being cradled instantly. Copeland could tell I didn’t wish to speak but I had no choice. She grabbed some paper, reached around in her bag for a pen and stared at me. Her eyes were studying me. Trying to piece together my mumbles into sentences like a puzzle. She wrote down 3 letters, opened the door and gave a slither of paper to a passing teacher. There was a brief conversation but it was inaudible. I sat there. This was too much.

Chris Doherty was a lanky man. The school staircase was no match for him. He leapt up the stairs, 2, sometimes 3 steps at a time. When he reached the class room he flung open the door, turned round the chair that sat opposite Scarlet and straddled it. His words were soft for a big man. He spoke with genuine sincerity. Scarlet’s face dropped. Pure bemusement flicked across her face, which was understandable. The silence filling the room was strange, but not awkward. His eyes looked down. Why was this happening?

Ever since I was little, I wanted to know the meaning of life. I never understood why it seemed all the bad things happened to me. The idea of fate blew my mind and my imagination ran wild. As I sat there at the desk, I could feel Copeland’s stare burning my face. She’d always been there for me and guided me since I can remember and so to me she was like a mother. I guess she was refusing to believe what I was saying. A gush of sick made its way up my throat and I forced it back down with a grimace. As Copeland’s words filled the air I could see Mr Doherty’s face drop. Not even he expected this.

Missing someone or something is the worst feeling in the world. A weekend was often too much to be away from school. School was my escape, my chance to get everything off my chest and feel loved. Yes that was it; it was the love and attention I yearned for. It wasn’t that I didn’t get it at home; because I did, just perhaps it wasn’t shown in your average way. My mother, a small lady in her early 40’s, is very stubborn. She, like many other members of my family is very solitary. My Father however has always shown favouritism toward me and whilst growing up I adored being ‘daddy’s little girl’. Until recently that is. As he ages he seems to become more and more to himself by the day. We barely speak now, it’s just shouting these days. My parents don’t have a lot of patience for me and vice versa. The more I mature the more I realise I’ve made myself become independent. It seems that even from a young age I longed for independence and I wanted to be treated older then I was. But now that’s caught up with me, my parents request I behave like an adult and they assume I’m emotionally sophisticated when in fact I’m the exact opposite.

I was shaking like I was possessed. It was just fright. The Police officer stood in front of me. Her small eyes looking over me. That same familiar hand reached for my shoulder. This time I knew it was coming. I was comfortable with her doing it now. Instead this time it was different. It was an action of love. A way of trying to calm me down, but right now my head was ALL over the place. That hand seemed to stop me shaking and it was like a breath of fresh air.

Scarlet explained all to the police officer. Her voice was hushed and paced. Her words were rhythmic. There was a pause, the soft sound of the pencil scrawling on the paper filled the room. After 5 minutes of these hushed bursts of conversation the police officer closed the notepad. She had all she needed. She remained seated and stared at Scarlet straight in the eye; a fake sense of sincerity was emitted.

I hate it when adults pretend they care. I hate it when they use their position or ranking as excuses of them ‘having’ to care. For example, I hate it when my dad pretends he cares. I hate it when he tells me one thing and means another. His belittling and contradictive behaviour is what frustrates me most. I guess he as a person is severely misunderstood. Being male he finds it hard to talk to someone about how he feels or even express love in anyway. His snide comments make me feel highly inadequate and I guess that’s what gets me most. I’ve inherited his temper too. I suppose this puts me at a bit of a disadvantage really. People judge me. Straight away. My foul language and ‘in your face’ personality is a little overwhelming, especially when you find out I’m only 15. I’ve grown up thinking swearing non-stop was acceptable. My personality, however, I’ve preened and moulded over my 15 years of existence. Certain traits of mine are both cunning and defensive. I’ve always had to watch myself growing up with 3 brothers because it was me against them. By being like I am, I’ve always struggled maintaining friendships. I longed to be accepted and that’s when I turned to older company. They were more tolerant, knew what I was going through and best of all, they’d listen to me until I had nothing left to say.

Cancer, the little b*****d, had wormed its way into my life just to send me over the edge. Roughly 7 months ago, 3 members of my family were diagnosed with several different variations of this awful disease. My granddad, the eldest of the 3, was diagnosed with bone cancer. Something that was impossible to cure. It made him sick, fragile, and about 6 inches shorter. He’s a good man, with a big heart but not even he had hope. He pulled through his first lot of chemotherapy and is looking a lot better. My time with him is limited and all I could do was stand by and watch the cruel claws of time wrench him from me. I know it’s horrible, but it’s the truth. Once he goes, that’s the final thread of our family snapped. My parents will go into shut down mode. And that sense of neglect will increase to excruciating levels. My grandparents supported me when I was younger, and helped me make my own decisions and make them for the right reasons. I love them both dearly, and I hate knowing that if I do something stupid it’ll destroy them. But there are times in life, and they occur too frequently I fear, that I just want to throw myself of a bridge. Death doesn’t scare me, but disappointment does. My decisions in life are mainly made to please others. When I do something stupid the first thing I worry about is ‘oh god, they’re going to be so disappointed’.