Pain travels through my leg as I swing it over the side of my bed, courteous of the fresh purple bruise making a home on the back of my knee and thigh.

Trying to conceal the grunt I make in pain, I get up from the bed and tiptoe across to my bathroom in aid of a hot shower to get ready for the first day of my last year. I grab a hoodie and pair of jeans to throw on after, scruffy but it's not like I've got much to dress up for.

I go to school, study and come home.

If my life was a book it would be a notebook... empty and full of barriers that stop your letters falling into each other. The notebook of Atlas Grove, sometimes you'll get the smudges of ink that prevent you from writing on those lines completely and other times you just won't know what to write.

I jump in the shower letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles, it travels down the marks and busted cuts that scatter my body. The sting is minimal pain in comparison to how they were acquired. I wash through my blonde locks being careful not to get the soapy suds in my eyes. The bathroom fills with steam which wiggles its way into my tired lungs when I take a deep breath, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

A year, that's all. Just get through the year Atlas.

Feeling fresher, rid of the oil that gathered on my skin during the night, I step out of the shower onto the cold bathroom floor. I tie a towel around my body and swivel my hair up to dry slightly, using the last towel to wipe the murky mirror where a condensed cloud had covered it. I dry down and throw on the clothes slung on the counter before applying a light base of make-up, covering the daunting black bags under my eyes. Pulling the mascara wand out of the tube I stand contemplating for a few moments.

Oh, screw it.

I push it back in and throw the bottle back onto the vanity area. My hair manly covers my eyes anyway. I still do my eyebrows since they're basically non-excitant, perks of being a blonde I guess, then pull my wet hair out of the towel and brush it so it doesn't look like a bird's nest.

I grab my rucksack from my chair, catching sight of the ballet shoes peeking out from under my bed as I go to shut the door. I sigh kicking them back under into the abyss of crap I've stored under there.

Sorry, mom. Another day.

I lean my head against my bedroom door, it's a lie. It's always going to be a lie. They've been collecting dust for the past four years and this year I plan for them to start harvesting spiders.

My stomach growls alerting me to the fact I need to move down to the kitchen and get going or I'll be late.

I walk into the kitchen holding my breath, unsure of what the mood with be this morning. My parents- well if you can call them that- my adoptive parents are stood in the silence, my dad scowling at the shaking newspaper in his hands and my mom pouring a cup of coffee, not so suitably adding a 'drop' of brandy.

'There's bread in the drawer and fruit over there but I need to go get some groceries." She mumbles into her cup, not looking up at me as she saunters out the door. She always says she needs to go grocery shopping but weirdly enough never manages to get to the stores, usually because she's either passed out or too far gone to drive.

I hover in the doorway, staring at the eighties style flooring, refusing to look over in my dad's direction.

"Don't just fucking stand there. Go to school." He says abruptly tipping the paper down to shoot his frightening gaze over me. I jump at his voice filling the silence, I pull my bag onto my shoulder and get ready to walk away quickly, not prepared to risk anything this morning until I see my mom spread out on the couch watching some rubbish morning TV, sipping from a flask.

"Do you... uh.." I hesitate to turn back to face the pitbull looking man who scoffs at me.

"Speak up girl."

"Shall I pick up some groceries on the way back?" I fiddle with my nails, trying not to pick at them. I'd only painted them a few days ago in an attempt to stop biting them and let them grow, but it's a nervous thing.

"Yes." He tuts, flipping a page in the paper, "Go." He raises his voice and I don't wait around, bolting out of the front door, past my mother who sighs a whimsical 'bye'.

The sun's greeting the morning as I plug my earphones into my ear and press shuffle on an old playlist. It's a good forty minutes walk, which I don't mind, it's probably one of my favourite parts of my day. I can just listen to music and shut everything out, unwind and get lost in the melodies.

I start my journey out of our grey, dismal street. It's more of an estate than anything- something that should have been demolished in the eighties, sometimes I wonder how the houses are still standing. I pass Mrs Jayson next door who gives me a wave as she drags a cigarette from her mouth and greet Ramona a few doors down whose taking her three years old out to daycare before I walk through the half-broken playground at the end of the street.

When I finally get to school I slow my steps to prolong having to walk the halls of the hell hole, East Meadow High, where unless you're a superstar jock or bought your way onto the cheer team you are irrelevant in the food chain that is high school.

Rendering me in outside the bubble called popularity. I don't mind, I keep myself to myself, I prefer it like that. I keep my head down and focused, if I stay top of my classes I have a better chance at getting that scholarship.

I have my heart set on getting a scholarship, it's my ticket out of this town, out of this state and away from this nightmare. I just have to stick out this last year and work as hard as I can.

I take a deep breath, rounding the corner onto the school grounds where groups of friends are already crowding the pathways, hugging and sharing memories about their summer. The rich would have gone on vacation, Dubai or Bali but the less wealthy would have spent the summer getting drunk at dodgy house partys or sleeping under the stars in stray fields.

I climb the steps at the front of the school and push open the door into the hallway. I let my hair fall in front of my eyes and keep my focus on the floor, ignoring the claustrophobic mess of students opening and closing their lockers. My steps become quicker as the crowds get denser.

Making it to my locker without getting washed away in the tide of randy teenagers I fling open the metal door and sort out my textbooks for the day, lessening the mass of my heavy bag.

As the bell rings students start to disperse from the halls, slamming my locker shut I go to make my way to homeroom. On my way down the hall, I mentally make a list of groceries I need to pick up on the way home so I don't forget-

Thump

Ouch. That fricking hurt. I feel the coolness of the floor under my fingers, unsure of what I'd been knocked down. I hesitantly look up to be met with a group of letterman jackets.

Oh crap, crap crap!

I immediately evert my eyes and scramble to collect a few things that had fallen from my person in the fall.

"Jesus! Watch it mousy!" The boom of the voice finds me on the floor, followed by a few snickers.

My cheeks are burning and my hands are shaking like a rattlesnakes tail. This is so embarrassing, I stare at the selection of shoes in front of me, too afraid to look up. I can feel my muscles seizing up.

Get up! Don't just sit there.

"Danm you sure do like it down there in the dirt don't you." The voice says again, this time drawing the attention of several other students in the hallway, their chorus of laughing has me wishing a black hole will just come and sweep me up.

Unexpectedly a hand shoots down to my level. It's covered in tattoos and a few rings. My hand looks ever so dainty in painted one. The stong arm pulls me up and only then do I look up at my helper. His dark black hair is slicked back on top of his head, with a spare few stands coming loose, his bright blue eyes could make the oceans jealous and even I can see how muscly he is beneath the jacket, its practically bursting at the seams. His rosy lips complement the slight scar he has on his chiselled cheekbones and a tiny amount of shadow covers his lower cheeks.

The long eyelashes that coat his ocean envying eyes squint closer together, retracting his hand hastily from mine he grunts with a disgusted look paining his face as they scan me.

I can feel the jocks closing in around me so I bolt, stumbling slightly, towards the nearest bathroom, cheeks aflame and heart beating way quicker than is naturally possible.

Well done Atlas.