This is the first part of a story I have been working on. It's only rated PG-13 because it deals with mature themes. Hope you enjoy, feel free to crit.

Part 1

I listened to the shouting. The angry whispers followed by screams had become normal. I slid further under my bed covers and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. I could hear snippets of the shouting, but most of it was muffled by my Duvet.

“… irresponsible…disgrace…hate…”

Mum was screaming now, hysterically. Then THUD. Silence.

I bolted up in bed, glancing around the pitch black room. Silence. It hurt my ears. I stroked my stomach and got out of bed. Opening the door I wondered how everything had gone wrong so quickly. How I had ruined my parents lives. How I had ruined my own life.

Out in the moonlit hallway I could hear Dad whispering something, calm, sorry. My long curly hair brushed against my damp cheek. Was it all over? Was everyone calm?

“Lyla.”

Dad stood in the doorway; his eyes were red from where he had obviously been crying. Mum was slumped in the corner of the room; she couldn’t bring herself to look at me. Dad went to speak but I butted in.

“I heard.”

Mum whimpered.

“I can’t take this anymore!” I shouted. The room turned blurry. Memories flashed before my eyes. Telling mum, telling Sarah, the night it happened. Him.

“If I could turn back time I would. But it’s over, it happened. I can’t change it!”

I felt the frustration rising so I swung round and walked back into my room, slamming the door behind me.

“Are you still not coming to school?”

Sarah stood in the porch, her hood up, dripping wet. The rain pelted down outside. April Showers.

“No.” I was stood in my pyjamas, my hair a mess, my face blotchy from all the crying I’d done in the last week.

“You have to show up at some point, people are starting to talk.”

I frowned. “Talk about what? What’s the latest rumour?” I hated school. Actually, I hated the gossip and the rumours. People who spread rumours are rats and school’s infested.

Sarah sighed. “Some think you’re ill, some think you’re too scared to come in for some reason or other. But some…”

I shook my head. I understood.

“You’ve been gone for days, Lyla; I can’t keep lying for you. And…well I’m worried. Being cooped up in the house isn’t good for you,” she said gently. I felt my eyes welling up. The clock in the kitchen donged, signalling nine o’clock.

“You’re going to be late, babe,” I croaked, turning away.

“I’m already late, stop changing the subject!” Sarah snapped. She looked angry but her expression softened into disappointment. “Look,” she continued, “tomorrow I’ll be round at eight. You are coming to school, I don’t care how you feel, we need you back, and you need to get back to normal, show your face.” I opened the porch door solemnly and as Sarah left I whispered to myself, “We’ll show our faces.”