A/N: Hey. Just went by this story – when I should actually be doing my last essay this school year -' – and saw some flaws here and there, and things that could use some improvement, so… I've gone through it once more and – since this is one of my older stories – decided to do some changes here and there. Not the big things, just here and there… Thought of making this into a song-fic (Nobody's Home by Avril Lavigne), but didn't know if it's allowed here? Well, anywayz… ENJOY!

One too Many

By: Callista Moon

Rated: T – for themes such as suicide and suicidal thoughts.

It started out as a normal day. She woke up, took a shower, got dressed and went down to eat breakfast. Her mother smiled and asked her what she wanted to eat. She didn’t answer, simply took a slice of toast and warmed it without answering or even looking at her mother. Why should she? Just yesterday her mother had called her the most egocentric person in the world – just because she asked if it was fair that her younger sister got almost the double of her own gifts for her birthday. Her mother had flipped; shouted at her how expensive she was. It made her feel like her parents saw her as nothing but an expense. And so she was already feeling down this morning – before she even left for school.

“Remember, we have guests tonight. You have to clean when you get home from school,” her mother reminded her just as she walked opened the door to go out to wait for the bus. She nodded absent-mindedly and closed the door after her.

The bus tour was the same as always. She stared out the window at the rising sun the whole trip while she listened with one ear to her mp3-player and with the other to all the other teenagers in their part of the bus. The kids riding the bus for school had almost unconsciously, instinctually parted the bus into two parts; the back and the front. People in the front were mostly geeks, while the people in the back were the popular ones. She sat in the back, but only because she definitely did NOT belong in the front – and although she didn't completely belong down here either, it was better here than there.

Almost half an hour later, she got off the bus with all the other schoolchildren, and went to her classroom to wait for the teacher to come and unlock the door to their classroom.

She nodded to the other girls from her class. Soon the hall began to echo with laughter, talk and occasional screaming from the other students.

The bell rang and the teacher came to unlock the door to the classroom and start the first session.

She sighed. She had dreaded this. They had had a big history-test last week and today they would be getting their grades. She knew she’d done badly and the last thing she needed on this awful day, was to be told how very disappointed the teacher was. She usually was in the top with grades in most classes, but this test had just… slipped.

She was right. She'd done badly. VERY badly. She had gotten an 8. Not good when her mother was expecting at the very least a 10. The teacher gave her lecture in front of the whole class about how she needed to get better, then went on to the next student, who had gotten an 11.

She looked out the window and wished she could just die. Right there, right now. But, as the other times she'd made that wish, nothing happened. And she'd wished for it before. A lot. She'd thought about it. A lot. Dreamed about it. A lot. She had even found a "recipe" on how to do it on the internet. She knew how she could kill herself, with little or no pain. All you needed was sleeping pills and vodka… and if there weren't any sleeping pills, there were razorblades in the bathroom – or in the supermarket. That would, of course, be a little messier than the "clean&peaceful" pill-death. She smiled just a bit, unnoticeably. An upturn of the right corner of her lips so small that only she could feel it, know it.

The rest of the day passed by until it was the last two periods: . (physical education).

She HATED that class. If she WANTED to humiliate herself, she could find other ways to do it, easily, but noooooo, she had to take the class. And since she’d been skipping the last three times, there was no way to come around it.

She knew how her classmates laughed at her behind her back. She KNEW it! She could feel their laughs at her. She knew that they were disgusted. But they didn’t say anything. Never. Not to her face. After all, that wouldn't be very nice.

She lived. At least for now. And as she was out there, humiliating herself – again – on the field, she had finally had enough.

Suddenly overcome by nausea, she ran down to the lockers, out to the toilets and threw up in the nearest. She skipped the last period and took the bus home.

When she got home, her mother and father were at work and her sister had yet to come home from school. She cleaned downstairs, and then went up to read until the guests would arrive.

She heard her younger sister come home and could tell by the way she stomped up the stairs that the girl was in a mean mood. Not good. Her sister was very sweet when in a good mood, but… when not, her sister could be the devil herself. It was quite ironic, because it was also her sister that kept her from going over the edge in the darkest times.

She shrugged it off for the time being, but couldn't help but feel the queasiness in her stomach returning.

The guests arrived and she was called down to dinner.

It went well until… Her sister WAS in a mean mood. Halfway through the meal the little girl began telling all the ten guests, loudly, about how she had found five empty chocolate-wraps in her older sister’s room, and how her older sister often went out to buy chocolate. All through it, the girl wore a little, evil, self-satisfied smile.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and looked to her parents for help in this humiliating situation.

Her father just sat there as usual and looked around, almost confused, dreamily.

Her mother… her mother LAUGHED. Loudly. It became too much then.

She let dinner be dinner and ran up to her room, almost tripping on her way up the stairs; her vision blurred by shameful, angry tears. She locked her door and threw herself on her bed. And then she really cried.

When she couldn't cry anymore she hurriedly dried the humiliating tears from her tears – another victory for them; they had made her cry. Congratulations, she thought bitterly. You win!

She caught the fleeting image of herself in the mirror from the corner of her eye, and turned to look. She immediately wished she hadn't. Her nose wrinkled in disgust of herself; the wide hips and stomach, the over arms; too thick, the shoulders; too wide – almost manly, and her fat thighs.

She looked away and laid heavily on her bed again.

She woke up by the noise of someone coming up the stairs. Her parents.

They went to bed, not checking on her, not saying goodnight.

She looked around the room, her gaze falling on the clock on her nightstand. It read 11 pm. It then glided along the rest of her room, coming to fall on her desk – papers, drawing and pencils spread all over it. She took a piece of paper and began writing – all the feelings, all the darkness inside her spilled from her mind and soul to the paper like fresh blood in the form of letters to her family and friends, in the form of poems and in the form of drawings of contrasting black and white.

When she finally ran out of paper, pencils and feelings, it was almost 2 am. She quietly sneaked past her parents' bedroom, hearing her father snoring thunderously in his sleep.

She went downstairs, to her parents’ liquor cabin, and took out the vodka. The bottle was half empty but there should be enough. Then she went upstairs again and into the bathroom. She searched through the bathroom cabinet and finally found what she sought; her mother's old sleeping pills. Her mother had been very stressed out by work last year and had had trouble sleeping. It blew over rather quickly, and there were still some of the extra strong sleeping pills left – enough.

She closed the door to her room, set the vodka and the bottle with sleeping pills on her nightstand and sat on the bed. She looked out through the window and up at the beautiful silver moon in the dark blue sky. She smiled a bit, just the smallest of upturns of the right corner of her mouth, noticed only by her. Then she opened the pill-bottle and began swallowing the pills, one by one. When they were all gone, she lifted the vodka bottle and drank her last toast to the dark night and the even darker world.

When they found her the next morning, it was too late.

8, 10 and 11:

The Danish grading scale goes like this:

00 – if you didn't turn in the project/essay or failed to come.

03 – if you just wrote the headline and maybe a couple of sentences for the project/essay, you should be able to get this

5 – if you knew just a little, but long way from enough.

6 – a bit more than five, but far from satisfying. The lowest grade you can graduate with.

7 – better than 6.

8 – average.

9 – a bit more than average.

10 – good work.

11 – really good work.

13 – exceptional and outstanding. It takes more than a lot to get this grade. Highest grade possible. It has to be creative, inspiring and able to hold the full attention of the teachers.

two periods of .:

In the Danish schools, every period is 45 minutes long. Don't know how it is in other countries ;)

A/N: Well, edited edition done now ;) Review, people, and make my day!