Chapter One:

A sleepless night

I woke up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep.

I sat up in my uncomfortably small bed, and looked around me.

As my eyes got used to the darkness, I could barely see the shapes of the thrifty furniture in my small, round, darkened bedroom.

I didn't dare to turn on the light, afraid that my parents would wake up.

(My parents were sleeping in the room next to mine, wall-to-wall. There was a crack in the wall that the light could shine through, and I didn't want them to see me awake in the middle of the night. Our apartment hadn't been fixed on since I was born, which was thirteen years ago. That's why our apartment had cracks in it. When it came to wealth, my parents weren't boasters).

I placed my bare feet on the cold, hard, naked wooden floor.

I looked out of the closed window opposite of me.

Outside, I could see nothing but blackness, even thicker than in my room, though occasionally pierced by the lights of cars zooming past the house where my family lived.

(well, I suppose it's mine too, since I am a member of the family).

I walked over to the window as quietly as I could so I wouldn't wake them, and carefully and quietly turned on the handle that would open the window.

I stiffened as the handle turned, afraid that it could've made too much noise, and I listened intently for noises from my parents' bedroom.

When I could hear nothing, I opened the window slowly so it wouldn't creak.

I stood there, feeling the cool night air against my face. A gentle breeze met me, and I welcomed it gratefully, enjoying the sensation.

I liked the wind. I even envied it a little. It was completely free, no one to boss it around, or tell it where it was supposed to blow. It had a life of its own with no worries of any kind.

"Not like me."

I thought sadly, looking out on the darkened streets of my hometown, Maine.

Even to myself, I never had the courage to speak badly of my parents, no matter how much I hated them.

No, maybe it was more like I was scared to death of them. Well, my father more than my mother, really, but scared of both, nonetheless.

My father, because of his temperament and his hard fists. My mother, because of the icy glares she sent me everytime I did something wrong, like dropping a bottle of milk at the breakfast table, or forgetting to buy food.

That kind of thing, the kind of thing that (I suspect) is being taken very lightly, and looked upon as a bagatelle by parents in most homes.

I stretched out my hand to reach for the handle of the window and closed it quietly.

I walked quietly to the closet beside my bed, opened it quietly and looked inside the mirror behind the door.

I wasn't very fond of my appearance.

I saw a girl with long, dark hair (call it what you want. To me, it was nothing special) usually tied back into a blue ribbon.

I saw big, dark, sad blue eyes that at the moment had dark rings under them. The shape of my eyes was slightly downwards at the ends. My eyebrows were slightly bow shaped. I had a small nose which had just healed (more or less) from the last time my father and I had had an argument. (I'd forgotten by school bag in the classroom) I had a small mouth that rarely broke into a smile. My lips were of the kind that always starts bleeding easily when it gets cold outside. (Unfortunately, my dad took notice of this when I was at a very young age). I wore a pyjamas that had gotten too small for me. I had thin legs that rarely ever saw the sun. Therefore, my legs were always pale. I had small hands, my left bore marks from a clumsy use of the kitchen knife when I was little. (My mother ridiculed me for being "careless", even though I'd told her that the knife was too big for me to hold)

I sighed silently as I looked at myself. The plain girl that no boy would ever... I was angry at myself for that, for not being a girl who had people she felt close to.

"All because I'm just an ordinary girl, I have no one at school to share my life with."

I went back to my bed and curled up into a ball on my right side. My left was bruised.

"Stop thinking about such things!"

I said to myself, getting enough of depressive thoughts, and let my thoughts be carried away. I closed my eyes tightly and put my arms around me.

Suddenly my mind was filled with a song, a song from a Japanese pop-artist.

You couldn't say

Needed someone new

You actually thought

Deep inside I knew

Can you tell me how can you say

Why this should suffice

You passed me by

And your heart's as cold as ice

(You passed me by)

Did you see me cry

(Did you ask yourself why)

Did you see me cry

(Did you ask yourself how)

Can you hear me cry

(Did you ask yourself)

Will we ever grow apart

You couldn't say

Needed someone new

And you actually thought

Deep inside I knew

I wonder where we will go

Will we be the same

(You passed me by)

I laugh inside I think of you

And the love we made

(You passed me by)

Tell me why this should suffice

I hold you through the night

Now will I let it go

Soon I'll let it go

Can you hear me cry

(Will you ask yourself why)

Can you hear me cry

(Will you ask yourself how)

Can you hear me cry

(Will you ask yourself)

Will we ever grow apart

You, I'll stand by your side

I'll be there for you

(You passed me by)

You, I'll stand by your side

Please just do me right

(You passed me by)

You, I'll stand by your side

I'll be there for you

"I'll stand by your side. I'll be there for you." I smiled as I recited my favorite line of the song.

"Yeah, that'd be great...if there were anyone like that."

I lay awake the rest of the night, not bothering to try to go back to sleep.

I opened my eyes at the sound of footsteps in the house. I closed them again, and kept them shut.

I didn't want to meet the new day. I heard voices outside my door. A dark and strict voice I recognized as my father's. And my mother, answering him, though I couldn't hear what they were talking about.

My mother's voice always seemed to change depending on who she was around with. When she was with me, she always had that cold, harsh voice that always made my hands shake with fright. But when she was with her husband...or my father, she somehow started acting like an obedient, subservient house wife.

"Please, don't let this day be like any other."

I prayed to someone. I wasn't quiet sure if God could hear me, but I prayed, just the same.

I lay like that in my bed for awhile. I'd put my cover over my head, trying to shut out the world.

I was suddenly wrestled out of my thoughts as I heard the sharp, familiar tap on the door.

"Get up! Your father and I are already waiting!"

The voice my mother used when she spoke to me filled my room through my bedroom door. I opened my eyes under my cover, and unfolded my hands. Even though my parents weren't religious, I still found at least some comfort in praying. I started doing it half a year ago, when bad confidence in everything I did was about to overwhelm me.

It surprised me, though, that I hadn't done it all my life.

"At least no one can take away from me the freedom to think freely."

I sighed inwardly, and with some effort, managed to gather enough courage to get out of bed.

I went over to the door and opened it.

I stood in a small passageway, with the door to my parents' room right beside me to my left.

A little further away, was another door that led to the kitchen.

Our house wasn't big. If anyone from my class had set foot in here, I doubt they'd hardly think of it as a "house" at all.

I dunno, it just seems so depressive to call it a "cottage".

I walked the few steps over to the bathroom just outside the room where I slept.

I opened the door, hearing the creak as I did it.

I went inside, and shut the door behind me. I went over to the toilet and undressed. I avoided looking at myself as I passed the mirror opposite of me.

"No point in reminding myself of my appearance too often."

I went over to the shower and stepped inside.

"I only hope the hot water won't hurt as much as yesterday."

When I'd finished, I got out of the shower. I went over to a rack of towels, got one of them and dried myself.


I winced as the uncomfortable towel scratched the bruised part of my body.

"Think of something else...think of something else..."

My sore body continued to sting.

I kept my eyes closed, trying to avoid flashbacks from my past family arguments to soar to the surface of my mind.

I went out of the bathroom and sneaked into my room. I wanted to avoid their gazes.

I went over to my closet, and got out a white T-shirt with the words

"Watashi no tomodachi"

written in Japanese letters on the back.

I got some panties, a pair of green jeans, and the blue ribbon I kept my hair in.

I went over to my bed and got dressed. I heard more talking from inside the kitchen.

My father was speaking to my mother, again in that harsh voice of his.

I tried to block out the sound.

"At least he's not talking to me...yet."

I put my hands up to my hair with the blue ribbon in my right hand, and knotted my hair in a long braid.

When I'd finished, I stood up from my bed. I stood there, trying to spend as much time as possible out of my parents' sight.

But in the end, I knew it was pointless.

"No matter what I do, I'll have to face them sooner or later."

I felt a heavy lump in my stomach as I went out of my room, and into the small kitchen.

Like every other room in our house, the kitchen was thrifty and unkept.

My parents were sitting around a small wooden table a little to my left that tipped from to one side, depending on which side you leaned on.

"Took you long enough. We've already finished."

My mother said in that voice she always saved for me. And sure enough; their plates, covered in scratches from long use, were empty.

I said nothing to this. I didn't even look my own mother in her face as I passed her, and went over to the small fridge, and took out cheese and butter. I went over to my seat, and lay them on the table.

I went over to the locker to the right beside the fridge and opened it. I took out a plate just as worn-out and old as the ones my parents had used. I was about to walk back to my seat, when I tripped. I fell to the hard stone floor of the kitchen.

I heard the loud, nasty crash from the plate as it made contact with the hard floor.

I stood outside my house, with my rucksack on.

I'd packed everything I needed for school, and made sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

I touched the side of my face. It was slightly red from the punch.

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to prevent flashbacks from what had just happened, from filling my mind.

It wasn't the punch itself that had scared me so. It was the look in his eyes when my father had hit me.

"Lucy, you ignorant whore!"

I shook my head vigorously, trying to make the memory fade away.

But it wouldn't go away just like that. I started the twenty minutes long trip to school.

I walked slowly, as I tried to remember more Japanese songs to cheer me up a little bit.


Well, how do you like the start? There's gonna be more chapters, so if you like it, you're welcome to read more!

The song I got there is from the Japanese J-pop star Utada Hikaru.

And the words: "Watashi no tomodachi", that Lucy has got on her T-shirt means "My friend", in Japanese.

Hope some people read this fic!

The Reverse Edge Blade