Waking up the next morning, I was snuggled next to my bean bag, my face buried in it, almost clutching to the fabric for safety. I felt groggy and my eyes stung from the dried tears in the corner of them. Pulling myself from off of the floor, I stretched and grabbed at my phone, checking the time. The usual bright light from it didn't appear, indicating that my phone had died sometime after I had crashed out last night.
Having no idea what time it was, I gathered my things and left the factory behind. It was bright outside, and the sun was blazing down from up above, telling me it was roughly midday or mid-afternoon. Jumping into the car, and checking the in car clock to find it was indeed half past one, I rushed home; dodging traffic and skipping recently turned red traffic lights.
A few beeps from passing cars and around ten minutes later, I pulled into the drive of my house. My dad's car was gone, but I could see the television blaring away through the front window. I sat in the car a while longer, trying regain my composure. My mum was going to go ballistic. I had no idea how many times my parents had tried to contact me, and I cursed myself for not thinking to charge my phone before I left.
The front door didn't look like my usual welcoming front door. I took a deep breath, and gently pushed down on the handle.
"Sky? Is that you?" came from the front room.
"Yes mum, it's me."
Walking into the front room, I was confronted with my mother's arms being thrown around me. She had started talking to me, so fast that I could hardly understand what she was going on about. I sort of tuned out until she pulled away from me and shook me, knocking me out of my trance.
"I've tried calling Sky! Where have you been? Why didn't you answer me?" I apologised and made up some excuse about me staying at a friend's house and forgetting to charge my phone or let her know. My parents were under the impression that I actually had friends. It was easier to let them think that, it meant I could slip out of the house whenever I wanted to and stopped them worrying about me. If they really knew the truth, my mum would be a nervous wreck, and I couldn't have that. The only problem that came with this little white lie was the fact that my mum was always trying to get me to invite friends over to the house.
My mum was an amazing host and I hated not being able to provide her with the guests she longed for. Her speciality was baking, and desserts were her favourite thing to bake, anything from cookies and cakes, to pasties and sausage rolls. It was the main thing that contributed to the whole family's weight. She didn't mean to, she just couldn't help herself. She wanted to give us all whatever we wanted, and she hated telling us no. It was just how she was, a beautifully caring woman that would do anything for her children and husband.
She shook her head at me, thankfully believing my pathetic excuse. Her faint words of 'don't do it again' rang through my ears as she left the room, to head to the kitchen where I could hear the oven timer going off with probably yet another batch of cookies ready to eat. I clutched my stomach as it rumbled begging me to give it the food it desired so much. Shaking my head, I told my mum I'd be upstairs and escaped before she could offer me one of the piping hot goods that had just been taken from the oven.
Closing my bedroom door, trying to block out my brother's awful dance music, I stood in front of the dresser, just under my mirror. I stared at the reflection, and pulled at the fat on my cheeks. My eyes were bloodshot, probably from the crying and lack of sleep from the night before. I lifted the fringe that covered my forehead to take a closer look at the dry skin beneath it. The skin was red raw and peeling away from my head.
The rash had started making its way down my face and was now gracing the tops of my cheeks and my ear lobes. I had had psoriasis since I was a child, but it had only ever been on my scalp. It was a skin condition that made my head dry and would appear to others as though I had dandruff. When it first appeared, I was only around seven years old, and it only stuck around for a year or two. Thinking I had seen the back of it, I began to forget all about it, until last year when it had come back with a vengeance.
It has started on my scalp just as before, but instead of disappearing and getting better like last time, it began to take over my face. My forehead was covered and my scalp now seemed to be shedding skin like a snake every day. I had gotten used to seeing my shoulders covered with the dead skin that had fallen from my head, but it was not a nice thing to be walking around school with.
I dusted off my shoulders, whilst pushing my head band up to move my fringe from my face. Starting to apply the countless creams that the doctors had given me to get rid of it, I knew by now that the creams were not working. I had been going to the doctors every two to three months for the past year, where they had given me a new cream to try each time, and each time going back to the doctors in the same state, or sometimes worse.
The doctors had restricted me from putting anything on my body except the special lotions and potions they had given me. I had to use a medicated substitute for everything, including my shower gel, shampoo and even soap.
They had taken all my choice away from me, even putting me on a strict diet, telling me that it was the cause of my obesity. Nothing had worked though; I was still covered in the rash and was beginning to give up, especially since spots were now beginning to appear on my back as well.
Flinging myself onto my bed, I grabbed my laptop and switched on my music library. I placed the laptop on the floor, with my music on shuffle and lay back onto my bed staring at the ceiling, hoping things would get better sometime soon.