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At school I was always trying to fit in. The minute a new craze started, I stared wistfully at all the fortunate people involved. These people became the `cool' people for the next few weeks, until another craze started. At the age of fourteen it was becoming desperate that prosaic, timid little me should find a social group. There was the music group, but I doubt the music I would listen to is considered `cool'. Not to mention my cassette walkman; so last year according to this group, all with brand new top of the range mp3 players.
There was the mobile phone group, with those lumps of lethal metal onstantly at the ear, penetrating radioactive waves deep into their innocent minds.
The fascination of browsing over each other's text messages and squealing with delight when the phone rang was alien to me.
There was the homework group, who spent every possible moment doing work. I just didn't understand. Even I thought it was pitiful.
There were other no-bodies like me but they liked keeping themselves to themselves.
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They were wrapped up in a cocoon, shutting the world out until they independently became a beautiful butterfly ready for the world. But I didn't like being lonely. All I wanted was to be ccepted.
There was only one group that appealed to me. Most people were wary of them; I was too. But it was something about them that made me curious. Something about them that appealed to me. Maybe the need inside of me that I had always wanted to be slightly rebellious.
They constantly seemed content and happy, and that was probably because they were undoubtedly pissed all the time.
I watched them come into school with their water bottles evidently filled with a substitute drink. They would stop at the school gates, having discarded the empty bottles and smile broadly as the ambled into school.
All I needed to know now was how to join this group? I knew a girl, Jenna, who used to be in that group. She got chucked out because she couldn't bring the drink the day it was her turn. I knew what I had to do. I was not going to be a reject anymore. As I traipsed out of school that cool October day, I felt the sun come out, as if just for me. Caitlin Winters was not going to be a nobody anymore. I would go home, and as my mother goes out for her yoga classes I will fill an empty water bottle with whatever I can find, stored in an opaque container in the drinks cabinet.
I will arrive omorrow at the side-alley by the newsagents and present my future friends with a gift. As I reached my house, I sighed a huge sigh of happiness, relief and gratitude to myself. I rang the doorbell. The distant ring sounded removed from the real world. My world. The world that had pulled a hood over my eyes and forced me to focus on this one aspect.
All I had to do was this one simple thing and I would be accepted. My mother came to the door. "Oh darling! How are you? "-The usual mother treatment. "I'm good thanks mum. I've just got a load of work to plough through. " This was not a lie; I just wanted her off my back so I could proceed ith my smuggling. I started towards the stairs, slinging my bag on my back and kicking off my hoes in the porch. "You want any tea? I baked low-fat organic chocolate cake. " This made me smile inwardly. Despite my mother being an over-reacting heath-freak with a love for inner peace and honesty, I love her. I love the way she cares so much about what we eat of do that she checks up on us 24/7.
I know taking the drink will be betraying the trusting relationship we have, but hopefully what she doesn't know won't hurt her. I just had to do this. I muttered a `no thanks' and wandered up the stairs to my room. A vast ile of laundry greeted me on my pink bedsheets. I flopped onto my beanbag and stared at the room around me, waiting for my mother's exit. "I'm going to yoga now," she said, right on cue. "The chocolate cake's on the counter. Don't have too much. I'll be back in an hour or so. " I heard footsteps retreat down the stairs and towards the front door. SLAM! It was now or never. "Mum? " I called out, just checking she was gone. No answer. I drifted warily down the stairs, one step at a time. I pushed open the door to the kitchen and tiptoed in. I suppose when you are doing something wrong you feel watched. That is how I felt.
I felt like every object was spying on me. I glanced over my shoulder. No one was there. I opened the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of Evian. I walked to the sink, passing the chocolate cake. It didn't look too bad for a low-fat cake. Anyway, I unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle upside-down. The cool water dribbled out, splashing all over the dirty, soon-to-be-washed baking tins. I shook the bottle and sent flicked water all over the kitchen window. The dining room was still. It is hardly ever used and an eerie silence took over. I went to the oak wood cabinet. I opened the glass door and looked at the bottles.
Absolute Vodka? Baileys? Bacardi? Suppose I bought the wrong kind? Then I would be back to square one. A nobody, a reject. I reached for a white opaque bottle, Malibu. I un-twisted the lid and brought the bottle to my nose. The smell was sweet and alcoholic. I had come from a sheltered background where the knowledge of alcohol was far from my knowing, but I knew that smell was right. I began to pour this sweet liquid into the water bottle, slowly so as not to spill any. Then, I heard it. I froze. A key was being put into the front door.
Turning and then I heard the door swing open. I heard my mother call upwards: Catty, I've just forgotten my yoga mat, don't worry, carry on working. " My heart was beating so fast. Lying next to me on the floor was a blue yoga mat. Footsteps toward the dining room made me hold my breath. Do I drop everything and hide? Do I lie and say something stupid like `its for research'? Do I . . . . . .I didn't know what to do. "Caitlin? What? " I spun my head round. I saw my mother staring in disbelief at the bottle of Malibu in one hand, and the half full bottle in another. My mouth dropped open. I felt horrid, like I had cheated.
I felt stupid. I had been caught. I was guilty. I remembered thinking `what she oesn't know wont hurt her,' but she does know, and she is hurt. I can see it in her eyes the eyes that used to look trustful and happy, now looked betrayed and hurt. What had I done? I turned back round to look at what I was doing. I felt tears in my eyes. A cold tension was all round me. I placed the bottles down, almost shakily, got to my feet and ran out of the room. I ran past my mother and up the stairs. I threw myself on the bed and cried. I felt so bad. So bad. I had betrayed the one person who trusted me. I felt guilty. Why had I done this? Just to be accepted into a stupid group. I bet they aren't real friends anyway.
Just using each other for drink to look cool. I felt awful. I laid there for a while, until I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I decided to tell here everything. Honesty is the best policy. She had always taught me that. After talking with mum I worked out that if you need to prove yourself to be friends with people, then they're not your real friends in the first place. The next few days with Mum were very awkward. I tried my best to make things back to how they were, but there was no doubt, the close relationship that had once been all that mattered between mum and I, had been damaged, and it was my weapon that had done it.
Betrayal - Creative Writing. (2020, Jun 01). Retrieved from https://studymoose.com/betrayal-creative-writing-new-essay
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