I never want to go home

I just couldn’t be bothered to pick myself up. I was sitting on the wall near my house, dreading the prospect of walking home. I looked down knowingly at my watch, it was time to go. I flicked my cigarette out into the road and hopped off the wall.
I walked back slowly, making every step last. I walked past the indifferent doors; it was the entire same here, no sign of individuality. I sighed, this place seemed so negative.
I lived on a council estate, in the south of London. Skyscrapers littered the sky while litter covered the floor. I walked past abandoned mattresses, toys and clothes; there was even an old washing machine.
I started to feel sick, I was so close to home. There it was Kingley house, high-rise flats. We lived roughly in the middle, which was good considering the lifts hardly ever worked.
Begrudgingly I plodded up the steps, opened the front door and walked in. The lock was broken on the door by youths; they often came in to take drugs. The floor littered with bottles, paper, in fact you name it, it was there. I pressed the button on the lift, in hope, shouldn’t of bothered it wasn’t working.
I came to the front door; I quietly got out my keys, pushed them in the door. I was sweating and my mind racing, please don’t let my Mother be in. The key turned, and I slowly pushed open the door. My head peaked round the door first, I couldn’t hear her. But then an almighty scream came from the living room ‘Hailey is that you, where have you been?’
I quickly tore off my coat and just ran to my room. I sat down on my bed and really hoped my Mum would stay in the living room. I looked at my hands and I was shaking with fear.