concrit would be much appreciated, i have tried to go through it myself, but the words all seem to be fused to the page :P
enjoy! i hope it's not too long (or prosaic) to go in.

Court Case
You were thinking about what to do if he came to your house, when you opened the door to him. At first, you do not acknowledge that it is him, as you are becoming used to recognising your uncle in the street, only to realise that it is the painter, or the person next door. He is smaller than you remember, or it could be because of the doorstep. When your brain kicks in, you shut the door, hastily to stop him from coming inside, but slowly because you want to know how he is after six months of not seeing him.
Later, you will realise that it was exactly six months ago that you reported him to the police and that his restraining order finished today. You were the first person he came to see.
He gets his foot in the door. Ironically, you think of a salesman, but you are not going to buy anything he says this time. Doesn’t mean, of course, that it’s not going to cost you. But this is not the time for wordplay – your blood is pounding in your throat and you wish that you weren’t so dizzy. You should have eaten breakfast or lunch today – or dinner yesterday.
“Just listen to me, Alice.”
You shy away from your name, spoken as it is with a mixture of hatred and affection. He still loves you, but cannot believe you have betrayed him like this. Neither can you., when he stands in front of you, larger than life now that he is shouting in your hallway, in between telling you that he loves you. How could you do this to him? It doesn’t echo through your head – it ricochets.
Later, when the police ask for your statement, you will try to convey the questions he asked you, whilst you stood by impassively, trying not to cry. Do I want my grandfather to die of the shock, when he hears what my uncle is accused of? Why don’t I put a stop to it now, and stop ruining people’s lives? The police will take away a brief, ineloquently phrased bundle of words, but none of the memories. Nor will they hear the sharpest words he said to you, that snake through your ringing head: I thought you were my friend.
Later still, you will deny to your parents that these questions were something that you hadn’t already considered, or that they were even upsetting. Heaven forbid they worry about you. This cozy family image is stained enough already.
Even later, in the quietness of your own bed and your own head, you toss these same questions over in your head. Should I be going to court? Is this fair on my family? The sun is coming up and the clouds cut its rays like universal question marks. Soon it will be time to go to school and spend five hours disappointing your teachers, who cannot for the (collective) life of them work out what has gotten into you this year, compared to the exemplary diligence you displayed last year. You can’t imagine what the problem could be, you think cynically. Your teacher will give out homework and you won’t even go to the façade of writing it into your homework. If you wanted to do homework, you’d have done last week’s essay, or this week’s excersizes.
Your friend is sat next to you. She used to tell you she was worried, but she’s given up. Her completed homework glitters before the two of you in a pristine, pseudo-magical cumulation of correct answers, concentration and effort. You gaze at it, lost for a moment in a bitter reverie of better times.

How it Shouldn't Be
Everything’s supposed to be open now – but it’s not. This was supposed to be the end of keeping secrets. But you still can’t tell most people and it seems that the secret world has expanded to engulf most of your real world, so you have no time left to pretend to be fine.
People tell you that hiding your feelings is wrong. They don’t have a clue - you are not allowed to be upset, even though you have a perfectly good reason. Even though teachers have been told to be understanding and your friends know that something’s up, there is a line of acceptable behaviour, that you have crossed so many times in your head that you couldn't translate it into real life.
You have the choice. You can walk out of your class because the subject of the lesson is illnesses, or you can deal with it. Your exam grade, your choice. You can sulk at your best friends because they laughted at a crude joke about death, or you can deal with it. They’re your friends, choose to lose them or keep them.
And you can let it upset you, or else pretend to accept it. Either way, you won't change the world with the force of your emotions. Your only reward is self-destruction. People tell you that this is bad – but you’re not so sure, yourself.
And every time, things get a little more fine. The incentives to keep them so, pile over your head and before you realise, you are living the life you said you never would do, you are forgetting, without the loss of memory. And you promised to never forget.
So you find ways to remind yourself – a thousand little blemishes on life, signs that things are seldom as they seem. Your hands haven’t stopped shaking yet from the number of times you hit the brick wall outside last night. Your music won’t come out of minor. Your work is slowly slipping. And the worst of it is, you’re not sure if you want it to get better.

edited - sorry it took so long. i've tried to work some of the ambiguity out of it, whilst keeping it succinct, but these editions are from so far back that it's been hard to keep the original sense of the story.

Lillies
They were her favourite flowers and he'd bought them to please her, but in my mind, they evoked memories of the Lady of Shalott. They had been placed artistically on his kitchen table, though no doubt through some perfect accident: one of the kitchen lights had blown, so the leaves appeared half light and half dark.
He set out tea and biscuits for us, with another place set for Tam, his wife, and I, the mistress, sat with him in his and Tam's modern kitchen, till we’d finished our tea. I brushed up the crumbs with my thumb.
“How’re you gonna tell Tam?”
“Actually Alice, would it be better if you…?”
Sudden colour flushed to my cheeks as I stood up, my chair scratching against their varnished wooden floor.
“Joe, I’m her best friend. You’re her husband – and I’m only your – “
I hovered before our swear word, in unspoken acknowledgement that, although we shared the guilt, he’d take the blame. He was the married one in our relationship.
“No, you’ll have to tell her.”
The door clicked open, cutting our conversation short.
“Joe, Lillies! How beautiful.”
Tam saw me and my presence tightened her smile. I wondered if she already knew.
“Lillies can mean so many different things. Do you remember, Alice, how we used to talk about that?”

“Today, is gonna be the day, that they’re gonna give it back to you,
By now, you should somehow have realised what you’ve got to do.”
-Oasis, Wonderwall.
I put down my guitar.
On a good day, I might write an airy sonnet, whereas bad days I’m writing in harsh chords, or echoing the words of an artist I admire. Today, I am going to explain things properly to him, though. Pick up the phone.
“Hey, Di. S’up?”
“Fine.”
(Resist the urge to put down the phone). I fiddle with the bass string of my guitar.
“Look, I’ve got some stuff I need to tell you.”There’s silence and the humming of the phone - I want to fill it with casual nonsense. I could ask about the weather or something.
“I – don’t know how to tell you this. I…”There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve imagined the situation so many times that I can’t stop the different versions panning out before me.
“Look, Danny, I think I’m pregnant. I’m going down to the clinic to find out, in fifteen minutes...”
That was the first time I ever heard Danny swear.
“Are you going alone?””Yeah.”
“Want me to come with? If you want me there.”
Stroked the side of my guitar, its smooth varnish warm and familiar.
“Yeah, I would.”
“Alright. I’ll be down in fifteen, yeah? And remember,” I could hear his voice go a little higher, “I love you.”
I nodded. Don’t think I could sing right now, even a minor ballad.
“Yeah.”
I put down the phone.

“Maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me,
cos after all, you’re my wonderwall.”

Telling
Honesty takes you so far, but it’s
Cowardice takes you the whole nine yards, this
Had been going on too long, hurting too much
I told him to meet me at the park.

Refused his hugs and avoided his eye
Told him I didn’t love him any more
Silence is golden, but gold is so cold
Didn’t know speech could be so cold and hard.

Honesty takes you too far out, then it’s
Guilt that will follow you home in the dark
Have I led him on? Has it been too long?
This is how strains of bitterness are caused.

And not knowing or wanting to find a way to stop
I continued where love left off and hurt starts.

edited -
Tuesday
This classroom kills me. I refuse to deal with work when my life is so wrecked. Against the flutter of my closed eyelids, the classroom light seems too bright and people seem happy. All happy sets of coincidences – I don’t fit here. Let me go to the toilet, or something.
Lean against the bathroom wall. There’s a mirror and there should be something in the image. Something remaining from before all this started. Is there? Maybe there will be once this all goes away. I don’t know – I don’t know any more.
I count the days again on my fingers. Three. Until then, this classroom is killing me. I don’t know why – homework, people and life never seemed such a chore for the last few years, but they are superfluous. I’m sitting in a classroom, working out how best to ruin people’s lives. That’s sick, that is.
Friday. I can’t decide if that’s a sentence, or the end of one. Guilt’s a thing like that – real enough that you can’t get out of it and imaginary so you can’t explain. But I will explain, as soon as I can. I wonder how it ever got this bad. I wonder how they’ll react.
Someone’s wandering down the corridor. I’d best get back to class, before I do something stupid to myself. This is, after all, a school in which nothing untoward happens.
Heads bob up as I walk back in. I wonder if someone’s been in whilst I was out, to tell everyone what I’ve been thinking. No? Then I can pretend for a few more days that things are fine. Three more days.“Sorry. Just feeling a bit sick.”

Aftermath
45:38. The time taken (in minutes and seconds) to ruin his life. How do I start? I don’t know what to say… that Dad confronted me, or that we need to talk. His voice changes immediately. I wonder quietly if he’ll try to blame me.
Pregnant. Dad would have gone over to his place with a spade, if he knew where Alex lived. It wasn’t Alex’s fault – could be mine - but like he’d told me from the start, boys are bound to get it worst when dads find out.
Dad is planning on calling the police, except … yeah, I’m fourteen, and he’s seventeen, but I don’t count myself as a child. Alex never treats me like a child and…this isn’t fair. Pregnant.
I ring him the moment Dad leaves me alone, mobile slick in my sweaty palm and I’m leaning on the bricks outside of the house. It’s starting to rain and my top’s gonna get ruined.
“There’s gonna be some hell raised over this.”
His rough, Manchester accent, raises hairs on the back of my neck. I haven’t brought a coat out with me. It’s cold.
“Cos you know I’m gonna get blamed for this.” There’s nothing to say. “What’s Helena gonna think?”
I know Helena. She’s a nice, good girl, just got into uni. He’s right – she’s going to be devastated. She deserves more than the truth, but then again, she probably deserves more than him, too. Problem is, she doesn’t want anything but him. Can’t help wondering if she’ll want him when he’s supporting a kid. My kid.
“But… look. I thought you were on the pill?”
I’d told him I wasn’t. I had told him.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Look, I…”
Listening to him swear at me. Wondering if it was my fault. My ankles are in pain, from crouching against this wall for so long. I have to go. Am running out of credit, but Alex pays for that for me anyway.
“Can I go?”
He cares for me. He even loves me and I am ruining his life.
“Course you can, I never stopped you. It’s what you want, Amy. But look, I still love you, whatever happens. And I won’t blame you.”
I never want to talk to him again. But he loves me.
“Can I ring you tomorrow?”
No. This has been enough. Everything has been said, that needed to be said. I’ve hardly spoken.
He’ll ring tomorrow anyway.

a bit messy, but any concrit would be welcomed.
Hide

So I’ll hide in the quietest places I’ve known
And I know some, all the places I used to go,
And I miss them, but now I’m back and it’s so
Quiet here, yeah quiet and alone.

And maybe someone close will bring a light
Thinking I can’t cope unless they come along
Thinking I’ll lose hope the moment than they’re gone
I’d hate, I’d hate if they were right.

And maybe I will chose to back away
If you’re worrying, you know I can’t abide
Caring never comes without its darker side
And if I’m distant, it’ll be for your sake.

So I’ll hide in silence and be fine
Embracing every the place I used to go,
Change is good but nostalgia reflects in gold
The age where I knew places I could hide.