Drunken nights out were just the norm for Melina. Most nights it was simply for the fun of it. As much as she was the kind of woman to enjoy a night in as much as any other; there was a certain thrill to the former Diva in getting dolled up for a night out. A transformation that she could easily make in a under and hour, one that she drawled out over the span of several. Each night came with a careful planning; what make-up, what clothes, how exactly she would do her hair, what club she would attend and what kind of air she would present about her. For Melina, it wasn't about looking pretty or pulling the hottest guy - not like every other woman at the bar. For her, it was about forgetting. It was about being able to pretend, every other night, that she wasn't the person that lay dormant beneath the cosmetics and the clothes that she rarely even liked all that much. It was a façade. An easy one. One that no one ever thought or cared to really look through; especially not on a night out. Dark rooms, disorientating music and all the mind numbing alcohol that she could handle. It created a situation where Melina could have all the attention on her, yet none at all. It was perfect. It was how the firecracker chose to exist.
All of her life, Melina had spent with the notion in her mind that no one was to know who she was; no one was to find out the real her. Because once someone did? They would only ever use it to hurt her. That would be the first, and only, lesson that a far removed father had ever taught her. Trust was never to be given; only ever to be earned. And that task was basically impossible. Maybe that was because, every time that she felt someone starting to try, Melina would run. She found that it was what she was best at in life; running. But hey, like father; like daughter.
And if Melina's father could be held responsible for the life lesson to never trust and to always run and hide your true self? Then her mother could easily be held accountable for the fact that the former Women's Champion had vowed with conviction to never fall in love. A vow that, in 34 years of life, she had never even come close to breaking. And it didn't look like she would, any time soon. She wouldn't let it. Love would break you down; tear you apart and leave your pieces scattered for the wolves to find. As far as her experiences had show her? Love had never built anyone up, like it did in the fairytales. It was something that tore down confidence; chipped at your self of self and left you co-dependent and weakened. And that was something Melina would never let herself be.
So, instead, Melina had done tonight what she always did on the nights she drank to repress. A week of ill and sad feelings drudging themselves to the surface had led to a night of partying, like most weeks did. But this was one of the times where the brunette beauty would go out of her way to forget she even existed; reaching a higher level of intoxication, making herself look the greater fool and always being sure to pick up whatever man would hit on her at the club. Melina may have been morally opposed to the idea of falling in love, with her entire being. But that didn't mean that she was above using them, at their pleasure, for the only thing they would ever become good to her for. Sex. It was just another way of her life to be paid attention, without the hassle of being noticed. The men she dragged home from her nights out didn't care to the reasons behind the fresh cigarette burns littering her thigh or the reason she had only one personal photo in sight. They only wanted their fix.
Red, studded heels and iPhone clutched in one hand and the tattooed hand of a man she had already forgotten the name of held in the other, the former champion fell from her taxi and made her way to the front door of her abode. Playful and drunken giggling vibrated warmly into the California air around her as Melina suddenly found herself spun and held with her back against the wooden fixture. Looking up into darkened gaze of the man she'd chosen from the club; warm smile and question on her tongue was interrupted with lips pressed harsh and heavy against her own; a nicotine stained tongue intruding into her mouth and seemingly making itself at home. After a slow catching up of her mind, the brunette woman let herself attempt to return the favor, a slender hand coming to rest gently on the back of the tattooed man's neck to assert some kind of control over the kiss. A gesture which soon found itself rejected as strong grip found itself around her wrist, forcing a tanned arm back to be held tight against the door. A painful yelp escaping her lips as Melina tore her mouth from the kiss, hand holding onto shoes and phone coming to press against the man's chest in attempt to thwart his advances. Pushing him back only a moment before muscular frame advanced her again, teeth nipping against the frail skin of her neck and a rough hand running itself up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh a moment before a thick, Boston accent spoke a low, 'It's alright, Princess…' against her skin. A shiver crawling up her spine of the worst kind at the phrase; an instant sickness present in the back of her throat. Momentum taking hold as occupied hand once again shoved against broad chest, a stern, 'No.' growled towards him. This time shoving hard enough that the New Yorker would fall a few steps back. Fear struck itself deep in the crevices of Melina's mind as she realized that not even the pale moonlight could soften the hard and daunting features of the man glaring at her now. Features that she had found attractive a short five minutes ago had morphed into, what could only remind her of a wolf; a wolf stalking his prey. As the man lunged a step towards her again, slim frame dropped to a crouch, wrapping herself up in a ball as best she could in her seemingly momentarily sobered state; the only defence to spring to mind being that of letting out an eardrum piercing scream.
By the time the air had run from her lungs, the tattooed man was gone. A string of profanity laced insults hurled her way as he ran from the prying gaze of neighbours wondering about the commotion. Melina glanced up from her position only long enough to not the mans departure before letting her frame slump to sit against the mahogany door to her home. Eyes closed gently as she sat there, the buzz of alcohol started to numb her senses once again with the calming of her nerves. Shaking her head slightly in a failed attempt to rid her brain of its new found tiredness, Melina then peeled herself off the floor - using the door as support as she stood back on her own two feet. Fishing the key to her door from it's safe place in her bra, waves of exhaustion and upset washed her.
Her state of intoxication had made it difficult even stumble into bed without injuring herself in some way. After somehow completing the miracle of somehow unlocking and entering her house without setting off any alarms though, she did just that. The encounter with the tattooed man on her porch step bringing to the fore-front of her mind the very things she had gone out that night to forget. Not bothering to remove even a shred of her clothing, the brunette discarded her heels on the floor carelessly and walked herself, on shaky legs, to her bedroom. Falling face first onto the soft embrace of her mattress with a loud groan, satisfied to finally feel comfortable again. Mustering barely enough energy to slowly drag her frame to lay the correct way on the bed, burying her face into the pillow. Eyelids fluttering closed gently as the blanket of sleep starting to quickly descend on her mind. Her final conscious thoughts being that could only hope for a dreamless sleep.
But a dreamless sleep would never grace her, when she asked it.
Not even ten minutes after her eyes had fluttered closed, the firecracker was thrown into the midst of her torturous mind. A nightmare plaguing her thoughts; the same one that always did. And even though the brunette had seen the sequence of images time and time again - each time it would rip and tear at her as if it was the first time she'd lived it, over and over again. Nearly twenty years of suffering the same fate when she closed her eyes. Almost no one would believe her, when she would tell people that she never used to be this cold and this guarded. But she didn't used to be, that was true. The nightmares had made her that way; as if, inch by inch, her heart would freeze and fall to pieces with each insufferable night. And each time she was forced to put it back together? She would lose yet another piece. Melina always knew that, one day, she wouldn't bother trying to piece it all back together anymore…
'It's alright, Princess… You'll be better off without me.' whispered against her ear and a gentle kiss pressed against her hair. It took Melina years to understand that her father hadn't known she was awake that night to hear his final words to her. Apparently he hadn't realized that it was difficult for a six year old to sleep when the sound off her parents fighting bounced off every wall of their apartment. He also hadn't realized that those words he spoke to her and the feel of his lips so innocently and lovingly against her hair would be the thing to start off the nightmare that would torture her for the rest of her life. Maybe he simply hadn't realized again, that the words he spoke to her were a complete lie. The images and feelings next to appear in her mind, the countless vile and terrifying men that, over the years, Melina's mother had claimed to 'love' so dearly. The fall of night that would bring the feel of calloused, strong hands feeling and groping against the soft skin of a slender, still developing body. Burning their marks into the flesh of a girl who would never know any different from a grown man's touch; all innocence and faith stolen from a too soon to be scarred soul, simply through the pads of toxic, and sickeningly familiar fingertips. Harsh memories revisited time and again by her subconscious in order to show the former Diva the reasons that she would never love; would never easily trust. Her nightmares throwing in her face, time and again, the tears that stained her face for years on those nights; making her never want to shed any other again.
Fast forwarding to an uncomfortably hot and solemn day. A lone man stood at the side of a freshly dug grave; watching as the pale and stiffened body of his friend is hovered above, waiting to descend. Tears streaming down handsome features to fall against the blood red rose clutched tightly in his hand. Melina's funeral. John being the sole attendant, with all the tears to shed but no one to tell long-forgotten memories to. The plague of her personality having transformed anyone else that might have attended Melina's black parade into someone that would simply regard her as something that they used to know. It was as if it was her curse; bestowed upon her by the childhood forced to suffer. The women posed in the satin detailed coffin, with her eyes closed gently forever more and the stiff smile fixed unnaturally on her face? She was terrified to live; terrified to love; to let herself fall and be picked back up by another. She was terrified to let anyone in to her heart for the fear that they would shatter it to pieces. But as she watched, in her subconscious, the only person she'd ever let herself care for watch intently over features and fixtures that would never move again, yet praying, hoping and pleading that they somehow would? Melina's other greatest fear would be realized - highlighted, even; That someday, when this black parade would become reality? That she would lay in a box, six feet under the ground; unloved, unknown, alone.
Stirring awake from her nightmare and rolling once perfected face away from the now make-up stained pillow, Melina looked to the bed space next to her. Empty. Alone. The typically flowing, short black dress that hung on her slim frame, sticking against her in all of the wrong places, a feeling of constriction around her stomach and throat, and the itch of lace against her chest had Melina clawing at her dress, desperate to simply rip it off if necessary but to no avail. Make up run a mess on her face; mascara running trails down her cheeks and cherry red lipstick smudged slightly across her cheek, hair a mess and strands sticking against her skin with sweat - the former Diva found herself looking as frazzled as she felt inside. A few moments of deafening silence passed before the sound of violence and angered knocking erupted through the house. A fearful squeak escaping the woman's throat before she could think a second to help it. Clambering for her phone from the bedside table, Melina didn't even have to think twice before her fingers were scrolling to find the number she was looking for. Scampering back to the further side of the bed, the firecrackers voice was trembling and barely audible as she curled herself into a ball and brought the phone to her ear, tears streaming from her face to fall against it. Words streaming through her mind that drove an anger in her to know she would utter; defeated at knowing how weak she felt. Following the piercing beep of the record tone to his voicemail, Melina whimpered out immediately: 'J-John… I… I'm s-scared.'