Freesias
Elaina's POV:
I watched her walk away from me, my heart clenching in my chest. I'd just wanted to help her, why did that equate to me thinking her a charity case? My book felt heavy in my hand, and I knew I should go to the park to resume what I'd been doing before meeting her, but I'd lost all my will to do anything that didn't involve her. So I turned around, going back the way we came, straight back home.
Since that moment, when I'd found her sitting on the side of the road, she'd been all I could think about. I could hear people's thoughts, but no one's mind spoke as loud as hers, practically burning her thoughts into my mind.
I could still hear her last feelings, and I wasn't sure I'd forget them for a very long time:
I was going to leave her far, far behind me. I should've known.
Who'd hurt her so bad? I'd suspected something had happened, considering she was a girl my age walking around Denver on her own with a baby, but I hadn't confirmed anything until this point. It was easy to ignore people's problems, especially with someone as closed off as Olivia. She put walls high, so high no one would ever be able to climb them, and she wrapped 'Do Not Cross' tape around them. She'd smile during small talk, alluding to your fantasy that she was fine, sweeping all of her issues under the carpet.
And it was tempting, to leave her to hide everything and follow along with her fantasies, but, at the same time, I couldn't help myself from peeking under the rug. All that had caused was for her to kick me out entirely, tears in her eyes and her hands clutched tightly to her chest, as though trying to protect herself from any further invasion. I'd only wanted to help her, the girl with the eyes of colour from another universe and stars for freckles.
Passing a hand over my eyes tiredly, I tried to banish her from my mind, but she was stuck there for good.
It was stupid, considering I'd only barely made her acquaintance, and half the time we'd spoken she'd been shouting at me, but I wanted to know more about her. She was bewitching, her mind loud with thunder and her eyes stormy with the hurt she held within.
Without realising, I bent down to pick up a small daffodil, twirling it in my fingers as I got closer and closer to my house. Now that it was fast approaching, I couldn't help but wish that I had gone back to the park. The door loomed darkly in front of me, as I swallowed hard, finally taking a step inside. I banished all thoughts of Olivia, knowing they were not allowed in a house such as this, full of barbed wire and hurt and sneers - this was no place for a rose.
"Elaina, where have you been?" Asked my mum, her voice drifting from the living room. I stuck a hard smile on my face before proceeding, letting the door close softly. The noise of it closing ominously behind me still set my teeth on edge, but I tried to ignore it.
"I went to read at the park." I told her once I got close enough for her to hear. Finding her was easy enough, she was where she usually was, sprawled out on the couch watching cartoons. Next to her, her phone lay, playing loud music at the same time.
"Sounds fun." Her smile was wobbly at best, but the both of us pretended not to notice. From the basement, raucous laughter was heard. The only response my mum gave was turning up the music, and directing her attention back to the TV. I let her be, climbing up the stairs quickly. Really, laughter was the best thing that could be heard from the basement, but it still held an air of wrongness about it, making the air steely and dread swirl everywhere it touched. I didn't know how mum could stand it.
As I passed my brother's room, I saw Tom sat at his desk, furiously sketching, loud rock music filling the air. He was probably working on his newest piece, the one he'd only let me catch glimpses of. So far all I'd seen was a night sky, and pastels filling the bottom of the page. It was bound to be beautiful, like everything he made.
"Tommy!" I shouted, trying to have him hear me over the music. Luckily, we all had good practice at listening out for small sounds, in case dad decided to make an appearance, so he was quick to hear me. Turning in his chair, he smiled at me, eyes bright as he turned the music down.
"What's up?" He had charcoal on his face, and his fingers were stained in different shades of monochrome, but I didn't mention it. I knew that once he got into the zone, nothing could pull him out of it.
"Could you put headphones in?" It would be fruitless to ask him to turn it down. We all appreciated noise too much in this house. He nodded, without thinking too much of it, leaving me standing in the doorway, once again ignored. When Tommy was asked to choose between art and us, he'd choose art. Every time.
Because art wouldn't hurt him, and art wouldn't call him names for liking to draw, and art let him flow through the pages of any reality he wanted. I couldn't blame him, I was still holding onto To Kill a Mockingbird as if it were my lifeline. With a deep sigh, I walked towards my own room, feeling like too many things had happened already for such an insignificant day.
My first stop in my room was my iPod, which was already set to blast classical music as loudly as my ears were able to handle. It wasn't quite as effective as Tom's rock, or mum's Tv and radio ensemble, but the second the notes started flowing through the speakers, my whole body relaxed. The music washed over me, taking with it all the pent up emotion from this past day. It was so beautiful that it called attention onto itself, not allowing my thoughts to drift to Olivia or the basement or anything else. It filled every space, filling cavities and dark holes, until no darkness remained, only the soft piano and violins that sung about tales I couldn't even fathom.
Once I settled down on my bed, I began my favourite game, the one where I wrote and wrote until my mind felt numb and my fingers ached and I was so invested in my story that I couldn't remember why the real world even existed.
It was easy to do this, because I always worked on two stories at once, meaning I constantly had something to work on. One, to show my parents, and the other just for me. My parents' story was full of intricate metaphors of the religious nature, and a fight or two thrown in for my dad's benefit. He was always complaining that my stories were for sissies and much too boring for 'real' men like him. I always replied curtly, telling him I wouldn't be writing about his gang any time soon. And as much discussion as that story provoked, it was nothing compared to what my other story would.
My other stories were just for me. They didn't have to be beautifully written, or carefully crafted. They could have characters with flaws, and I didn't have to be able to psychoanalyse them afterwards with my parents. But, perhaps worst of all, they had girls. Girls liking girls, and girls thinking about other girl's skin, and girls fantasizing about long, beautiful hair. Girls who could do whatever they wanted, without having anyone look at them disapprovingly.
And damn if it wasn't my guilty pleasure. So far my lack of boyfriends hadn't clued my parents in on anything, which at least I was thankful for. But it was hard to pretend. Not letting myself think anymore, I opened a word document, deciding today was a oneshot day.
Layla sat on the grass, eyes downturned and sad. She shouldn't have done that, she knew from the moment Claire had looked frantically at her, her feet scrambling underneath her to get her as far away from Layla as possible. It had hurt, driving a spear through her chest, but what else was she supposed to expect?
Instead of thinking about the disastrous moment in which her whole life had turned itself inside out, she focused her attention on the flowers around her, marvelling at the way they looked against the sea of endless grass. Above her, the sky was clear, a few clouds painted onto the otherwise empty expanse. Everything was beautiful, everything apart from her.
She loved flowers, loved the way they blew in the wind and the way the stood strong against anything. She liked their pretty colours and their delicate petals, and she liked how soft they felt under her fingertips, like the softest of velvet and silk, melting under her gaze. But Layla didn't deserve flowers, no, she didn't deserve happiness either, because sometimes, just sometimes, she couldn't help herself from looking at girls the way she looked at flowers.
She watched them quiver in the wind, and the way they stood strong. She watched their pretty eyes of every pretty colour, and she couldn't help but wonder if their skin would feel velvety soft against hers. Everything was bad, so bad, but she couldn't help it.
It had all gone wrong when she'd met Claire, the girl who held the whole world in her hands. She had delicate hands that could play any melody on any instrument, and a small gap between her front teeth that peeked out at Layla in the rare moments when she smiled. Worst of all were her eyes, which had a certain hue that not even the greatest artist would be able to get right. She held stars in her eyes, and Layla couldn't help but think that she'd combust if she ever looked at her too strongly. An expanse of freckles mapped her cheeks, which brightened and glew whenever Layla accidentally let it slip just how fascinated she was with the girl.
Layla simply couldn't help it, she'd been the prettiest flower in the whole garden, and all she'd wanted was to watch her twirl in the wind for hours. But she couldn't, shouldn't, because girls weren't flowers. And it was wrong, she knew, so why couldn't she stop? Why couldn't she see boys in the same way? It came easily for everyone else, to see boys with their lanky frames or muscular build and swoon over them. But all Layla wanted were soft curves under flowy fabric and long, curling hair that seemed to never end.
I stopped once I realised I was crying, and switched over to my other story, knowing dad would want to see evidence of what I'd done during my evening. I could always claim I'd been reading, but his eyes were too sharp to fall for that, his soul full of thorns. I began typing, unable to keep myself from thinking about the two people I'd just made up, and how their story had hit a bit too close to home. Claire's resemblance to Olivia was no coincidence, I knew, but for the time being that would have to be buried along with every other pondering of mine.
All of these thoughts had to be contained within the hour I let myself indulge in the beauty of it, but it had to stop once I closed the document. They couldn't follow me out, that was the only rule I'd given myself, when my feelings had finally gotten too strong to keep repressing and ignoring.
It had happened gradually, without me even realising. My gazes turned longer than they should've, my eyes lingering a second too long on pretty girls in pretty dresses. Soon enough, all the feelings and all of the guilt was bubbling in me, threatening to explode and take me as its only casualty.
This was the only thing I could do for now, the only remedy to the terrible darkness inside me, because it felt so right. Everything about loving girls felt like a part of me, something which, if to be cut out, would leave a hole deep down inside me. When I found myself thinking about a particularly cute girl in my class, I smiled, before forcing myself to frown. And something that felt so intrinsic to me, that sprung from the love in my heart, that surely couldn't be wrong, right? But my dad thought it was. So I set up boundaries, lines I simply must not pass, to protect myself, knowing my heart was in too much of a state to help itself.
Still, despite knowing the rules, Olivia's eyes burnt through everything, making my writing loop in circles around itself, oftentimes becoming nonsensical and making me repeat a paragraph several times.
Burying my face in my hands and closing my eyes tightly, I pretended nothing existed.
Hi :)
Ok, I'm starting to get *really* excited about this story, ngl. I have so many plans and ideas and tbh I don't even know if I'm going to be able to fit them all in one story haha. So I hope you guys like this chapter! Also, I know I promised a more regular updating schedule once Easter hits, but... Ok basically I'm looking at entry requirements for Oxbridge and let me fucking tell you, it's awful. It's really really awful. So I've got a lot on my mind, and I'm really sorry if things get out of wack because of it. I promise I'll try to keep it more or less frequent! I mean this chapter at least is on time right? xD
Guest review thank you time!
+ Llamacorn, I know what you mean, my sister's got her life sorted out and here I am freaking out over everything xD I guess it's just something we have to figure out on the go, y'know? I'm glad you like it! Thanks so much for your review xx
+ Mystery, thank you!
Ok, that's all the guests today, have a lovely week and see you then :)
Bye bye xx