30 Days of Love

Collapsed Happiness

Joanna's POV 

In the smallness of my room, I shove my oversized clothes into my suitcase that I pray will not break.

Luis stands above me, handing each piece of clothing that lies in my closet. "Are you okay with leaving?"

A sight releases from my lips as I shake my head."Of course not, Luis."

"What are you going to do?"

I shut my eyes and keep my lips closed, afraid that my words may cause a fight. Yet the more I keep quiet, the more anger builds up inside of me, until I decide I have to say something. "I-I'm going to run away. I can't get married to Liam and let Mama and Papa win," I whisper, looking up at him.

His oval face is completely blank, the darkness of his eyes glaring into mine. No emotion nor thoughts seem to live inside of his stiff body. Though, beneath the surface of his voice, I can hear the fear inside of it. "Y-you can't. The family will kick you out, you'll be disowned."

"I know," I say, remembering mama's past words. "But what else am I supposed to do? I can't stay in this tradition full of lies."

I stop talking just as a scream comes from the laches of my door, ordering us to drop our conversation. And as we watch to see who has barbarmed in, out of the two people I don't want to see, one of them walks in with a sea of makeup engulfing her face that cracks in the corners of her anxious smile.

"Sorry guys, I came in to make sure you both are okay. Do you need any help packing?" she questions, standing in the doorway, too afraid to step any closer like her own children are dangerous beasts who may attack her; though we all know who that truly is.

Devoured in rage, my body overflows in heat while I stare at the woman who failed her job at protecting me from the wrath of life. At the woman who's too timid of the one man who's supposed to worship her. Too afraid of disobeying her husband's wishes, in fear she'll be in the wrong, to defend her loving daughter who has only wanted the best for her.

That is something I will never understand nor put myself through.

Beneath the surfacing, rising right along with the blazing heat, the words full of hatred that rest against my tongue while looking at mama, waiting to escape, are clamped shut until eventually, blood trickles from my tongue, drowning those words that rest inside my mouth as I get off the floor, stomping past my mother towards the bathroom, where my greatest friend since middle school reconnects with me, the lock.

The water turns from translucent to pink in a matter of seconds as I rinse the dead words out of my mouth, watching them fall to the dark hole in which they'll forever lie.

Eventually, as the water turns to its original form, I lean up, catching my reflection in the mirror.

The banana peel of my teeth outshine my mocha eyes that seem to be my only beauty; a mistake turned into my only art, where the grayness rarely catches the attention of those who are blind to it, though alternatively, to those who have seen it before, there's words coming rushing to the surface. Oh I'd kill to have eyes like yours. Or, I'd love to get all the attention.

Except, what people don't understand is that with attention comes consequences. That no matter if the attention is good or bad, it'll creep up on you and trap you.

Attention will lock you in a chamber, turn the lights off, and expect you to free yourself. Attention is a curse, a curse I know too much about.

Papa's fights and the whispers of our tradition have given me enough attention to fill a glass bottle full of tears.