// THE FIRST CHAPTERS ARE INTRODUCTIONS TO EACH CHARACTER\\
a life too difficult to bare but nobody knows, myla doesn't know how to ask for help and everything starts to get worse.
this is written from the different views of myla and the people arou...
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TW// mentions of self harm
mylas room was always dark when i entered, always somewhere you wouldn't want to be, and yet somehow the place she spent all her time. apart from once in a blue moon when the curtains would be flung open, the sunlight beaming through the floor to ceiling window and the pillows propped up gingerly on the vivid bed spread, it was always a lonely room.
there was a corner of her room however, which never seemed to brighten up, even when everything else did, a corner that always stayed dark and unloved. this corner situated behind the door, held a small oak stool, covered in dark stains, and a bin overflowing so you could see every piece of rubbish thrown in. i think myla thought that because i was only 8, i couldn't understand what was going on, (i told you i was wise) but when she left the house i used to sit with my back against the white walls and trace the blood in the wood crevices of the stool, crying at the fact myla had turned to this, and the fact i couldn't give her words of reassurance, only smiles.
there was browning baby wipes scrunched up and still wet from salty tears beside the legs of the stool, i can imagine from the countless action movies my dad watches, the red ribbons pouring from mylas skin, and her thinking it was getting rid of her demons when in fact it was only making that army stronger.
when red came into mylas life it all stopped. the unloved but fortunately unused corner still sat, dark and crowded and filled with her demons. but at least it had stopped. instead of ribbons from deep cuts in her skin, the ribbons came from her heart as she danced around a bright airy room, with who she would spend her forever with, even if forever wasn't that long.
i used to sit and watch them in the garden wishing i had someone like red, that i could completely be myself around. red would sit on the bench under the tree and is eyes would twirl as myla would twirl, her white linen dress flitting up and down in the breeze. her soft laugh could stop time, as i'm sure red knew, but every now and then would come a little too high and you could see her past transcribed on her thigh, as i'm sure red didn't know. at least it was the past right.
