twisted beautiful things

xix. dress

xviii. dress

'but im still fading 

i cant save me

am i just gonna drown?

so i hold my breath to  b r e a t h e 

i hurt myself to  f e e l 

i used to do these things so e f f o r t l e s s  l y  

somehow'

(madison beer)

>>>

novella

It's always interesting going to another person's house. It's almost like you're getting a brief glimpse into the person's life; you get a preview into their everyday lives, the things they surround themselves with.

Atticus' moms' house is moderate; it's all brick walled, a wooden banister, cracked tea sets, small dying potted plants, a white and gray cat curled under the grandfather clock in the main hallway of the house. It's cozy, comfy.

Unlike the home I grew up in.

It was much bigger than this; I often felt when I was a child that the giant walls of our house was going to swallow me whole if I wasn't too careful.

It was too clean. Too perfect. To shiny, too sparkly, too gauche, too glamorous.

It was all sparkling white tile and walls, marble countertops and statues, a winding wrought-iron staircase, arches and portraits and green, thriving plants and thick curtains blocking the outside from filtering inside.

It was all stolen.

It was never ours, it was never mine, it was a shell of a place for us to pose as a family as if we were descendents of royalty.

The insulation was haunted; the windows saw the things we tried so hard to hide.

As a child I would hide under my covers and I would wonder when these walls would ever feel like a home. But they never did, and I never felt comfortable in the empty framework.

It was a sturdy house on the outside, but the foundation was made of ash, and we were shifting further and further into ruin.

It's interesting how I feel more comfortable in Atticus' mom's house than my own childhood home.

The plump cushion underneath me feels like heaven, even though it was slightly hard; and the rocking chair Kenendy is sitting in seems as if it could give her splinters.

But it was filled with this good energy that one couldn't miss.

It's seven in the evening; the sun is sinking lower and lower into its resting place among the clouds, casting shadows over the land. Me, Gianna, Kennedy, and Atticus lounge in the front room, watching the sun go down.

Amir and Julian are still outside. Playing cornhole, I think.

Um, my plate is still pretty full.

Like I'm vegan, so I couldn't have any of the food here. Except for veggies. But for some reason the thought of my body digesting something right now sends a shudder down my spine, even though I have been getting better the past few days.