Who, me?

June 20th

That night I stirred in bed, for longer than what I can recall. My mother always told me that for optimum success you can only consume yourself into one challenge at a time, I thought university was going to be my biggest challenge that my path would cross but I was wrong, so incredibly wrong. In fact, my biggest challenge was Oscar King - challenge was an understatement. So as I lay here, saturated in a river of tears that I didn't even know could immerse from one body, I had become consumed by what I thought was my destined soul. But fuck was I wrong.

This is pathetic, I am pathetic. Not because of how I am feeling, because navigating heartbreak alone justifies sobbing for hours with chilli heatwave Doritos and Cheetos spread across my bed. However I am pathetic for believing that at 16 my first ever love story would stay intact forever. I have no clue where my optimism had come from. I spent my life reading, re - reading, highlighting passages from the doomed romantic fiction. I should have known, my infatuation with the Fitzgerald's everlasting sorrow should have prepared me that nothing lasts forever, yet it didn't. I have two options here; sit and read Wuthering Heights for one last time, and try to tell myself I am not Heathcliff but just Nelly, someone of little purpose just trying to help everyone above me, or face what I drove away from and let them all remember me as Elizabeth Bennett or Jordan Baker.

And with that, I took off the pink sheep dressing gown that I stole from my sister Chloe, all of those years ago, revealing my black satin corset and leather skirt, put on my red doc martens holding onto the last bit of bad bitch energy I had left and headed toward the town. At this point, I don't give a shit. Georgia is back.

I pull up outside what I once called my second home, and for a small amount of time my actual home. The foster home does not qualify as a home by any means, and I mean none. 'Home' the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. Proving my point exactly, for starters no one at that dump is my family, my family was my mother and Chloe. That was it, I had no one else. When they left, my once quaint but stable family tree had been sawed down, by some ignorant asshole who my mum had now planted a new seed with, leaving me to wilt - well so they thought. The King's watered me when I was going through desiccation, and flushed me with light when I was trapped into darkness. If I was to stay around, they still would, regardless of the shit show their son has just pulled. For the most part, they loved me more than I could ever love myself. But now, all of the 6 months that I had spent being nuzzled within the King's own world, means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

My hands begin to spasm, like they always do when I feel a sickness attack approaching. I pull the sleeves of my leather jacket far enough to cover my marks on my wrists, I went downhill after me and Oscar broke up and I know I am an idiot for letting myself go but he was always the one to save me. I have to learn he wont be there for me anymore. It is so common to me, but whenever anyone asks it becomes an alien action. It takes me a few attempts to get enough strength to push the doorbell in far enough for it to make a sound filling their small mansion.

"Georgia, hey how are you?" Mack asks me politely but my anxiety is overpowered by my anger and fire that I once had in me all of those years ago. I find the strength from somewhere to shove him out of my way, he must of known. pretty much everyone knew, he doesn't deserve my politeness. I drag in a muddy path behind me, and despite all of the shit I am about to cause, I am worrying about poor Mrs King having to clean her immaculate marble tiles tomorrow morning. I wonder if she'll even know that the footprints are mine, and that this is the last night I will ever spend in my, their home.

I can hear the distant thumping of the crappy grime music coming from the garden, it sounds so far away but so close, my commentary of what I am going to say keeps turning and changing. I stop for a second, if this is the last thing that I will ever say to any of them, especially him it has to be fucking fantastic. After what must have been a solid few minute, I think I have got it scripted. I see him, and I see her. Elle. Her slutty body intertwined with his, his fingers wrapped around her ratty fake blonde hair which may I add is so outgrown she may as well just chop the whole thing off. He is laughing. She is laughing. They are laughing. This is it, this will be the moment that I leave them with the lasting memory of not Georgia Wayne, the poor girl who's family left her one day not giving a fuck about where she is or who she's with. Georgia who had too much pride to ever ask for help until she wound up almost dead so she is stuck in the hell hole. But G, the girl that has fought for her, and her only. She worked for everything that she has perfect grades (almost) an amazing future planned and not to mention a fucking brilliant person. She is here now, and she sure as hell is here to stay.