The girl with the butterfly eyes

Chapter 1: Say you will never let me go

DON'T LET GO KIERA"

"I won't"

"You saved her! Thank you so much!!"

"thank you, but  it was nothing"

"Dinner time! children "

Snapping out of my daydreams I stare at myself in the mirror. Pathetic. Dried tears that streamed down my face from the faked horror of nearly loosing someone I loved. The widest  smile I have seen myself wear in years plastered on my face from being hailed a hero. The mirror that once was a portal to another world stands disapprovingly in front of me ,as if it had seen me act as if I was someone else, somewhere else -crazy- and deemed itself to be better than me. Wouldn't be the first.

The high pitched squarks of birds welcome me back to reality from my window. I wonder how long I will stay. I didn't mean to do it this time. I meant to revise for my exams. I need to revise for my exams. But a song came on my playlist and my mind snapped back ,subconsciously, into my preferred reality. The fictional. The universe inside my head of my control. Where I am the protagonist bound to save the world, where I am loved by all those I chose to love and more , where I am wanted. A world of my wildest dreams in which I can do anything I desire, achieve all that I want, be as free as I desire. I am beautiful, intelligent, powerful.  I am pathetic.  

I harshly rub the tears off my face  replacing the pitiful look with one of indifference ,and stare at my face in the mirror once more  replacing the smile with a look of boredom. Dinner time. The time in the evening in which I shovel any and all the food down my mouth pretending to have remembered what my mother told me she was making this evening ,as I walk in. Smelling the harsh fish smell of my cats food mixing with the more pleasant of food that I am consuming , confusing my senses and putting me off my food almost entirely. Feeling the smooth leather of the chair upon my body and the polished table and cutlery in my hands as i ready myself to eat. Trying desperately to tune in to the nonsensical sounds of my brother talking about politics and tune out the siren's call of my fantasy all too alluring ,all too unforgiving.

"What did you get on your last maths test again Kiera?", the smug voice of my brother forces me to snap back into reality. I got 89% on my last maths test, second best in the class. That just happens to be a perfect example of the storey of my life. Always second best, never first, never quite good enough. I know my brother already knows this ,but is trying to prove a point to our parents. He is better than me. For a younger sibling he has always had no trouble beating me at anything I do ( perhaps minus dance ,but that is because he thinks the topic is ridiculous), from athletics to music to the academic subjects he always flies in first effortlessly, like a smug bird of prey going in for the kill of the last remaining shards of my self worth.

"90%" I lie , rounding my answer up in fragile hope that he only got 1% more than me. "well I got full marks" he boosts conceitedly a smug smile upon his chapped lips and a piecing stare upon his icy blue eyes. My parents stare proudly at him while I internally role my eyes. Dancing, my right hand swirls around delicately ,like a prima ballerina during their final performance  under the table, as if some fantastical power — like the ones of my dreams-  will come out of it saving me from this conversation and from having to deal with the full extent of my own failure. I must revise harder next time. I fake a smile at him possibly a second too late ,as my mother is sends me a sharp disapproving look at my delayed reaction, improving my brother's good mood even further. It's getting harder to do - faking a smile at my brothers achievements- more painful. I used to be happy for him, I used to be truly happy. But eventually ,as with many things in life, my childlike optimism fell away without my permission and without my knowledge , leaving me with a deep running numbness and a lingering sense of unworthiness that never seems to completely disappear. 

After scoffing down my dinner like I had not eaten all day (which was true but not something I was going to tell my mother) , I race upstairs into my room creating the biggest bangs to ever have been heard since the creation of the universe ,and undoubtably bothering my parents . Searching for my earphones, I begin to become more anxious the longer it takes for me to find them. The two minuets it takes for me to finally spot them on my bed feel like a millennia ,as my breath becomes more laboured and erratic as my minds starts to run laps arounds itself. I can't go into the bathroom without my earphones. How am I supposed to daydream? Is the room beginning to rock? Finally finding them the world starts to slow again, the room losing its sway as I shakily detangle the cords and begin to control my breath. Once i can finally think straight again ,I then head ,more calmly, downstairs to the bathroom to take a shower. 

A few months ago my father deemed that there was to be no more music in the bathroom ,as it was thought to be the reason I took so long in there. It didn't stop me of course only forcing me to wear earphones whilst not in the shower and to shower in a painful silence. The bathroom is my safe space, the one area in the house in which I can lock myself in a room and disappear into my own head without the fear of people walking in without my knowledge and declaring me a freak. It has a mirror ,so it makes it so easy for me to lose myself for a hour at a time . To me the time spent in the bathroom  is perfectly justified because it takes a while to save the world or watch someone that you love (whom is unlike anyone you actually know in real life) die ,so I must take at least an hour before I get in the shower. 

My parents do not have the same perspective on this as me and have deemed me selfish but I , like many, am the main source of judgement in my own life and have deemed them instead as selfish for not allowing me to have time for myself ,to be myself,  in order to help prop up  my constantly deteriorating mental health. 

I am ,after all a daydreamer, someone who survives off the reality of their mind.  

Thank you for getting this far on the first chapter of my short storey. If you enjoyed it don't forget to vote and comment!! Any respectful comment is welcomed and any tips and suggestions is welcomed even more!!

xxx Rosewater xxx