metanoia ─. RAFE CAMERON

V || WHAT SHE WAS BEST AT

ASPEN

WHEN I SAID RAFE CAMERON AND I WERE NEVER CLOSE, I LIED.

Growing up, I always felt like I needed more. I wanted more, to make me feel like I was more.
I wanted anything to make me feel alright, anything, even if it was just for a moment. There've always constant doubting thoughts, thoughts that would make me anxious and upset, and thoughts that would make me mad.

So mad.

I had the most anger for my parents, for people I never even met, so much that it would make me feel as if my chest were on fire. I always felt that things would be different if they hadn't left me, and I would sit and daydream about a different life until I couldn't stand it anymore. When you have feelings that powerful pent up inside, you need a way to cope. I was always good at controlling the anger, being careful only to express things when no one was around, but still I needed something to depend on.

It's true when people say everyone copes differently, but it was the same for Rafe Cameron and I.

3rd person

ONE YEAR AGO

Aspen Reyes sat on the edge of her bed, an old book resting on her lap, and her head bowed. With a rolled up five dollar bill in her grasp, she snorted the white powder that lined the book, before leaning her head back, inhaling air through her nose. She cursed under her breath when she looked back down, realizing now that she had done the last of her supply.

She stood up and threw the book in the closet, making sure it was covered before she went over to the door. As she went to turn the handle, the full length mirror strung on her bedroom wall caught her eye, and before she knew what she was doing, she began to stare at herself. Her wavy, dark hair was a mess, strung over her shoulders and chest. Her cheeks red, the tip of her nose a faint white, her eyes bloodshot and pupils huge.

Her uncle and cousin were out that night, on a fishing trip, and she knew they'd be gone for hours. When they asked Aspen if she wanted to tag along, she had shook her head and mumbled something about wanting to get some math homework done. It was a lie, of course, there was no homework, but what other excuse did she have? She couldn't possibly tell the man who had taken care of her for 13 years, that she planned to lie to his face and get high in his house.

So she did what she was best at, she lied.

Lying, it's all she felt she knew how to do. The good girl front she had put up years ago, it was a lie. She hated it, so much, but it's all she knew. In reality, she had nothing to worry about. People from The Cut, people like her, they don't expect good. She knew that, but with a mind like Aspen's, not overthinking things was hard. She wanted people to think certain things about her, she wanted them to think she was good, no matter how bad she actually was. She couldn't explain what she felt, even if she tried, which she didn't like to do. She didn't want to be from The Cut, she didn't want to be a pogue, and more than anything, she didn't want to turn out like her parents, so she made everyone think she never would.

The longer Aspen stared at her reflection, the more anger she felt. The more her fists balled up, and her jaw clenched. Her chest pumped up and down quickly, her vision blurring, and before she knew what she was doing, her fist collided with the mirror. It shattered, hundreds of small pieces dropping to the floor, along with the blood that was now running down her knuckles and dripping down the mirror.