"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙."
Milaydie Lucero is sent to Rutherford Academy in hopes of finishing high school with a prestigious dance scholarship that she spent her life working for.
The last thing she needs is problems or boy drama...
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Milaydie's POV.
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Breathe in, breathe out. That's it. You got this.
I feel like I've been ran over by a truck. But not just once. No. More like a hundred times.
My heart is beating so fast, I am scared I'm going to have a heart attack. I have trouble breathing, my palms are sweating and I can't think properly.
I am having a panic attack. And now is not the time considering I'm on the floor of the school's bathroom, and anyone could walk in.
I am trying to reassure myself and take deep breaths but nothing seems to work.
Reassurance.
Something I never really had. No one was there to tell me that when things got tough, I would eventually be okay. No one would even try to reassure me. That's why I never tried to get it from anyone but myself. I didn't have people to turn to. I was always alone.
I get up from my seat on the floor to splash water on my face, but I quickly brace myself on the wall when my legs are about to give up.
I knew I should've eaten something this morning.
But I wasn't hungry.
I kept hearing her words over and over again.
Mom called last night.
Yes, mommy dearest had the decency to contact me after over 2 weeks.
At first, I debated not answering. I was pissed she didn't call. Hurt even. I still am. But eventually, the side of me that always craved to have at least one parent that cared, took over and I answered.
I wasn't expecting much, in fact I was thoroughly shocked she even called.
She didn't ask me how I was. She didn't even ask about school. But she said something she shouldn't have.
I sent your school a letter. You know, to tell them you were sick. That mental disease you have isn't something I like talking about, but they should know about the meds you take. I still haven't heard back from them, could you go make sure they got it tomorrow?
That mental disease.
The meds.
My own mother thinks I'm some sort of monster for dealing with a mental illness. My anxiety isn't a secret in my family. Well, it's not anymore. It used to be. To my parents, it is a disgrace that their daughter had issues.
They never thought for one second that maybe, just maybe, it was partly their fault. That maybe their absence was the source of it all.
