Royals

Chapter 59

I apologize in advance if any of this is culturally inaccurate!!

"What are you going to do with your hair?"

"I'm probably just gonna straighten it," I shrugged. "There isn't much you can do with short hair."

"But it's Halloween!" my best friend Samantha squealed with a laugh. "Can we at least add glitter to it?"

"Ugh, fine," I dramatically sighed, earning a laugh out of Sam.

Tonight, Samantha and I were attending a Halloween party at our friend Declan's house. He was only having a few friends over--it was nothing major--and we were going to help him pass out sweets and play an innocent game of truth or dare.

It was nothing like the Halloween parties I used to attend, which I was beyond grateful for.

When I first arrived to Manchester, England, I was a complete wreck. My makeup was blotchy, and my eyes were temporarily stained red. My mother had given me the biggest hug, not comprehending why I was with her and not with Joey.

"I thought you wanted to stay in Michigan," she confusedly asked me, allowing me to enter my new home. Not trusting my voice, I shook my head tremulously. Although I was too humiliated to tell her my reasoning as to why I changed my mind, my mother stood by my decision nevertheless.

The first thing I said to my mom and Anastasia when I arrived was, "If any of my friends try to contact me, don't let them. I don't want to talk to any of them." While sniffling worse than someone with an illness, I continued, "Oh, and I need a new phone."

They had stared at each other in shock, not grasping what was happening. Nonetheless, they complied; I hadn't heard from my friends since I last spoke to them in person in Michigan before I left. I assumed that they had traveled through Europe for vacation during the summer, but I had other plans. I spent my summer rejuvenating myself.

My first week in Manchester was worse than any other. I gave myself one week—seven entire days—to get over Joey. He was my silly, high school boyfriend, and I shouldn't have been so affected by his disappearance.

I would be the first to admit that I was pathetic. I cried too much and engaged in conversations too little. My mother had told me that sadness was a disease we were all infected with, but it hadn't made me feel any better.

I tried to hide my tears from Anastasia—I didn't want her to see how much a senseless guy was affecting me—but I failed miserably. Repeatedly, she told me that it was alright to cry because even someone as great as God had to cry it out every once in awhile (i.e. when it rained). However, once day seven rolled around, I cleaned up my act. Seven days of grieving: that was all that was allowed.

I then proceeded to do everything in my willpower to change who I was; I no longer wanted to be associated with the Emily Brazki that lived in Michigan. I didn't like who she was.

So, I began with my physical attributes. I took a trip to a nearby hair salon where I not only chopped ten inches off of my hair—it rested just below my collarbones—but I also converted my platinum blonde hair into a rich, coffee bean brown. Additionally, I began to run...a lot.

I remember the first day I ran: it was a nightmare. I ran only a mile before I collapsed on the lawn and lied below the bright, peacock blue sky. I felt too weak to make it to the porch, so I stayed there for about ten minutes. And then, I finally found the strength to make my way to the house. I drenched my body in the warm water of the shower and reveled in the soreness of my muscles. It was a new feeling, and although it was uncomfortable, I loved the physical sign that I was growing fit. Now, after eight entire months of running, I was able to run long distances easily. In fact, I even joined my school's cross country team.