Teenage Runaway (1D//5SOS)

IV

August 15, 2014. 10:00 P.M.

When you're seventeen, your family is away on a business trip and you have your entire house to yourself on a Friday night, you wouldn't even be hesitant to have a party. It's almost like an obligation, as far as teenage culture goes. However, secret house parties were just not Sierra's way. The thought of throwing one never even crossed her mind. Maybe it was because she didn't have any friends besides Harry; partly because she was a typically quiet person and didn't find the conversations of her peer's all that interesting, partly because she usually snapped at people who did try to approach her. But all of that was okay, because Harry was a great friend and that was all she needed.

Another reason was that the smell and vibes and entire completeness of alcohol and rugs disgusted Sierra. When she was with Zayn, they had surrounded her at several times, for that was the only time of her life that she attended parties. In the beginning, Zayn knew that Sierra wasn't down for that vibe and protected her from it. They went to alternative places, cute little things like cafes and foreign shopping centers and parks they had never seen. Sierra knew that was the best of Zayn. But apparently, he believed that getting even further taken by the drugs was a better option, and that made Sierra hate them more than before.

Besides, Sierra preferred staying in on Friday nights. She loved to take advantage of being alone to have time to venture into her mind, think about everything that she usually keeps crammed inside. Sometimes it's all so serene, and sometimes it's a nightmare.

It's been quite some hours now since she had gotten home, she wasn't sure exactly of the time but it had felt long and the sky was at the darkest point of blue before it turned black. She had been in her yard since she had returned from school, laying on the ground and staring into the sky.

Sierra really did pretend she was over Zayn, because that's what she wanted to feel and she thought that if she wanted to feel a certain way bad enough than it would come true. She wanted to hate Zayn, for he deserved to be hated after the damage that he had done. However, a thought would creep in her mind of the way he sung sometimes when he thought she was already sleeping, or the way he snuggled his head into her shoulder when he felt she was uneasy even without her saying a word, and then she would find herself sobbing over the longing for his touch.

Sierra knows what she must do to cure her longings. She goes to the fire pit in the center of her yard and lights it up, smirking when the amber flicker began to appear. She returned inside her house and scanvenged her room for particular items, which was a mainly a variety of stuffed animals, photos, and CDs that had the smell of him on them, each a stabbing reminder of everything that's she lost. She takes a bottle of cologne that she stole from his once to put on her teddy bears when he was away, not that it would make her feel any better because now the only thing he smelled like was weed and hopelessness. She throws everything into a sack and angrily hauls it all to the yard, laughing as they pour across the grass and a couple photographs get cracks along the shiny glass.

Sierra turns back towards the pit, seeing as the flames were growing increasingly. She took the waves of destruction into her eyes with so much admiration. How can something so beautiful and so graceful be so deadly and destructive? And how it happens so quickly; one minute it is just a bit of a spark and the next it can take a part a whole ecosystem, end an entire organism's life.

She loved that about fire, it can be hated and be the enemy for how easily it could kill her or it can be the most beautiful aspect of the world in the sight that it can set her free. As she throws the items who were once so precious to her into the flames, it eats then up into they become nothing but wasted nothingness, so that maybe the hole in her heart when she saw them could be filled instead. She had been burnt by the small flame of a candle when she was little, and it had burned so badly that she cried for an hour. Now, a much bigger form of the art is burning everything that she had refused to let go of and nothing had ever felt so good.