A Compelling Tale of the Songbird Who Became a Phoenix.

Chapter One: Two Years Ago

Have you ever looked at life, and thought about what you would do differently if you were given a second chance? I do. All the time.

Here's the funny thing about second chances, we assume that we would make so many changes without thinking about the consequences or the impact it would cause to our future decisions.

Those hypothetical alterations- would they really change everything or nothing at all?

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with the cards that I've been dealt-- I've been incredibly lucky-- but there are so many things I wish I could have changed. So many things I wish I could have done.

I wish I could have been believed in myself. Been braver. Been Happier.

When I was younger, I was always happy to hide in the shadows, shy away from problems like a kitten who is too afraid of the strange shadow; finding it easier to hide behind the large, sturdy, dependable objects instead of confronting what terrified me.

As I got older, I got wiser. I could no longer hide behind my once dependable objects- as what was once seen as adorable was now bordering pathetic. It was time I learned to stand on my own two feet. Yet like a butterfly that was not ready to leave her cocoon, I developed a guard- a mask if you will, something that made me look braver, happier, smarter. And I wore my new mask with my head held high refusing to let anyone see what or who was behind it, not yet having found who I was.

And I was happy to do so.

With my mask, I was a masquerade dancer at a ball that I had orchestrated, that I controlled.

A safe place.

A place that freed me from all inhibitions, hurt and heartache. I could hide away all my fears by creating a perfectly crafted wall that refused to let anyone on the other side.

Like the Duke of Ferrara who controlled his wife's painting, I controlled who saw me and the version of me that they perceived.

And it made me feel powerful.

Funnily, I knew it was only a matter of time before my guard would break.

And when it did, it shattered into a million of pieces on my well-crafted marble floor as my artificial world began to collapse and crumble, swallowing everything in its path.

Because that was the day, I was finally forced to confront my past.

It all began with a text message. 'I'm sorry' was the main message, intertwined with meaningless words and hopes for forgiveness and apologies.

Monday mornings are generally the worst. It's even worse when you accidently open the saltshaker, allowing the substance to fall all over the table around you. I'm not a superstitious person, so the notion of spilling salt and bad luck don't really correlate but I do think that unpredictable things happen on a Monday.

Getting dressed, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, the rain smacking on my bedroom window was my initial clue, followed by the rolls of thunder and the notion of the spilled salt.

I tried to ignore the sense of foreboding, telling myself that it was all in my head.

Taking a deep breath and releasing all the negative thoughts with a long sigh. 'I was being silly', I mused amused at my earlier antics. The only person who could any kind of bad luck is me.

Shaking my head, I laughed at my ignorance. I was still smiling when my phone chimed, alerting me to a text from an unknown sender.

A message that would crumble the façade I had spent years perfecting.

My first thought was why now?

I appreciated the sentiment behind it. It's not every day that one of your friend- turned- high school tormentor contacts you to apologise for the cruel, nasty, mean and vile things they did to you.

An apology over text as well.

Who said that chivalry was dead?

It was noble of her to message, but it had been 9 years since we had left school so why message now? We were 25 years old, surely we had both moved on from the atrocities of high school so why pick at a perfectly healed wound?

Except maybe, it hadn't healed. Maybe it had never healed.

I had been so busy cleverly constructing my mask that I never gave myself closure for the past, to confront the past and everything that came with it. I had merely put a plaster over the bandaged wound and hoped that with time, it would conceal itself. Heal itself.

Staring at the text message, a mix of emotions ran through me, making me overwhelmed. Anger coursed through my body. When had I allowed myself to be so pathetic? To still to be hurt over the events that had taken place nearly a decade ago? Frustration ran through my veins as to why I had allowed myself to be treated in such a way in the first place; Most of all, I felt a tiny feeling of remorse for the girl who had been mistreated all those years ago.

Tears began to move freely down my face and I did little to stop them, letting the thunderstorm inside my heart run wild and free. I cried for the shy, innocent and naïve girl who had forced herself to hide away behind a thick, iron shield, refusing to let anyone hurt her again.

With the tears now streaming down my face and gasping for breath, as my legs began to give out. Leaning against the wall, I clutched my phone in an impossible stronghold and I felt the impulse to throw the phone at my bedroom wall as though it was a hand grenade, slowly convincing myself it would be like throwing all the bad memories away, releasing myself of the horrible memories that were surfacing.

I've never been good with negative emotions, never knowing how to process them.

Yet in the moment, I released the impulse and simply locked my phone and threw my phone on my bed. Wiping away my tears and cleaning my nose with a tissue and calming my breaths, I forced my body to calm itself, my brain transcending the message that I couldn't think rationally when upset.

What was she expecting? Immediate forgiveness? That we would go on to the way we were? That I would stupidly let her back into my life?

What did she want?

'What do you want?' My subconscious asked, surprising me. 'What do you want to do?'

I hadn't thought of that. What did I want?

I didn't know.

With that I decided to ignore the message. I would reply but in my time.

She had the choice to get in to contact when she was ready.

If she had that choice, so did I.

With that thought in mind, I closed the message, pocketed my phone, placed my broken mask over my tear stricken face, turned around and walked away, with the falsest smile on my face.

And no one noticed.