Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[28]

"Revenge is surviving, getting out, and being a better person than you were, and breaking the cycle."

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a/n: Trigger Warning-> mentions of abuse. 

Mina

I had this toy when I was a kid. A strange, little thing.

My grandma brought it back from one of her trips, and when I saw it, I didn't think much of it.

It was a spinning top, sure, but it was bigger than any other spinning top I'd ever seen before. The wood was polished, and there were these odd shapes carved into it—ripples, curves—and all the colors of the rainbow danced across its surface.

"I have a lot of spinning tops, grandma." I told her, trying to brush it off, implying that it didn't matter to me.

I had plenty of others, more familiar ones, ones I didn't need to be told about.

This new one didn't seem all that special.

But she smiled, that knowing, warm smile of hers, and said, "This one isn't like the others, my dear. You'll change your mind about it soon."

And so, I picked it up, turning it in my hands, inspecting the curves, the little ripples. It felt just like any other spinning top. Nothing about it stood out.

But when I placed it on the floor and gave it a little push, something shifted. It spun slowly, almost lazily, and as it did, I heard it.

Music. A soft, lilting melody, as though it was singing a lullaby to me, to the whole room.

"What kind of spinning top makes music?" I asked, barely able to process it, my voice almost a whisper.

"A special one." my grandma replied with a shrug, but there was a glint in her eye, something almost mystical, something that made me believe her words more than I had ever believed anything.

From that day on, I couldn't put it down. I became obsessed with it.

I still don't know why.

What was it about that spinning top that held me in its grasp?

Was it the smoothness of the wood, the way it reflected the light? The colors that seemed to shift as it spun?

Or was it the music, the way it seemed to hum to my very soul? I don't know, but I took it with me everywhere I went. I showed it to everyone I knew, and even to those I didn't.

I carried it through all my hardest times.

Through the silence after my dad left.

Through the sorrow when my grandma passed away, and through the ache of losing our dog.

It stayed with me when my mom decided that I didn't fit into the boxes she had created for me, when she couldn't love me in the way I needed to be loved.

It was there when Edward moved away, leaving a hole in my life that never seemed to heal.

Always in my pocket. Always close to me. It felt like a talisman, something that protected me when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

But my mom didn't understand. She mocked it. She called it a childish gimmick, something I should have outgrown by now.

She didn't get it. She didn't understand why something so simple had such a hold over me.

She thought it was just another way for me to spite her, another small act of rebellion because she hated her own life.

"It's just a spinning top, it's not like I'm carrying around a Barbie or something." I'd defend myself, my words thick with frustration.

"You shouldn't be carrying anything around at all. You're not five anymore." she'd retort with a sharpness that stung every time.