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─ ; APHRODITE POV
Oftentimes I wished I could look at the world through rose-colored glasses. But, in times of heartache, frustration, and when things in life seem anything but hopeless...don't we all? In my life, having a favorable or optimistic view of the world was...burdensome, to say the least. Or it was. Before Uncle took me in and gave me a home. Although I forced myself to be a ray of sunshine on the outside. On the inside I was suffering much more than I let on.
I wouldn't let anyone see my suffering. I was good at that. When people looked at me I understood what they saw.
They see a fragile girl — with delicate bones that looked like they could snap if given the slightest of pressure.
They see the dyed pale pink hair, eyes the color of freshly bloomed virginia bluebells, and a smile so bright it could turn people blind, or so I've been told.
I looked untouched by the cruelties of the world and its people. I looked young, fresh, and eager to start my life at the tender age of twenty.
When my name was uttered, Aphrodite; it was a sign of someone who would love the finer things in life; and all the love the world could have to offer.
So much hope. So much love to give.
I liked that they viewed me the way I so often wished I could.
It was easier to place the invisible rose colored frames over my eyes when I was taken away from the clutches of the people who had raised me — only to beat me down.
I wished for a fairytale instead of a life destined to end in a greek tragedy.
Mother's words were like a curse branded into the layers of my soul. Her words echoing each second I found happiness. I was better at pushing it to the side now, after a year, but I still heard it.
The academy saved my life. I would be forever in their debt. Gratitude swelled my chest at the thought of the people who I now called my family.
Uncle and Dr. Phil, who had seen me the day I trailed after my parents, face swollen beyond recognition, into the diner exactly one year ago today, and saved me.
I thought of Erica, the kind nurse who wouldn't give up on me when I wanted to give up on myself.
I thought of Jessica. My first friend. My best friend. Who loved me and supported me beyond anything I had ever experienced before. That was what a true friend was, she told me many times before.
They were the ones who made me feel safe, loved, and wanted. They gave me hope. During certain times, I thought my life could end up the way I had always dreamed of.
A family, a career that I would thrive in, and someone to love me more than anything. To treat me like a princess. To accept the baggage I came with.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it was what I wanted more than anything.
