born to die

ii

My father was a rich asshole with good intentions. He never meant to sleep around, or become an alcoholic, or put a gun to his head, but he was weak. When he was fighting with my mother, he slept around because he needed a distraction. When everything seemed to be going wrong in his life, he drank to make the pain fade. When he felt there was no point any longer, he killed himself. My father was the type of man to run away from problems, to avoid confrontation. He had been rich since birth and when he turned eighteen he travelled around the world until he met my mother.                           They settled down in a nice town in Long Island and that's where I was born and raised. I was a happy girl, not particularly clever or beautiful or talented at anything. I found my passion when I started watching detective films. I loved how the criminal mind worked, how they killed in patterns, how it was all relative in some twisted, perverted way. How someone's past could affect someone's present so much that they are driven to kill. We are filled with these idealistic quotes about how our future is not determined by our past, but in so many ways, it is. 

My father killed himself when I was 15. I was devastated but not shocked. He always ran from his problems, never faced them. For a long time after that I didn't smile or laugh much. My mum and I sort of drifted for a while until we finally got a grip and, harsh as it may seem, moved on. Time continues moving, even if we don't. So after some time, I realised that time was going to slip through my fingers, whether I was happy or not. After that, I climbed out of the hole I had dug myself into, and tried to regain some sort of control over my life. 

The words of the brown haired boy echo in my head and I take a deep breath before convincing myself that going back to the prison and giving the boy a punch won't help anything. When I finally arrive home I fall onto my couch, confused as to what I should do. Should I have left the prison? Had I overreacted? I probably had. We all say stuff we don't mean. I sigh and tell myself that the next day will be different. I will walk straight back into that prison and show them that I am stronger than they think. I won't give in so easily and give them the satisfaction of thinking they are right about me.

"Anna?" a voice interrupts me from my thoughts and I whip round, surprised to see Ashton standing in the doorway.

"How did you-"

"The door was open." I mouth the shape of an 'O' before smiling. He asks me how my day has been so far and I shrug nonchalantly. I don't like burdening people with my problems.

"Well, do you have any plans for the rest of the day?" he asks casually, leaning against the door frame.

"Maybe," I giggle.

"How about I show you Central Park?" he asks, nervously scratching the nape of his neck.

"I think I could pencil you in."

----

"Ashton, the ducks are not plotting your murder!" I say between fits of uncontrollable hysterics. He has taken me to Central park and I find myself sitting on a bench while he timidly tries to feed the ducks in the pond, convinced that the ducks are giving him the death stare.

"Ducks don't normally look at people like that. There's hate in their eyes!" he yells back, throwing bread crusts into the water.

"Should we call the police?" I humour him.

"Immediately."

"911. What's your emergency? Well, my neighbour is convinced that ducks are plotting his murder," I imitate the potential conversation and hear Ashton let out a chuckle before beckoning me over. I walk over, grabbing a slice of bread before tearing it apart and feeding it to the ducks. In Ashton's defence, they do have evil looking eyes.

"So, Ashton Irwin, I have told you a lot about me but I know next to nothing about you." I look at him, watching as he bends his head and ruffles his hair before returning my stare.

"I think I'm much more intriguing when you know nothing about me."

"For all I know, you could be plotting my murder, never mind about the ducks."

"Yes, I very well could."

"So how do I know if you are trustworthy?"

"You can only find that through one way."

"Oh?"

"Trust me." I break into a smile and hook my arm into Ashton's as we walk away, laughing at something that probably isn't funny but I find hilarious.

I get into bed carelessly, having had a light dinner consisting of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Ashton after watching a series of Will Smith movies. He seems to like Will Smith a lot, and I find it funny how he always finds a way of bringing him into the conversation. He is sweet and funny, handsome too. All I could ever want in a boyfriend.                                                                                                     Thoughts of prisons and brown-haired boys have evaded me for most of the day, but as I sink into my pillow and wrap the sheets around my body I can't help but wonder whether tomorrow I'll get anywhere with the prisoners. I understand why they're angry, it's perfectly normal to not want to be studied. I would rebel too. But I need to do this. Maybe, if I don't ask them questions directly but just converse with them instead, getting the answers to my questions in a less straight-forward fashion, maybe then I can get the information I need and not make them feel like the subject of an experiment.  I sigh, peaceful in the knowledge that I have a plan. I close my eyes and fall into a deep slumber before I can even think about anything else. 

---

okay so its a bit of a filler but i hate fanfics where the characters fall in love after two chapters because i find it really unrealistic so there'll be quite a few chapters before anna gets some of that kiwi pie (i hate myself omg) 

aaanyway i hope you're all having a fantabulous day and my song recommendation is: blue // troye sivan ft Alex Hope 

dont forget to leave a comment (if any of you know any good songs pls tell me in the comments because im desperate for new music) and vote if you're enjoying so far xx