A Collection of Short/Long Stories I've Written;

Becoming Ronnie: 18.

It was raining; pouring down – and suddenly. The day had been nice, all day, and as soon as I stepped out of the building it began to rain, disguising the tears as they all finally shed.

After embracing with my dad, I left, knowing that there were no words to describe anything. I had a lot on my mind suddenly, and I didn’t want to go back to stay in the same house as my mother as I thought everything through and let it sink in.

I went over to a bench, and sat on it, watching all of the modern-day New-Yorker’s rush into building and coffee shops with their briefcases over the top of their heads to shield them from the rain.

The pain poured down, all around me, and all I could do was stay seated. It was only about half past three, and I wasn’t to avoid going home for as long as possible.

I wasn’t thinking about the situation with my mother and my father; but me. Yes, I was thinking selfish thoughts at a time when my world seemed like a tragedy, but after my previous thoughts about Ronnie, I got thinking. I don’t know what’s right or real anymore and I can’t think properly. I wondered, in my mind, if what I was doing – dressing up in fancy closes and letting my posture slip, etc – was actually helping to shape me into a new person. It didn’t seem like it and it didn’t seem right. All of a sudden, I wanted to be Ronnie, but I didn’t want to have to change who I was to do so.

From the beginning, all I wanted was to fit in. I wanted the bullying to stop. My life hasn’t been much different since I changed what I wear; the one person that wanted to hurt me still wanted to hurt me, and it was just by coincidence that Tyson wasn’t really friends with Johnson and saved me. I was still me, but a new thought rose in my mind – I wasn’t me anymore. For the last few years, my life had been a lie. I had hated someone for no reason.

That, to me, there, then, was what made a person. Life changing situations shape who you are, or are to come, not what you wear.

In one argument, I wanted to change my appearance still, but in another – more vulnerable sense – I wanted to wear my old clothes, not talk to anyone, try my best to ignore the bullies and have homework as my biggest worry. That was the life I wanted back – not one shaped by society. Society was ugly. In a manipulated form. I didn’t want to be that anymore.

I sighed heavily – I just didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know who to be and I began to fear that I was forgetting who I used to be, to chase someone I’m not even sure I am, or want to me.

I raked a hand through my hair, growling in frustration. I was fine, everything had been fine. Why did Johnson have to pick on me and why did my mother have to lie and make me hate my dad?

I just wished everything had been simple.

All of a sudden, I stood up, the rain dripping from my hair to my face, and I began to walk away.

I knew I couldn’t escape the thoughts running through my head – but sometimes, just sometimes, I wished I could just turn my brain off for a while.

I knew I didn’t want to be here, out in the cold, so I decided to go to the place I thought was like a haven – a safe place where I had no worries.

I knew right away where it was, where I was supposed to go. I remembered the other day the route to the house.

I knocked on the door, the rain pelting on my back as I waited for someone to let me in. I turned around and looked at the view. From this point of Manhattan I could see where my father works, and I smiled. That was now a comforting thought.

But then again, guilt washed over me as I remembered I had hated my dad for something he hadn’t done. I had lost all of that time that I would never get back. I’m glad I made up with him before it was too late. I sobbed as the water kept coming down, soaking all of my clothes until they were heavy on my body.

I began to walk away, knowing it was ridiculous of me to come here. I needed to go home. I needed to sort everything out. I was wasting time by standing around here in the rain. I probably looked stupid and I shouldn’t. A lady, at all times, should be in control of her emotions, not letting them free randomly. I should be sorting this out like an adult. Not running away like a child.

“Ronnie?”

I turned around, seeing the door was open and my gaze landed on a boy in a wheelchair.

“Connor?”

“What are you doing out here!?” He asked, waving his hand for me to come inside. “It’s raining.”

“Uh…”

“Oh god, you’re soaking! You’ll get a cold.” He said, frowning. “Uncle!” he shouted, reversing his wheelchair so he could turn around. “Uncle!”

“What is it?” his uncle replied in a cheery voice.

“Can you come here, please?”

“Who was at the door?” he asked as he began walking in. His mouth opened when his eyes landed on me. “Ronnie?”

“Hi…” I said sheepishly, wiping away my tears.

“Oh god…” he muttered. “Hang on!”

And before I knew what was happening, he was wheeling Connor off into the other room. I stood there, confused, as to what was going on and I looked down at my feet, watching the pile of water form as I stood in-front of the door when someone coughed, making me look up.

“I—”

I didn’t get to barely start my sentence, let along finish it, as I was swiped up into a hug, Dylan’s strong arms holding me in place without difficulty.

“Ronnie?” He said quietly. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

After he put me down, I sniffed, but I didn’t say anything. He sighed as he guided me towards the living room, where a fire was lit.

“Sit.” He ordered.

“I’ll get the couch wet.”

“I don’t care.” He replied nonchalantly. “Sit.”

I did as I was told, and he sat down next to me, scooping up my hand.

I smiled half-heartedly, and he stared at me, wanting me to say something, to explain was I was upset, why I was soaking wet and why I had red patches around my eyes from crying, but for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, squeezing my hand.

“Tell me what happened,” he said soothingly. “Please?”

“I was wrong…” I whispered.

“About what?”

“Everything.”

I was silent after I whispered that for a moment before I sigh heavily, telling Dylan everything.

What annoyed me the most was the fact that everything I thought had been right was wrong. I wondered – had my life been a lie? If the biggest part of it – that made up everything (because living with my mom defined what I did) – had been a lie…