Fearless Beings

Chapter 17

Mia's POV:
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Sometimes I wish I didn't die.

I know it's wrong but I just can't help it. And then at other times, I wish I liked Toby one bit. And then other times, I wish I wasn't born at all. But the most thing I wish for is:

Love not existing.

I shake my head and bury it in my pillow, letting out a strangled scream. Why? Why?! Why?! I wish I can die again. Or better yet, I wish I can get back alive again, to try and save myself from whatever happened to me. I even wish I knew how I died. It's unfair, to not know how you died, I mean.

Actually, now that I think of it, nothing fair ever happened to me.

It sucks.

I cry and cry and cry until I feel the pillow too damp from the salty liquid. I wish I can love like any normal person cou-

I shake my head again, not allowing myself to think of it. Consequences, Mia. Consequences. Be careful. I replay the word in my head.

Consequences.

"Honey?" My mum's voice says from my behind the door. "Are you alright there?"

"Peachy!" I yell, sarcastically.

She catches on pretty quickly and knocks the door softly. "Open the door, Mia."

"God, no! No, Mum. I'm not opening any door any time soon," I screech.

"Mia, open the door," she repeats quietly.

"WHAT PART OF 'NO' DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? IT'S ONE SYLLABLE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" I scream against the pillow again, feeling the pain magnifying again. What the hell is happening to me? I hadn't cried since second grade. And here I am crying over a stupid boy.

He's probably laughing with Megan, anyway.

Faking happiness and keeping up a false facade is not easy, trust me, if anyone knows about this, then it'd be me. I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white. I can hear my mum bantering from the other side of the door things that are supposed to be soothing me, but I pay it no heed. I climb out of bed. Where's my stress ball?

Oh, God! Where is it?!

I grab the lamp and plug it out from the cable. I look down at it, memorizing its shape, before I throw it across the room and it shatters. The lamp hits the other side of the wall so hard that it breaks badly to the extend that it's broken to pieces you can only see with a microscope. Tiny glass litters the floor, making it sparkle under the sunlight coming from my opened bedroom window.

I smile, finding beauty in destruction.

I grab a frame from the wall, this time I don't bother memorizing its shape before throwing it. My alarm, a vase, a glass cup I won at some sport in school, they all end up like the poor lamb. With everything that breaks, my smile widens a fraction.

At least it's not only your heart that's broken. You can always break more things. Always.

"Mia!" My dad's voice booms. "If you don't open this door right now, I'm getting in my own way." The handle jingles, emphasizing his point. I grab a chair and put it under the doorknob and turn up the music, making sure it's too loud to be healthy. "That's it, I'm getting in!" My dad's voice is muffled from the lyrics blasting through my speakers.

The door doesn't open. It worked! When I see it at movies, I start believing that even if I tried doing it, the chair would just slip from under the doorknob, you know? But now that it didn't, I feel like I've accomplished a huge thing, which is, in fact, true. Because successfully not allowing your parents inside your room is a big thing. Or at least a big thing for me. A big thing, nonetheless. Oh, gosh! What is it with me and big things?