Dedicated to refrehs bc she's cool.
also, this story is being changed from a fanfic to just a regualr story because the way it is written is more of a normal fiction, so all the characters belong to me, so sorry if you see any "niall horan" or "one direction." I tried to get them all out, but the story is the same plot. its just the names are changing.
01: When in doubt, Scream it out
Maella Gray strutted across the green grass,standing with her back facing oncoming traffic, taking out the trash from inside her mother's house, which was thrown over her shoulder, resting against her back. She tried to smile though the smell, but it wasn't appealing; it was her mother's Tuna fish salad and Juniper's dog food remiments. She subconsciously tugged a piece of ginger red hair behind her lightly freckled ear, pulling the lid to trash can up, swinging it into the white garbag to the bottom of the gray container.
As the warm summer night air hit her newly exposed skin, Maella let out a deep sigh, touching the side of her face with her blotchy hand, which were burnt do to her lack of sunscreen during the day. For a few moments, after closing the top of the gray bin gladly, her light brown-green eyes watched the sun continue to set and the moon begin to rise. Pulling the strap from her tan bra from her arm back to her shoulder, her feet started back towards the mid-nineteenth century house.
The house was built like any house. It had the white dirt-specked shutters that had been bolted to the side of the house so they wouldn't fly open, the broad front porch painted a horrible dark green, and the rest of the house was a plain white color that you could tell hadn't been repainted in ages as it had started peeling and the color was a faded yellow grim. Over the years, Maella's mother Catrina had updated the appliances and painted the rooms inside the house, but the outside never was touched.
Propping the screen door open and holding it open with her elbow, Maella stepped inside, kicking her nude toms off one at a time, leaving them in front of the door. Her ginger hair swinging back and forth in her lazy ponytail, the twenty-six year-old sat down on a brown stool next to the tiled counters, next to her porcelain white mug.
The liquid inside of the cup was releasing a long line of steam, reminding Maella of a bonfire she used to have, the smoke swirling up into the air as they sang campfire songs, consuming illegal amounts of alcohol, and hooking up in each other's cars. She took a sip of the green tea in the mug, licking off a faint coating of honey that had transferred from the porcelain rim, taping the unpolished nail of her index finger on the white tile.
Maella sighed, rounding her back, slumping her shoulders, propping her elbows up on the table, rubbing her temples with her two index fingers. Right now, all Maella, sweet innocent Maella, wanted was a bottle of whiskey in her room, cuddled up in her pillows, forgetting that she cared what the world actually thought of her.
Life could stop abruptly, Maella thought, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers absentmindedly. At the beginning of the month, she had a great job, a great boyfriend, and a great self-esteem. By mid-way through July, she'd lost her job as an radio hostess as her show didn't get enough tune-ins, her boyfriend left her because she "wasn't enough anymore," and all of that together equals collapsing confidence that can accurately be represented by 9-11 and the twin towers falling out of the sky.
Maella wasn't taking care of herself; she smelt like someone just threw up on her, yet she didn't try to control her personal hygiene. As her best friend, Julie Levine called up Catrina, telling her that her daughter needed some help, leaving her at the present where she just assists with household chores, trying to resist the alcoholic yearnings.
