Once upon a time, a girl made a vow never to give her heart to someone undeserving . . . for the sake of her happiness and heartbreak.
Lydia Hayes has had enough grief in her life. After the death of her mother, she was torn. As for her father, he...
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"It's you, babe And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe And I could try to run, but it would be useless You're to blame Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never be the same"
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Their voices faded in and out of my consciousness. It's not their fault, they didn't know. And it's not my fault either. I chose to come along with them on the chaotic journey.
I rest against the trunk of a tree. The untamed bark and branches poke painfully into my back but the physical pain is far from the mental pain I feel right now. In fact, it's in a way keeping me tethered to reality.
The tears are a nonstop waterfall of nostalgia. My eyes sting every time I blink away the salty grief. Why couldn't things be different? Why this family? Why?
Another hurricane of tears washes over me and I throw my head into my hands. Raked sobs convulse my body into utter shock.
"Lydia what's wrong?" Miguel asks in a concern and worried filled tone. I don't answer, just sob even louder into my hands that have tried to muffle my cries of pain.
"Lydia? Please, I can't help if I don't know—"
"Help?! No one can help me Miguel. For months I've been feeling this pain and I've been miserable!" I yell, my voice sounding weaker than what I'd intended.
Miguel sighs and steps forward. He brings me into his chest and rubs the length of my figure. For some unknown reason, I've always felt safe in his embrace.
"Please. Tell me your story."
I pull away to arms length. Reaching up his hand, he swipes away the tears from my rosy cheeks. "That's for another time. Just . . . get me out of here."
Without needing to be told twice, he nods and walks me out of the daisy filled field. The group stares at me, I'm not sure if it's pity or confusion, but whatever it is makes me shuffle closer to Miguel.
I can't believe this is happening. All of it. The move. Making acquaintances within a span of two days. Living next door to a boy that makes me weak in the knees. Allowing people—I barely know—to get close enough that they see the raw pain in my eyes. It's scary.
