Haven't updated in a while so I thought why not? I hope you give it a chance, thanks (:
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~*~Roselle ~*~
I remember the first day I moved into this neighborhood. It was in the Summer, when Blake wasn't born yet. It was only me. All alone to face things I didn't comprehend. Like why Dad had forced us into his black sleek hybrid in the first place. Why were my stuff packed in boxes? Why was Mom acting tipsy, but sobbing at the same time? Why had daddy -...hit me when I asked?
It wasn't like him. In fact,that was the first ever time he hit me. The first time his hand ever came in contact to my face, but surely, it wasn't the last time. I remember when we parked. We didn't even bother giving any acknowledgement to the mover's truck. Dad just kept at glaring around. Mom kept crying into her shirt, and I, I was glued to the front lawn.
The front lawn that swallowed my feet whole brushing against my ankles when a breeze flew by. What was this place? When were going home? Where was Grandma and Grandpa? The questions kept coming. Rushing through piling up after another. The knuckles clung around my teddy's belly turned chalk white. Nothing but a foreign feeling coursing through my vains. And somehow I knew. This was just the beginning.
Like the new beginning when I turned fourteen. This year Blake was turning three, and I was starting highschool. Horrid, horrid, high school. To say my first day was utterly terrible would be an understatement. For I knew no one, and it seemed no one wanted to know me either.
You could tell by their snickers as I wore a whole outfit twice my everything and for the opposite gender. I didn't cry, but that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt. Even my teachers thought I was mentally challenged. Obiviously unimpressed with my behavior in class.
Since I refused to partcipate and never picked a partner when we had to work in groups. I knew they found me frustarting. I knew they probably pulled their hair out knowing I would be in their period today, because I felt it too. I remember Sophmore year was even worse. I went from being a tiny invisible fresmen, to the target of walking talking high heel wearing cleavage showing sixteen year olds.
Even then I didn't talk. Even when they purposely bumped by my shoulder. Even when they pushes me against the lockers. Even when they cornered me in a bathroom stall laughing and chanting things like 'Roselle the retarted virgin'. And yes I know it wasn't even that clever, but did that make it hurt less? No.
There were many things I was considered. Like:
Stupid: Because I didn't talk.
Retarted: Because I avoided any other human being and preferred eating and reading my time away in the library.
Untouchable: Because I was filth. With my ragedy clothes, scattered brown hair, and always droppy eyes.
No one wanted to get to know me, and it went from bothering me like crazy, to I liked it better that way. I actually wanted people to make an effort to know me, but they avoided me like a plauge. So I learned to take comfort to the silence of the air. I decided that I liked it quiet. That way I was in peace. No snarky remarks. No hushed whispers. No snickers when I walk. It was just me, myself, and I. Like how it usually was.
Those usual days. With my hair swept back in a high ponytail. A long sleeve hoodie drapped over my head, and baggy jeans fastened across my stomach. My woven brown bracelet coiled around my wrist. Entering into another day of being ignored, being spat on, and overanalyzing. Sometimes it was a problem, overanalyzing that is, but others times I had also found it quite an advance.
