Broken

*Chapter 15|Hero*

*edited*

A quick question, Who is your hero?

•Bianca's P.O.V

I'VE NEVER LIKED STORMS.

I sat on the window seat in my room with my knees pressed up against my chest and my toes curled anxiously.

I watched as the heavy rain dropped on the pavement near the street, creating puddles in the dented areas of it. The sound of raindrops was like the rhythmic sound of marching solders on a day of war. Loud, alarming and fast.

The deafening roar of thunder and the gray clouds created an unsettling feeling in my stomach. The rain was heavy, so heavy I could rarely see clearly through the glass window because of the water that covered it like a blanket.

I refused to look at the bright purple lightening that shun through the grey clouds and kept my gaze on the pavement.

I took in a shaky breath and leaned my head on the window. It felt cold on my skin, but the foggy surface damped my skin slightly. My eyes never left that pavement, I was afraid that if they did and met the sky, lighting would strike me mercilessly for some reason.

My heart was beating slowly but loudly, it was so loud in the quiet room I could almost hear it. The air smelt dry and dusty, and the atmosphere was cold.

I was in my room, the lights were switched off leaving the place dark, the only source of light was the dim one coming from the window I was leaning against, it barely lit up the room.

All I want to do is hide under the covers of the bed, curled into a ball, until the dreadful storm is over. But no matter how ridiculous it is - I'm too scared to even get up from this position. I've always been afraid of storms, even rain. I try to avoid them at all cost, but not as much as the sound of thunder.

Someone knocked on the door. I didn't reply and kept my mouth shut, keeping my gaze on the pavement and waiting for the very last drop of rain, just to feel at ease again.

I haven't cut myself since the cabin, which was three weeks ago. I could say I'm proud and have gotten over it, but I can't ignore the way my fingers twitch every time something sharp comes to vision. I'm stopping myself, I wouldn't want to put Linda in the same situation I put the others.

I've spent about two weeks in Linda's house, it wasn't at all bad, I just felt uncomfortable with her over bubbly personality. Linda is quite a character, she's cheerful and too nice for her own good - but all that seems to change when Clara enters the room. I still don't know why they hate each other.

Linda was friends with my mom - Marisa. They apparently were very close friends, she even showed me some pictures of them together. Some of which I was in, but I don't remember any of it. She tells me stories about her and says I have her eyes but look mostly like Ronaldo.

Rhea was the one that looked like my mom, while I looked like my dad. I wish I didn't.

But I can never be more thankfully for what Linda does. Knowing more about my mom makes me feel like I remember her, or know what she's like. No one ever told me anything about her since she died, and I was always too afraid to ask.

Linda also told me things like how she was kind, loving and brave but shy at the same time - she was also very dangerous when angry and had a confusing personality. She also told me how her favorite color was blue, the color of Ronaldo's eyes and how she hates getting distracted when reading a book. She rarely wore anything but denims and was a smart student in school.