The Truth About Camila (camren)

Prologue: The interview

As well as posting this to tumblr, I decided to post it here too. So I hope you read it and like it haha.

Warning: This might contain sensitive subjects for some people.

My eyes instantly blur at the question and sudden seriousness that flooded throughout the room, momentarily pausing so that I am able to bite back the sob that is threatening to escape my lips. Everybody's eyes in the room settle upon on me. It feels like they are staring into my soul and silently wondering why the hell I am getting so emotional over this. My stomach burns with a raging fury of flames that enlighten within me, the horrific and traumatic past creating a fire that burned me fiercely. "High school was a nightmare for me." Not exactly a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

To be honest, it was more than just my high school experience that was a nightmare; it was everything. Every part of my life was against my will of happiness and pushed away any thoughts that consisted in me possibly having a content future.

All the memories start to rush through my mind piercingly as I struggle to keep on speaking, knowing that if I don't remain calm and collected then everything will appear even worse than they already do and I couldn't hear the end of it.

Flashback...

"Mila? Daddy and I need to speak to you about something." I nod my head innocently, my short brown curls bouncing up and down as I do so but still never take my eyes away from the TV because I'm too enhanced by the current adventures of Dora and boots. Well, that is until my father moves to switch the tv off which certainly gets my attention to turn to them.

"Daddy no!" I stomp my feet and pout instantly, hoping that he would give into me like he always does. He just shakes his head at me and I attempt to roll my eyes when he looks away towards my mother.

She notices this and winks at me playfully, to which I giggle and run over to her. Her arms wrap around my tiny body and I can see her eyes begin to cloud with tears. The security of her hold makes a sense of warmth spread throughout my tiny body and I cuddle further into her. Instantly, I know that something is wrong and frantically look between my parents who are sharing worried glances with each other. "Why you upset mommy?" She sighs at my innocent question and takes her time to answer whilst she lets her eyes wonder over all over my features slowly, almost like she is memorising them.

"You see, mommy is not feeling very well baby and I have to go away to a special place." My tiny heart feels like it is about to pound out of my chest and tears immediately pool in my eyes. I didn't fully understand all of the circumstances of the situation I was been thrown into, but I knew that it wasn't good at all and that

"But why mommy? You and daddy say medicine and soup makes it better." I furrowed my eyebrows and my mind completely blanked, unable to formulate a coherent thought. Oblivion overwhelmed me, I couldn't grasp the concept of their words properly and the meaning of my mother being sent away. My dad turns to me, his usually strongly bolded features now soft and fragile.

"Mila, do you know like Mommy has been with the doctors for a long time?" His voice croaked weakly and it was unusual for me to see him react in a manor that didn't consist of bravery or confidence. He was usually strong, fearless...Yet now he looked utterly hopeless and broken. I nodded my head, remembering all of the many times that my father had taken me to visit my mom in the hospital. "Well, she has to move somewhere else now. She is going to live with God in heaven. Remember what we told you about heaven?" All I do is burst into uncontrollable weeps and the firm grip on my mother tightens. She just holds me and lets me cry.

I was six and that was just the beginning. I was 7 when it continued, almost 8.

My father became much more distant than he previously was, more cruel and emotionless than before my mothers heart-wrenching passing. He no longer took the treasured time to read me meaningful bedtime stories or lovingly kiss my head with a soft delicacy when he drove me to school every morning. I was basically raising myself and I was only 7 years old. He was rigid, completely stiff and hardly represented a fully functioning human figure. Nothing registered with him, it was as though he was sucked forcefully into a empty echoing of blank nothingness with absolutely no way of escape.