Broken Hearts & Lonely Stars(girlxgirl)

Chapter Twenty: Surrendering to the Stubborn King

"..When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done 
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed 
Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty 
Keep me in your memory, leave out all the rest..."

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Broken Hearts & Lonely Stars:

Chapter Twenty: Surrendering to the Stubborn King

        I was in Dreamland.

Embraced by soothing tranquility.

Nothing touched me here...

Yet I had something being poked into my cheek.

It couldn't be here in my dream since I was dreaming of Mila Kunis and Zooey Deschanel teasing me as they danced while I sat there, my black waves cascading down my shoulders. For once, I missed my black hair. How I would style it differently each day. The first time I actually cut it without my parents' permission was when I was sixteen. The only girl who had a Mohawk in sophomore year. The only girl who actually looked good with it, if you ask me. Once I stepped through that threshold, my father went berserk. Lecturing me that a young, sophisticated lady that I was wasn't supposed to have a Mohawk. That type of hairstyle was for low degraded people. Outcasts of society.

But his harsh words didn't stop me.

Then, came junior year. I shaved the right side of my head, combing my hair to the left. Tattoos begun to appear on my arms; obviously a rebellious teen that I was, I forged my mom's signature onto the permission slip. I begun to stretch my ears, got my septum piercing. I wasn't afraid of my father's judgemental stare nor the horror stricken expression my mother had when she saw the tattoos. I even asked for her permission if I could get her face inked on my arm, sadly, she said yes. At first, I was joking, wanting to see her expression but all I saw was joy in her sky blue eyes. When I went to the tattoo shop, I had a photo of my mother in her early twenties. She was laughing while the photo was taken. Her curly, black hair was styled like the women in the 60's. The victory rolls set on her head beautifully, her black bangs were cut into a 'U' shape.

Dressed in a tight black skirt that reached to her knees and a polka dotted blouse with a red scarf tied around her neck, my mother was a beautiful rockabilly gal back then. She was those mothers who loved punk, psychobilly, rockabilly, ska just like Blade and I did. My father was the same. An original greaser. His black hair slicked back as a pompadour as he wore black slacks, flannel shirts buttoned all the way to the top, and his black or red suspenders never latched on his shoulders, always down. They were a beautiful couple. They were my role models to say the least. Never once letting society change them yet their beliefs were different. My father was raised Catholic while my mother Christian. Always contradicting each other over the Bible's words and their religions' beliefs.

What made my dad Christian, I don't know. Yet his stubborn mind held what most religions plagued: Same gender relationships was a sin. Men and women are the only couples that could be allowed yet homosexuals were shunned. Spat on for being different. Backs turned on them when they're at their vulnerable points. I could argue about the injustice towards homosexuals all day but the poking was irritating. Their finger being jabbed into my cheek deep before fading for a brief second the same time it came back.

"What the fuck do you want?!" I muffled through the pillow, not bothering to open my eyes.

"Rhea..." Sweet, innocent voice this person had had me jolting awake, quickly sitting up as I glanced around the room.