Mystical Blue

Different Shades of Blue

Y/N's POV

When I found out I ran the to the bathroom the moment I returned home, almost sprinting up the stairs so anyone else who was home wouldn't see me, not having the time to consider kicking my wet heels off. I dropped everything I was holding onto the grey carpet of my room carelessly and lunged for my bathroom, storming in with the sound of my 3-inch heels clapping against the tiles. With shaking hands I locked the door and after taking a slow step backwards I slumped to the ground, making my dress ride up and make my underwear wet from the remnants of the shower I took before I went out. I brought my knees to my chest, circling my arms around myself as tight as I could. Suddenly my knees were wet and my body started to shake with sobs. The heels were very much in the way of me reaching a comfortable position but I didn't care. My wet hair and soaked skin was causing me to shiver but I didn't care. Maybe if I treated myself badly whatever was inside of me would die and go away. Maybe if I'd never gone out then whatever it was would've never come to life.

I lost track of how long I stayed in this position but my tears didn't seize, nor did the depressing cloud haunting over my head clear. I sniffed deeply as if I was hoping to inhale some sort of force to help me stand up. I unfolded myself slowly, pushing myself up with my knuckles. I turned around slowly to my left and took a look at my new self. She had damp hair, all mottled together from running home in the pouring rain. Her makeup was stained around her eyes in dark black circles. Her eyes were red, puffy and swollen with hot tears trailing down to her cleavage. Her skin was dotted in goose bumps, also from running home in the cold rain.

It was then that I screamed into the mirror, wrecking my throat in a wrenching, scratchy pain. The tears poured down at full force. I collapsed to the ground again, tangling myself into the same huddled position I was just in and reminded myself out loud how utterly fucked I was. I wanted someone holding me tight behind me. To console me, to cradle me like a baby and tell me that everything was going to be alright. All I could do in that moment was listen to my own whimpers and sobs. I held my wet, shaking hands out in front of me, tracing my eye-line along all the wrinkles and veins. I hated my hands. Or more specifically, the blood pumping through them. I remember clenching my fists together so tightly that my fingernails dug into my skin and started to bleed. My blood looked like anyone else's – red and smooth – but what was in it made me not normal.

I was trapped by this secret that I could tell absolutely no one. From that point onward I had these chains weighing me to the ground, tightening at my wrists every time I wanted to break free.

I was 14, nearly 15, back then. A lot has happened in the past year and half. People came, ruined my life and blackmailed me into leaving.

This new school was the start of the new me. I cut my hair to my shoulders and dyed it light purple. I deleted any forms of contact with the people who destroyed my life. Which I find ironic, regarding what happened in the first few months after I restarted my life. Because of them I was somewhere where I felt safe. Because of them I had found a secure circle of people who could protect me. And because of them I found him.

His hair was the first thing I noticed about him. Electric blue locks cascading from his head like waves, decorated with small green tufts. When the lights from the window he sat next to in class shined on it it glistened like a tropical ocean. It made him look almost unreal, like a mystical creature bathing in the most perfect sunlight. Even when he let my hands writhe through it and beads of sweat caused little clumps of his hair to stick to his forehead it glowed. He glowed. When he later told me why he dyed it that colour, he said that he wanted to be different, to stand out and that he simply liked blue. I replied saying that he looked amazing with it and he responded with a small but bright smile with no verbal response. After a few moments of awkward silence he finally spoke, saying that when he came home with his hair that colour his parents were infuriated and spent the rest of the evening yelling and swearing at him, even more than when he got his lip pierced.