You took one look out the back window of the cab as it rolled out of the gravel driveway of your home.
That's all you allowed yourself. One look.
No more, no less.
That was the only home you've ever known, but in the more recent years, it had begun to feel like a prison rather than a cozy place for a family to reside. So, why did you have to all but physically tear your gaze from it's silhouette? You contemplated this as you resolutely stared at the headrest in front of you. The driver supplied no conversation, but you weren't complaining. You needed the time to think. The familiar streets inched past as you ever-so-slowly made your way across the city towards the airport. Oddly enough, no tears came, no longing to steal the hug from your parents that you hadn't taken the opportunity for. Should you feel that now? No, that didn't seem right, but neither did this emptiness you were feeling right now. After about a half an hour of weaving through the New York traffic, you decided to shut off your mind to such confusing thoughts for the time being. You had more important things to occupy your mind. Like your new boarding school.
Yes, that is an extremely occupying thought. What's it going to be like? What kind of people were there? But, perhaps the most prominent and most repeated thought running laps around your mind, would have to be the question of just who one specific person would be. Your roommate. All you knew was that it was a girl. You didn't even know her name or if she was in your grade. Your father had pulled some strings to register you in last-minute, so it was all thrown together so fast, the documentation containing this vital information never came. You had absolutely no idea what you were in for. Would you have to endure some boring, dull, study freak? Maybe you'd get lucky and she'd be into some good bands...
'Doubt it. I'm not that lucky.' You thought rather pessimistically to yourself.
But it was true, in all of the places you've been, people you've met, only a small handful of them had held even the faintest amount of interest in your eyes. Honestly, you just weren't cut out for the life you were born into. I mean, come on. How often does punk rock go with ball gowns? The metal and lace mentality. You laughed a bit morbidly to yourself, reminiscing- If that was the right word- on a childhood memory.
~~~ ^_^ FlashBack ^_^ ~~~
A smaller, slightly more childish, version of you stands before a full-length mirror, smirking. It was a Saturday night, and a party was going on downstairs, if one could even call it that. You had snuck up here to get out of this stifling dress you wore. It was a tight, uncomfortable, glitter infested, ball gown. You hated, as silly as it was to hate an inanimate object. But, then again, you wouldn't hate it for much longer...
You let your eyes sweep the room one last time, making sure that no one could see you, though you knew that you had a good half hour before anyone would notice that you slipped away. As expected, no one lurked in the far corners of the room, waiting to cart you back to the dreaded formal gathering of your family's fake friends. You crept over to the small makeup counter in your mom's wash room and opened up one of the neat little draws that lined each side, but you did not find what you were looking for. Three drawers later, you did. A small pair of silver manicure scissors, ready for use. Silent as a mouse, you got to work, unwilling to get caught just yet.
~~~ ^_^ TimeSkip ^_^ ~~~
You walked out of the house, not thirty minutes later, feeling quite proud of yourself for what you had done. You weaved through nameless faces, looking for your mother. She would be so happy at your new outfit! (It was quite creative, really.) Maybe she would finally notice you for once. You had used the manicure scissors to take off a large majority of the sequins and rhinestones, leaving only a select few in a very appealing pattern in the middle line of the bodice. You had carefully taken out each and every thread left behind from them, and proceeded to cut the full-length dress to about an inch and a half above the knee. It had talked a lot of effort to get all of the tooling and gauze, but you had done so successfully. Next came the cutting off the spaghetti straps and replacing them with slightly thicker ones that crossed on the back. That only took a few stitches. Then, you pulled on a pair of your best leggings under the dress and a pair of worn black and white chucks. Lastly, you took out a few strands of your wavy hair from the tight bun where it had been held prisoner for so long, letting them fall haphazardly, but still keeping most of the elaborate updo intact.
