Celeste's childhood wasn't something she loved talking about. It was filled with nothing but painful memories. Whether they were the ones from when her father, along with her brothers, left, or the ones from her mother's death and her stepfather's a...
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TERRIFYING DARKNESS invaded my vision as soon as my eyelids dropped over my eyes and concealed the two familiar figures away from my sight. My teeth dug deeply into my lip; the intensifying pain my action had resulted in—accompanied by the metallic taste of blood that had settled upon my mouth—being a good distraction and preventing an agonising sob from passing through my lips.
I miserably attempted to convince myself that nothing mattered at that moment—that the pain I'd feel once my brother's friend would start removing the glass splinters that hadn't left the wound yet was nothing in comparison to what I had previously gone through. That it wouldn't hurt as much as it did when I had first gotten injured or when Azalea had cleaned the wound with water. And that I'd only make it worse for myself if I started crying and panicking.
But my attempts were a failure. Because the anguish that overtook my abdomen as soon as the numbing solution landed upon my skin wasn't like anything I had felt before. It stung as though my abdomen had been set on a fuming fire. Its merciless, scorching flames grew wilder with every single moment; they became more powerful—more vigorous. They leaped across my skin and burned it. They greedily swallowed all the strength and endurance I had previously shielded, and left me with nothing but a reminder of how weak I was—of how weak I had always been.
Invisible walls constructed within my throat and blocked all the air my lungs needed out. Every single breath I took got trapped within those high walls; they perhaps attempted to find a hole they could pass through—one that would help them respond to my lungs' pleas. But the further they seeked for one, the further they drowned within the realisation that they were desperately searching for an illusion; a fake hope. My chest tightened, and the walls within my throat grew higher.
It was peculiar that I hadn't burst into tears yet. But it was perhaps a result of my thoughts' pleas. They pleaded for a distraction, and my mind decided to give them one. I let them drift into a familiar memory; one that I had buried so deep within my mind years ago. And one where I was too oblivious to the life awaiting me with my new stepfather.
- - -
A faint grin played across my lips as my gaze repeatedly scanned over the house that stood alone in the far distance.It wasn't as beautiful as the other houses I and Momma had previously seen—the white paint was evidently peeling off the walls and onto the ground, and it seemed as though the house would crumble to the ground beneath it at any moment.
Nevertheless, it was still a place we could live at. A place that would provide us with the warmth I had been desperately pleading to experience ever since Papa had kicked us out—more than two months ago.
I still had no idea on what "kicked us out" exactly meant. But it apparently had something to do with not living with him and my brothers anymore. I couldn't understand the reason something as bad as that would happen to Momma and I; we had never hurt anyone. But Momma told me that bad things could happen to good people too.
