Behind His Smile ( Boys From Hell #4)

.2

One month back:

| Mia |

"That's not my father. That's just my reflection."

"Nooo, look harder. .you see he lives in you."

The popcorn got stuck in my throat.

Simba stared hard at his reflection and it transformed into his father.

My heart dipped in my body.

Suddenly, I didn't want to watch it anymore.

Quickly, i changed the channel but I couldn't change my mind or my thoughts that were stuck on the scene. My appetite had died and sighing. .I placed the bowl of popcorn on the bedside table.

Taking off my glasses, I shut my eyes and counted to ten . That's what my mother taught me . It wasn't much but it helped.

She had forbade me to look at anything that had a father / son or father / daughter relationship going on. .but for a good reason.

It triggered my depression.

Losing my father when I was 14 years old. .how do you describe such thing? How do you put it into words? How do you tell people you're living with half a heart ?

I had friends who told me to just get over it.

Can anyone get over their father's death?

If Dad had died from a disease than maybe I would have gotten over it. .maybe I wouldn't be here where I was . He was shot at point blank.

A police officer was shot at point blank.

My chest was constricting and it was a sign.

To get my ass moving.

"Why do you do it to yourself. ." I muttered lowly since the apartment we were living in had paper thin walls and I so didn't want my neighbors to hear me speak out.

I shouldn't have watched the stupid movie knowing what it could do to me.

Guess I was a sadist.

Who loved torturing herself by watching stuff that reminded me of—

Shaking my head, I got off the bed . I had to hightail out of here before I could get that sinking feeling again.

If your depression gets triggered, move. Walk. Get out of the house. Do something. Anything.

The doctor had recommended it and it's stuck by me.

Also it works.

So this is what I was going to do. I took my phone and glasses . . scribbled a note for mom and stuck the pink note on the fridge . .and then I was out of the door.

I wish I could say my area was posh. But it wasn't. It was . .meh.

A gray area that sets in the middle of picket white fences and posh residences. I never took the elevator because knowing the creeps that lived around the neighborhood...I had to use the stairs.

Well, my mom did give me a taser but I figured stairs would be fine instead of shocking someone.

Also it would make me exercise, an added bonus.

Going down the stairs , I tried to suppress the disgust when the smell hit me. . . the weird rotting smell that emanated from the walls . It used to bother me when we moved in but now. . .who cared as long as we had hot food on plate.

I could never dream of complaining knowing how hard my mom worked. She had two jobs. One at a boutique and another as an waitress.

I tried to convince her to let me take a shot at a job but she always rejected it saying I need to only concentrate on my education and she will handle the financial department, thank you very much!