Scars Of Truth

3 ➛ Mena

Growing up, I'd only ever had one friend.

Mena. Mena Kanoska.

That was her name.

It also didn't help that I was homeschooled my entire life leading up till now, and was barely let out of the comfort of my own house because of my mother and her unfair rules.

Mena was my best friend for a reason. She was like me in a lot of ways -- witty and outspoken at times, yet careful and attentive. However those weren't the prime reasons regarding why we were friends.

We were friends because she was hyper observant of me. It's like she had this sixth sense where she knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly when I was thinking it. It acted almost like this fortune teller type of aspect she sheltered within her.

And I will admit that her telepathic transmission worried me a little bit. But for once in my life it felt refreshing to always have someone really know you. To have someone deeply understand what's troubling you instead of brushing it off. And because of this we got along swimmingly.

Unlike my mother.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adored my mother, she was extremely hard working and set goals for herself. Except there were some strange things she'd mentioned about Mena.

And dad.

It was always the same old things when it came to my mother,

'Keep your head down Viv.'

'I don't have time for your silly questions now Viv.'

'I can never understand you Viv.'

'Viv, I thought I told you to stay away from the Kanoskas?'

'What am I to do with you Viv?'

I came to realize at the ripe age of eight that Mena understood me better than my own mother did. On account of this, the more my mother drove me away, the closer I got with Mena.

Until two months after my twelfth birthday. I still remembered this memory so vividly in my mind like a breath of fresh air.

I'd snuck out of my house one evening while my mother was working long hours to meet up with Mena, the two of us gripping onto our maple syrup taffys, chipper, and walking with a skip in our step.

I was the happiest I'd ever been at that moment. Sucking on my favorite treat blissfully with my favorite person in the whole wide world swinging her hand with mine. We were on our way to our local bakery up-hill because Mena had insisted on it.

She wouldn't stop gushing about this sweet boy who'd just been hired there last week, although I think he was a bit old for her, 16 if I remembered correctly.

But Mena could easily pass for a highschooler at the time, with her full round breasts and sculpted face.

Mena gasped, "Look look, it's him! It's Iverson!"

I instinctively peered into the sizable glossy window to catch Iverson firmly rolling bread dough.

He was cute.

Mena rushed to grab my hand and I nearly dropped my syrup stick. "Hey-"

"Geez, whatcha' standing around looking all embarrassed? Follow me." She sprinted up the cobblestone road way, weaving in between towering street lights.

A couple cars breaked abruptly as we crossed in front of them and I mumbled a few sorry's and excuse me's in response to their impatient honking.

"Seriously Mena slow down!" I managed to pant out, struggling to keep up with her quick movements. Mena glanced towards me as she spoke,