Atlas Grove, once a dancer with dreams of dancing under the stars, now lives petrified in the shadows of abuse. To escape her living nightmare she must keep her head down and work hard, being her senior year this is her last chance to get out. Altho...
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She left.
She walked out of the fucking door.
All I want to do is call her back, run after her and drag her back, hold her against me, breathe her in.
The haunted look in her eyes, she shut down right before me. Retreated back into her toxic mind and I let her. I just added fuel to the fucking fire.
Why did I say those stupid fucking words? Fucking stupid!! Absoloute fucking idiot.
I did the one fucking thing she was scared of all along, the reason why we're here now. I told her I'd fucking leave her, told her she'd lose me if she walked. So she left first.
I never meant it. I never fucking would. I didn't mean it.
I turn from the closed door, where I've been staring at the chipped wood since she left. Rage burns deep from my core. At her. At me. At fucking Alabama. Everything tumbles into this fire like wood, burning ferociously through my veins. My vision reduces to red pinpoints.
Glasses and bowls crash to the floor as I swipe my arm across the kitchen island, throwing the stools as they crack against the walls. Ignoring the dull throbbing in both hands and forearms, the trickle of blood coming from my skin flowing down my wrist. All welcomed as they fuel the fire.
My heartbeat echos through my head, the thumping pounds like a migraine behind my eyes. Wet coats my cheeks, salt dripping onto my lips, my fists pound against the wall smashing my knuckles as blood coats the wall. I tear into my room and fling everything that reminds me of her across the space. The duvets and pillows that smell of her, my jumpers she wore with nothing on underneath.
She should fucking trust me! She.... She should trust me...
I never did anything for her not to trust me, that's what hurts the most and the fact I let her go. A deep tear travels through me and my chest tightens. My eyes sear and I squeeze them shut but it only amplifies the dull throbbing behind my sockets. Sickness engulfs me as I look at the couch where we would watch movies most evenings, her sat in my lap.
I pummel my fists into the fabric, teeth clenched as something that sounds like a sob flows through them. I- I... what the fuck just happened.
What did I do? Why didn't I try harder to stop her? Why didn't she believe in us more? If I could she can!
"Blaze..." Something touches my shoulder, I shrug it off and carry on destroying the room. "Blaze, honey." Something moves in my peripheral. "Blaze! Stop!" I whip around and look at my mom, worry shines brightly in her eyes slightly glassy, hands held out toward me tentatively. Behind me Gemma cowers by the door, small hands shaking and my body fills with shame. Guilt and regret tug at me. Pain flows from the tear in me made wider by my sister's terrified face. I drop my hands covered in blood. The room is a mess, a hurricane of my destruction in a real life. "Blaze, what happened?" My mom's voice is barely a whisper, she scans my arms then the room shellshocked.
