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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A THICK LAYER of sweat drenched my skin, cold droplets racing over my bare chest as their temperature contrasted with the heat my body was radiating.
Coursing anger flared in my vessels, accompanying the adrenaline rushing through their walls.
Heavy breaths brushed past my parted lips, my chest heaving up and down in protest to the harsh thuds my heart was emitting against it. Burning tears coated the edges of my vision, and clenched fists of mine wasted no time before they collided with the punching bag before my gaze.
"You all hurt me the same," she'd said.
My heart agonizingly tightened beneath my chest, a scream dying at the back of my throat as I aimed a punch at the bag yet again. The metal chains connecting it to the ceiling rattled, their deafening sound blaring throughout the deserted boxing gym.
I had lost track of time so long ago, and a single glance at the clock hanging on the rotting walls told me it was already past midnight, meaning that I had been here for a little over three hours.
Although I had left the house right after Celeste had locked herself in Marco's room, refusing to open the door for me after I had desperately asked—begged—her to do so, just so that I could check on her, her sobs hadn't stopped ringing in my ears. The tears tainting her eyes and the pain lacing her voice. I couldn't get any of that out of my mind.
I pinched my eyes shut at the memory, bandaged hands of mine tightly holding onto the punching bag as my forehead leaned on the dark leather, my breaths sporadic as I tried to even them out.
I knew what it felt like: realizing that one of the only people whom you had once so deeply trusted was nothing but a liar, and realizing that the words you had once clung to were nothing but a fucking lie. I knew what it felt like to lose that person before you could ask them the questions you couldn't sleep at night because of.
It felt so fucking awful, and the funny thing was that I couldn't make it feel any better. I had fought with people, I had smoked until my lungs burned, and I had pushed others away, but none of that had ever helped. It had always felt as though the world was caving in on me, and although I would never admit it, I was so fucking scared that Celeste would go through the same thing.
Meredith had lied to her just like she had lied to me ten years ago. She had told her that Papa had kicked them out although he never did.
She had told me that she'd come back with my little sister although she had probably never planned on doing so.
I almost scoffed at the thought. I almost scoffed at how naïve that eight-year-old kid had been to believe his mother and stay quiet as he watched her leave after midnight along with his little sister only because she had promised to come back soon.
He had been so heartbroken when he'd realized that his mother and his sister weren't coming back. Nothing but guilt had filled the cracks of his broken heart for the following years whenever he'd watched his father come back home after midnight, the familiar look of disappointment telling him that all the efforts to find the people he had cared for were a waste of time.
