The McKay Boys

10| mettle•

"You've been locked in there forever. And you just can't say goodbye."

Chapter Theme Song: 'Apocalypse' by Cigarettes After Sex.

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Amelia

Rose-red and grey. Grey like the young sky on that early Monday morning. Red like...

Don't scratch the wall.

Don't scratch the wall.

Red like the rose petals of Meredith's front garden. I hadn't been deeply contented in a while, as in I hadn't felt happiness from a place far within me. It was always shallow and forced and unreal, and there'd always be a cloud of doom lingering above my head. There were demons in my closet, monsters under the bed, and the dark smoke that often came for Khalil would harbor outside my door. But that morning while I stood in front of the long wardrobe mirror, fogged up by the cool morning air and stains that were yet to be removed, I felt like a human being. The normal ones who didn't cover their hearts with band-aids and patch their distorted brains with tapes of negligence. For once, I felt like a sixteen-year-old girl.

The pleated grey skirt had a nice material. It was rough to the touch yet felt smooth on the skin of my thighs. I had never worn a skirt that short before as the dresses I'd worn at home were on the knees or a little below them as per Meredith's regulations.

Though, the red jacket I had to wear over the ashen blouse bothered me in the slightest. The colour was haunting, revolting, and I felt like its brightness was only provoking me. The red cross tie felt like a leash, like a heavy hand wrapped around my throat just waiting to stifle me to death.

It's the colour, I decided. I hated the colour. The grey was fine, but the red...

Don't scratch the wall.

My hair had gotten thicker but more brittle than before. I'd almost used the entire bottle of Castor oil before brushing it until my scalp began burning and the strands had evened out. I had to wear these long stockings, the type I'd wear to church, but only these were black. Like the night of Jacob's death...

Shit, the wall. Stay behind it.

"Talking to yourself?"

I snapped my head around to see Kanan leaning against my doorjamb. His lips were lifted in a simper, his jacket fitting his body perfectly while it seemed as though I was drowning in mine. His dark hair was oily and bouncy, and his lips were reflecting the same colour as his tie. Red.

Red.

I looked away and swallowed. "I don't like the colour."

"Of?" His footsteps approached me as I packed up the cosmetics thrown around the off-white vanity.

"The uniform, I don't like the colour of it."

"Colours." He corrected, gathering the ends of my hair before setting them over my shoulders. "It's two colours." His eyes met mine in the mirror, and they appeared penetrating. "I personally like the red."

"I don't..."

"Complaining already, Amie? You wanted this."

"I know, I want it. It's just the colour..."

"Colours." He stretched on the S, his mouth tilting upwards again. "Or do you have a problem with one specific colour? Which one is it?"

"The grey is dull."

"It's the red then." He tilted his head, and I felt silly. I had never had a problem with Kanan's room being red. I had red dresses and red heels but that morning, looking at myself in the mirror, the colour had made me uncomfortable. It was a mental enigma. I knew my life was about to change, I was about to embark on a new journey, and doing this, was my subconscious's way of reminding me that the past still lingered. It was complicated, crazy, but I didn't want to push too hard past the mental barrier to figure it out. The wall I had built with soft material upon ungrounded soil was not strong enough to withstand the scratches. It would have gone tumbling down, bearing me open to the raw memories.