"𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗰𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝗺𝗽 𝗽𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂."
Chaos may be the only way to describe Clailea Del Rosario's 9 years of life.
In a nasty divorce, somehow Clailea's druggie mother w...
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After lunch Zara lead me upstairs to my room.
He tried to deny me washing the dishes, which I found rather odd because isn't that what I'm here for? Their service, their pleasure?
I decided to watch the TV, since Zara said I could do whatever I want and if I needed anything to call for him.
I now sit on my bed, Beauty at the foot of it. She decided to join Puddles and I.
Looking at all the buttons on the TV, I tried to collect any information in my mind on how mommy used to turn on the TV.
Red button.
I did a little happy dance to myself when that works, then stop when I realized that didn't just automatically show me a movie.
I deflate, looking over the remote again.
Arrows, they have to do something.
I click the arrow on the left, which makes the circle jump all the way to the right on the other side of the bar. So, left arrow makes it go right? I click the arrow again, but this time it goes left. Maybe it's broken.
I click the down arrow, which makes the square named 'Netflix' grow bigger. I try the right arrow, which makes the 'Disney+' square big.
Smiling at my success, I click the big circle because obviously that works.
And it did, because I'm just that good.
Well, now I'm confused.
There's so many colorful characters with names under each one.
I huffed, ready to try again when the sound of a car door slamming shut makes me look to my window.
Mommy.
They told me she was dead.
Who's screaming?
It takes me a minute to realize the screaming is me, while I fall back to my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Crying into my knees, I wait for any sort of impact.
"Clailea," I hear a voice say.
This one sounds like the one I found my favorite in my dream.
I hear them walking to my window, seeing as the curtains are thrown to the side.
"Clailea, it's not real. You're safe here." The voice says, wrapping me in what I now know as a hug.
I gasp for air, before sobbing.
Don't show vulnerability. My mind screams at me, although my body doesn't listen, continuing to break down.
"Puddles," Zara gently pries my arms apart, as I had been digging my nails into them.
