Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"Bones, blood and teeth erode with every crashing node. Wings wouldn't help you..." ♫ Rosyln by Bon Iver.
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When we got to the hospital, Bella was taken from me.
Malnourished, dehydrated, and unconscious, they put her on the worlds' tiniest bed and rolled her away, leaving me in the floral patterned hospital waiting room with Cosette, Niko, Naomi, Mike and Kristen.
I was going grey with worry.
She was alive, but there was so much wrong.
She looked so sick.
Her hair was thinning, her skin seemed translucent she was so underweight. Her skin was covered in rashes, burns and dirt, and her lungs weren't getting enough air because all of the time that she was locked in that house, she was around drugs, breathing in the fumes and turning her insides into toxic, black mush.
She told me her name in the ambulance, and a minute after, she was throwing up blood and passing out.
I was still wearing some of it on me and the tiny Polly Pocket doll she had tucked away in her dress pocket was now in my hand as I sat in the waiting room, staring at the clock.
I waited and it went around and around, hours going by.
Every second that ticked by had me more on edge.
"What the fuck is taking so long?"
"I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can, Harlow. We'll find out soon. Do you want some water?" Niko asked me, running his fingers through my hair as he sat in a chair beside me.
"I want my fucking daughter," I whimpered, running my finger across the small face of the Polly Pocket doll. It reminded me of her. Small, brunette, and smiley in a torn pink rubber dress that matched the one she had on at the scene.
It was the only thing keeping me calm.
It made me feel like I had a piece of her.
"What's that?"
"It's Bell's," I muttered to Niko, "It fell out of her pocket when we got out of the ambulance."
"It's just like Bell's to literally keep a Polly Pocket in her pocket, huh? Do you remember when we got that toddler kitchen set at that garage sale and she put the oven mitts in the oven?"
I hummed a laugh at the memory and gave a solemn nod as I peered over my shoulder, "Yeah... then she shoved them in your mouth and tried to make you eat' em. She called them cookies"
"And they were goddamn delicious. I'd never tasted imaginary food so delectable. Gordon Ramsey has nothing on that fucking girl," He nudged my shoulder, "She'll be back to making cookies soon."
