Open Fields of Ohio

1 ••• Ohio

As promised, sweethearts:

I saw her. She wasn't supposed to look so beautiful while doing what she was doing (it wasn't drugs, but she looked out of it). I couldn't help but watch. She looked so unreal to my eyes. So ... foreign and yet it seemed as if I'd known her since always. I needed to stop her, though. I just couldn't.

And as much as I loved my guitars, I would slam one down to the cold, hard ground if I was as pissed as she looked. But so damn beautiful.

"I hate you!" She yelled over and over. "I hate you!" She bagned that guitar down like a drum. But I had enough, because she crashed diwn and began to cry. I ran from my porch, as fast as I cpuld with my heavy boots and long pants that weigh like five pounts with wet.

My hair flew past me in a flash as I kneeled in front of her and took her into my arms. She was shaking so bad I thought she was having a panic attack or something. But it was raw hate and anger, her nails sug into my back and shoulders as she held onto me like her life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

"Why did you do it? Why did you leave?" She yelled into my chest. Her voice sounded so steong. Like no other I've heard from a teenaged girl. It sounded like the voice of a leader, even at the breaking point.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to soothe her. She didn't listen. She kept yelling and mumbling things. So I just stayed there and held the stranger in my arms like she was my own or something. It didn't matter if she saw me, I never saw anyone, anyways.

When she finally stopped crying, or at least calmed down, she brushed her self up and walked to her black pick-up truck, I noticed she had a tattoo on her arm, seven arrows. What was that? I asked for her name, but, like I said: she was out of it. Was she drugged? I didn't know. Was she drunk? I didn't know.

Was she going to be okay? ...I didn't know. But I needed to. I wanted to. But, she never came back, or, I didn't see her for a few weeks or so. A month later, when I was beginning to forget about what I had witnessed: she came back with another guitar.

"Good woman," I mumbled into my cup of Coca~Cola. "How many guitars does she have?" She began to do the same thing, and I went out for her. Not knowing whom I was comforting or why, but I did it. Could you blame me?

Again: no answers. Just a blank person walking into her truck and leaving me behind. I saw a new tattoo on her shoulder, her dress was a strapless one, and I could see her underwear from the white of it. They were black underwear. But her new tattoo said something:

When you have no one, you can't be hurt over and over again.

I stared, not knowing what to make of this. I vowed that by te next time she came, I would make her talk. She couldn't be mute or deaf, she talked weel enough. And she must hear something, right? I sighed. "This is going to be long."

Before I go, I wanted to tell you ...

My name is Tess, I'm seventeen, I live in Ohio with my mom and dad and little sister. I'm pretty normal and I never knew that something so broken could fix up things in me I never knew were scattered around in flames. Also: I never thought someone so angry could be so kind.

New book.
I want you to enjoy.
I want you to have fun.
Please don't cry, it makes me sad to know I made you cry.
I love you.
You are so beautiful.
Thanks for the support.

-Skyler_Dawn💌