Paradise

IX

Sadness is when you wake up with only tears in your eyes and painted memories on your skin.

Paradise awoke with a splitting headache and churning stomach. She stood quickly, ignoring her vertigo and migrane. She ran to an unfamiliar bathroom, worshipping at the porcelain throne. The contents of her stomach spilled into the bowl, or rather lack thereof.

Because she was nothing more then an ellaborate ruse of large shirts and baggy pants and long sleeves rubbing against new cuts and playing with sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes and lying on the cold, dirty, cracked linoleum floor in a puddle of her own tears. And angry red slashes on wrists, and the sadness that was held in each of the purple bruises that littered her perfectly imperfect face and icey blue eyes that reminded a certain boy of frozen lakes and clear skies, and dark circles under those eyes that were cold, but not hateful, with words that were a symphony of melody and beautiful harmony.

The girl who's father was an angry drunken junkie liar, and though he was a terrible father and a horrible human being, Paradise was a daddy's girl.

She was just a depressed, stressed, hot mess, who enjoyed the burn of alcohol in her throat and the feeling of numbness that came with it.

But she did not enjoy hangovers.
Boy, she did not enjoy the headache or churning stomach.

A cool pair of hands lifted Paradise's sweaty chocolate colored tresses off her neck and away from her mouth. Paradise would have screamed,
She would have begged,
She would have fought.

But she was in shock. This was unfamiliar, this was different. These cool, small hands were not rough or large like her fathers. They did not harm, they offered no fight to be fought. They were calming, and kind, and gentle.
But they were cool.
Meaning they couldn't belong to the boy who was all things warm, the very same boy who's eyes reminded her of hot chocolate and warm mahogany fires. Paradise looked up, to see an unfamiliar pale face, with red hair framing it. Paradise could make out feminine features through the tears clouding her vision. "Shh, it's okay, here" Esther whispers, pressing her palms to the sides of Paradise's face. Abruptly, Paradise felt no pain, not even a dull ache in her wrists. Suprised, she blinked, looking around the immaculate bathroom confusedly. "W-what did you-?" Paradise questioned, her icy blue eyes that reminded a certain boy of frozen lakes and clear skies open wide. "Long story." Esther waved off any further questions with a flick of her wrist. Paradise decided not to push the subject further, instead looking down at her attire. Then, she was truly confused. Her clothes had been changed, she now wore a simple over large grey tee shirt. Her arms were bare. Bare. No scars, no butns or scratches or bruises. Absolutely nothing to indicate the years of abuse and her most recent ordeal. Nothing at all.