blackheart ➵ m. clifford

➵ five

➵  jett

My room was a safe haven to me; with walls painted a dark, almost-black blue, and the ceiling dotted with tens upon tens of glow-in-the-dark stars. I loved it, because as soon as darkness became evident, the stars would be there to shine bright like little crystals above my bed. My fascination with stars had started along with my obsessive behaviour towards nature documentaries. At first it was because they were pretty, beacons of white against black, but as I progressed, my fascination became more within the meaning of stars. I had this belief that they were the souls of people who didn’t deserve to die, and were given a place in the sky where everybody could see them.

Of course, I knew that stars were nothing more than balls of hydrogen and helium, but it was nice to think that there was somewhere that people went after they died. Not just a hole in the ground.

There were days like today, where my eyes would wander across the ceiling, and I would think about all the people that weren’t in the world anymore. Mozart, DaVinci, My Chemical Romance. Music would float across the floor from the speakers on the other side of the room, and I would do nothing but think.

When I was younger, I had a sister, and I had a mother, and I had a father. My sister was like me, with white-gold hair, though her eyes were a placid blue, just like my dad’s. His hair was darker; a whiskey blonde that was so soft it rivalled my mother’s red locks. I got my eyes from her. We were a cliché family, twin girls, a stay-at-home mum, and a dad who was some big shot CEO at a printing company. It was normality.

Not so much anymore.

I’d been tossed around from family to family since I turned ten. First, the Montgomery family, who looked after me for three months before Mr. Montgomery was arrested for the possession of heroin and was deemed unfit to care for a ten year old. Then, the Adams, and I was with them for just over nine months, until they decided that fostering just wasn’t for them. Third were the Millers, and I lived in their house for two years before I was finally transferred to Amy and Sam, who I hoped to God would never transfer me somewhere else. I liked them too much.

“What are you thinking about?”

I jumped with a squeak, and then another, as Michael swiftly followed Luke into the room. His eyes darted around, from the ceiling that glowed, to the speakers that sat under my desk, and then to me. Red cheeks, and plump, pink lips that were pressed together in the shyest smile I’d ever seen on a boy. His jaw was dusted with stubble, dark against his skin, and his Adam’s apple jumped up and down as he swallowed.

“Nothing.” I smiled to myself, with a little shrug. I was very happy here. “Hey, Michael.” My smile seemed to widen a little, my hand rising in a wave that was kind of awkward, and swiftly turned into my hand running through my – tied up – hair.

“Princess.” He nodded softly towards me, avoiding Luke’s gaze. “You look pretty today.”

“Thank you...?” I looked down at my jumper, that had a ketchup stain down the chest, and my tights, which had a ladder right across the knee. “What’re you guys doing here?”

“Sam ordered Chinese.” Michael piped up, his voice a little shaky as he looked from me to his fingers. “He said to come and get you.”

“Uh, I’ll be up in a sec.” I gave him a little smile, and he nodded almost too enthusiastically as he turned on his heel and spun around, his feet scuffing against the concrete of my steps as he sprinted to the top.

Both Luke and I stared at the space he’d been, and I couldn’t help but smile a little bit wider, running my fingers across the ladder in my tights. I hadn’t seen Michael in a while, maybe a week and a half, but only because I wouldn’t allow it. After my trip to the hospital and a switch of medications, I was far too away from myself that I couldn’t bear for him to see me like I was. My brain was scattered, and I was far too frightened to leave my room. I was still queasy when I left, but nowhere near as bad as it felt before I went to hospital.