Salted Caramel Coffee (COMPLETED!)

Chapter Fourteen} Błåżę

     Hey guys, so this chapter is going to be from Blaze's perspective today. I hope you like it! ♡

     Little trigger warning, there are graphic descriptions of violence and abuse in this chapter, so if you have PTSD from something like that, or you just don't think you could stomach it, please turn away and skip to the next chapter. I don't think it's that bad in my opinion, but I don't anyone having an episode because of me. I'll be sure to do a recap before the next chapter ♡

***

    "What's that supposed to mean?" Emma asks, her eyebrows pressed down in confusion. It breaks my heart that she trusts Black more than she trusts me, but I don't blame her. Both of our stories are ones that are not only incredibly unbelievable, but also only half truths.

     I've heard Marlee's side of the story a million times. I'm bipolar, I had a manic episode and cut myself. I tell everyone that she's abusive, blah, blah, blah.

     Total bullshit by the way.

     Well... not total bullshit. When I tell my side of the story, I usually leave out the part that I'm bipolar. To be fair, I've only told it to two people. James and Emma. Maybe what I told her wasn't true, but it wasn't exactly a lie either.

     Okay, yeah it was. But in my defense, it was half a truth and half a lie. I just left out a few parts and added a few in. Here's what actually happened.

     I'd spent five months with Aunt Marlee, cooped up in her damn attic with nothing but my phone and the food she occasionally left for me. Not that I even wanted her crappy wheat bread. She wouldn't let me go to work, saying that no decent girl should have to work at a place like Mario's. But if I don't work, I don't get money. So I therefore couldn't buy food, and I definitely couldn't afford a hotel or a car to get away.  All I was left with was wheat bread, water, and a horrible withdrawal from my medication.

     One day, I insisted that I should be given money to refill the meds I'd gone way too long without. Marlee refused, saying that I didn't need to pump all those chemicals into my blood. So without my meds to hold me back, I had... an episode.

     It got really bad really fast- things flew around the room before I could stop them from leaving my hands. A chair was broken, several plates, and one very large vase.

     Before I knew it, I was being tackled to the ground, my hands pinned by Marlee's feet. I remember it vividly, the huge shard of blue and white ceramic in her hand, held over my face like a legit weapon.

     "Stop moving," Marlee whispered, "or I swear to God I'll cut you."

     I was scared. I was young. I was stupid. I knew nothing but that there was someone standing over me with a piece of what looked to me like glass, threatening to use it on my face.

     I began to struggle.

     I suppose it was smart for Marlee to have her house so secluded, or someone might have heard me scream. She dragged the razor sharp ceramic over the side of my face, making sure it dug in from the middle of my hairline all the way around the curve of my face. She ended when she hit my cheekbone, realizing that going any farther would result in a knock at her front door from the police. There's no way someone wouldn't hear my cries for help.