Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
"DONT DO THIS TO ME, ISLA!" The woman screamed, her voice hoarse.
She cowered on the floor, her arm outstretched towards her daughter. Dirt and sweat covered nearly every inch of her petite body, proving she was out doing god-knows-what in the early hours of the morning during her rampage. her greasy blonde hair clung to the sides of her face, hanging in front of her eyes.
The girl's hand rested on the doorknob as her other tightened the grip on her duffel bag. She looked down at the side table, the sterling silver spoon glinting under the light. She swallowed thickly before turning to face her crazed mother on the floor. "Don't do this to you?" Isla asked, her brows knitted together in anger. Hatred swirled in her eyes as she looked down at the person who single-handedly destroyed her life.
"You did this to yourself."
The doorknob turned and the blonde walked out of her home with tears streaming down her face. She slammed the door behind her and stepped down her porch, her eyes resting over their trashed front yard for the last time.
"Just take a few steps." She whispered, looking down at her feet as she hesitantly moved off of her porch. Her feet dragged agonizingly slow against the rough pavement, and the girl's eyes didn't leave her worn-out vans. It was almost as if she didn't want to leave. But deep in her heart, Isla knew she had to.
"Just a few more. Keep going."
The distant wails coming from inside the house drilled into the girl's ears, almost deafening. Furniture and glass were thrown around inside, and Isla heard every piece of her home being torn apart by the rage of her mother.
Every memory she had in that house left her broken. But for some reason, she found it almost impossible to leave. Isla wanted so badly to run back up her stairs and open the front door. She wanted so badly to drop her bag and cradle her mother, rocking her back and forth on the pale tile. She wanted to apologize over and over, even if nothing was her fault.
But she kept walking. And she didn't turn back once.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
"Isla?"
It was Kiara. Her voice was staticky over the payphone. She sounded shocked.
"Hey, Kie," Isla murmured against the phone. "How'd you know it was me?" The silence was all the girl heard for a moment.
