The Twisted Chain || A Disney Fanfic [discontinued]

21. the morning

GUYS AMAZING NEWS! I got into my school drama, playing the part of Gayle! :D About 40-50 people auditioned, and I was one of two freshmen who made it into the show- the other freshman, my friend, has been on Broadway as an alternate in "Elf" and in a national tour as an understudy in "The Addams Family". I'm really really proud of myself, since I didn't even think that I would get a callback. Happy Leslie is happy :D

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Here's chapter *vine kid voice* twenty one.

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I spent the rest of the night lying on the rock-hard mattress, watching the stars disappear into the curtain of pale blue. As heavy as my head had become, I didn’t get a single lick of sleep.

I thought about Ashley- what had happened to her? Had her parents punished her for what she had done? Was she sitting in her room with the lights out, inhaling darkness, looking out the window and staring at the streetlamps until her eyes watered, wishing that she hadn't called me up and asked if I could go out? Did she regret anything at all?

And then I remembered that she was Ashley, and that according to her, "regret" was a six letter word. No- to her, "regret" was just a word. She didn't have time to count the letters.

"I don't regret anything. If I did something or said something, I meant it. I mean everything that I say, Ivy, even if it slips out on accident. Actually, it would be much better if I only said things that came out on accident- if I spoke on accident, I would be saying what I really thought. I would never regret showing how I truly feel."

That's what I liked about Ashley. She would never think twice about harboring a fake personality- she always stayed true to herself, even if nobody agreed with her or stood by her. She would be alone all her life, if it meant that she could be herself.

As the sun came up, painting the horizon in messy strings of orange and pink and deep yellow, I thought about dark ink. I thought about sky colored irises softened up with tears, and I thought about oafish hands, tiny little ears and crooked ankles and pig-like noses, all glued together onto a misshapen man.

Not just kind. Bold. Well, he was right.

Because I wasn’t just nice. I pity the people who are just nice. “Just nice” means “just selfless and bland”, filling your bones and veins and heart with others and leaving no room for yourself- no space to develop emotions or interests or even a personality.

I didn’t think that I was kind. I carried around too much of myself.

The hours were massive, and weighed on me like eternities. I wanted to shut my eyes and dissolve into an unconscious pile of bones and skin and blood, but I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Lumps of all shapes and sizes jabbed at me from under the mattress, waging a war in which I was forced to surrender.

"Ivory? Dear?"

I rolled over- Mrs. Potts looked so miniscule, standing twenty encasements of springs and feathers and fabric below me. It was morning- the ballroom was draped in gold and shades of pale yellow.