+++
The story itself is horrifying, they say.
But it really isn't.
They're just too selfish to see the man's sadness.
The sadness that turned into anger, the anger that turned to guilt, the guilt that turned to...
+++
The other were completely normal, except Phoebe, who is sleeping awhile ago, stirring awake.
"Pssh. So we just have to survive?" Brian shrugged completely making it as if it wasn't a big deal.
"Don't make it look like it was a big deal!" Kira shouted, voicing my thoughts and shouting other comments, voicing others' thoughts. Her last comment was, "Maybe not everyone is as brave as you! Maybe because not all of us are boys who just thinks everything is just no biggie! Maybe not all of us want to die! Maybe you really wanna die!" She shouted storming out.
I shot him a glare in my eyes saying thanks lot.
I ran over to the girls' tent as Phoebe and Raven after me.
"Maybe we give her some time." Raven said. Phoebe shook her head. "She needs someone to talk with. She looked at me. "Someone who is good with experience." She said as she shoved me inside.
+++
I rolled my eyes at my helpful mates as I sat beside Kira, "Hey," I said. "You don't have to run after me." She whispered. I scoffed. "Really?" I said teasingly as I sit beside her and as she laughed a bit and looked at me, "What does Phoebe means by 'Someone who is good with experience'?" She asked.
"You really want to know?" I asked needing confirmation. She nodded, looking at me with words meaning behind it. I'll keep it as a secret. You can trust me, but will you trust me?
I smiled at her looking in her eyes, as if we had a connection. I trust you if you trust me. I said in my eyes sighing deeply for my story.
When I was at ten, or maybe eleven, I was really good with my older sister.
But things are not really good with her. I guess. She was protecting me. From my mother.
Since my father is almost away every single time, my mother will hit my sister. Using belts, hangers, bags, everything she can find. Well except glass of course. She really did not want father to know. You know.
She laughed at that comment, me rolling my eyes, my mouth twitching to a smile.
My sister did have enough. So she ran away.
Mother was frustrated, so she toke it out on me.
I was disappointed at my sister. Why did she leave me? Did she really care for me? Is she really the one I used to know? Where is she? Where did she ran to? I want to ask millions and millions of questions, only to find them ignored or unanswered.
So, I kept up with it. I became strong. I built up my mask over the year. But everything goes downhill when she came back.
She was a complete different person. She's not the one I used to laugh with, the one I used to eat with, the one I used to play with, the one who used to...
I faltered off, crying to myself silently as I continue the story.
She's not the who used to protect me.
She just literally turned into Mother number 2. Drinking. Smoking. Doing Drugs. Being in a gang. Beating innocent people up...
She just turned into a sadomasochist. She likes being hurt and likes watching people hurt.
It's as if she was a complete different person.
So, she started beating me up. But I had enough.
Enough of all this crap. So, I ran away.
I lived in my Aunt Rosá for 2 years. Then I got the news she died of drug overdose.
Then my mother found me.
My mother and father bought me this private mansion, thinking that spoiling me will make everything normal.
But it didn't. Instead, I got depression in exchange.
I want to cut myself, to die, to just... leave the world... completely. I want to overdose my sleeping pills, my anti-depressant pills.
But my inner self didn't want to.
I really want to cut, but I found something less noticeable way of snapping my thoughts of suicide.
I found rubber bands in our kitchen, one whole pack of blue and red and yellow rubber bands.
It helped me. Every time I used to think about suiciding, I snap it. Until it was gone.
Overtime my depression healed, and I was happy again. But not completely. I still get nightmares of the incident overtime. But I still get over it by myself. Over and over and over again.
Because I have no friends I can trust to.
My friends stabbed me at the back, using me to get what they want, to steal money, they used me... as a money bank...
I really thought I was strong. That I can handle them. That I wasn't weak...
So, I stopped having friends, I want someone loyal, but there was no one.
So, I got a dog instead. Then another, and another, and another. Until I got 8 dogs. 3 puppies coming from the couple.
They we're loyal. They just like having someone to take good care of them. They don't want money, they want you as their master and best friend.
So, I was happy. For now.
I sighed, happy to let it all out, "That's my story, what's yours? What do you mean by 'not everyone is as brave as you'?" I asked my voice hoarse and dry and my eyes red and puffy from crying. She readjusted her sitting position from her knees in her chest, head resting in them, to sitting crossed-leg. She sighed and chuckled, "You told your side of the story, so now i'll tell mine."
I nodded at her, smiling, as she tell her part of the story the next hour.