"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙."
Milaydie Lucero is sent to Rutherford Academy in hopes of finishing high school with a prestigious dance scholarship that she spent her life working for.
The last thing she needs is problems or boy drama...
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Reed's POV.
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Sometimes I ask myself why do I still think about her?
Why can't I just move on from all the bullshit she put me through my entire life?
Why do I still cry on that same day every year, even when I know she wasn't a good person?
And today, I think I found my answer.
You become attached to the familiar when your afraid of the unknown. And sometimes it's that place of complete discomfort, that leap of faith, where you think you may find what you needed.
There's no denying it, my mother was a bad person. She never took good care of me, she was always drinking and she took all sorts of drugs.
I can finally accept that it's okay for me to grieve her despite all she did.
Yes she treated me like shit and did some seriously fucked up things that no child should go through, but she was my mother.
It's been 3 years since she passed.
3 years since I stood there and watched her choke on her vomit, too scared to even try to help her.
I just stood there. The little boy in me, that always loved and admired his mom wanted to help her. To save her.
The traumatised teenager, who couldn't even look at her in the eyes anymore without cringing and who cried himself to sleep every night, wanted her to suffer.
I remember the two voices in my head perfectly.
Come on, feel at least a fraction of what you made me feel.
Not momma, you have to save her, she's all you've ever had.
I didn't think she'd die that night when I left.
So that's why, even 3 years later, I still sit in the bathroom, sobbing.
Crying for all I've lost.
Crying for all I did.
Crying for all I could've had.
There's this thing about trauma. Trauma is a result of an overwhelming sense of anger, powerlessness and fear. It becomes almost familiar with time, like a part of yourself. So when it comes time to heal, it's harder. It feels almost impossible. It's like your trauma is glued to you and you can't get rid of it.
It doesn't help that I blame myself.
I mean, how can I not? I watched my own mother choke and proceeded to leave the house, letting her die alone.
