She's an innocent girl who lived with her alcoholic abusive father. Her life was barley manageable, especially when she was separated from her biological family at such a young age.
When her father mysteriously dies from a car crash, she's taken to...
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TW: Mentions of violence & Self-harm.
Therapy.
THAT ONE LONE word had kept me up all night, which is something I do either way, but this time it's different. Nightmares linger around every time I close my eyes. Flashing images linger in my thoughts and the thought keeps on getting bigger.
Even if I do admit, I have some mental and probably physical issues, I'm not sure I'd ever get over those incidents. They haunt me, remind me and it replay. Over and over again. Like a broken record, just this time, they follow you around. Stalking from a distance, though, they don't try to hide.
Darkness surrounds my melancholy room; I take a steady seat on the side of my bed.
My legs freely hang, swinging up and down as I admire the sunrise. A unique mixture of various colors all coming together to display a gorgeous view. My shoulders relax, my emerald green eyes lazily watching the birds seamlessly glide through the morning sky, carefree.
Milan's scenery brings me so much peace and comfort. Buildings standing tall, historical and new. Casting soft shadows over the greenery and blooming flowers. Around this estate is pretty empty, grass and trees filling up the fields. Sadly, most of the time it's empty, only occasionally people come to photograph, feed the birds or some other stuff. Though, the quiet is really nice most of the time. It allows you think of your own thoughts. It's a change of settings, and I think I prefer this one more.
Back in London, I lived in a 3-bedroom house that was near parks, busy shops and was kind of in town. People talked, blasted music, screamed and whatever else the people of London did. It was nice, going out in neighborhoods and playing with the other kids. Although that was soon cut short when Stefano decided it'd be best if I stayed inside. Vincent was the only one who I somehow managed to cling onto.
I frown. I've changed so much over these past years. Since Mary died, then since Stefano flipped out, then since I was swooped from a police station and then now. And the worst thing is, I'm not so sure I like it. I can't tell if I like it or not. A long sigh leaves my lips as I slowly descend into the bed. I spread my arms out. My eyes face the pale gray celling above of me. But that's not where my mind is.
Telling anyone was no doubt one of my biggest fears. I'd avoided it like the plague, even somehow keeping the secret from Vincent, who knew something was up but didn't press to keep me comfortable. Bless him, honestly.
When something has been engraved into you for so long, despite the constant denies, you eventually start to believe it. Stefano told me no one would ever believe me. It's one of the reasons I kept it too myself. There has been uncountable occasions when I question myself. My existence, unfortunate reality. Why me? I feel insane, they make me feel insane. Like— I'm just mental and none of this even fucking happened. It wasn't just scars, bruises, it was as well the manipulation and gaslighting. He had already succeeded in making me think it was a more.. intense form of simple needed discipline.
