the Unraveling

It's noon, the sun is hanging low on the horizon with orange, yellow and pink entanglements, soon to change into another colour palette. I find myself sitting on the brown rusty old bench with my knitted throw covering myself on the small deck in the backyard of my mother's house once again.

A book in my clutches, one of New York's best sellers – After by Anna Todd. I'm the sun, but my solar system consists of books that orbit around me. This particular book has gotten me addicted, the same addiction Richard fostered for his two lifelines alcohol and heroin, this book fuels a burning addiction in my soul. Like nothing ever before it has captured me, pulled me in and kept me close. It's like nothing I have read previously, but at the same time it is like something I have lived through.

I am a bookworm and you have probably realised it. The manner I get wrapped up in the enchantment of inked words is mesmerising to say the least, but than I have to contradict myself. I am not just a nerd that fit the general aesthetic of the group that's categorised as the before mentioned.

I'm a girl that loves the latest fashion, I'll die for my books and I've got secrets that someone still needs to unravel and reveal in the open.

Deep and dark like the pit of my being.

Then again secrets are called as such for a reason. Let's not open Pandora's box just yet.

The sun is now about to set and the most beautiful orange reddish colours plays on in the darkening sky. It is so soothing to watch, although your mind is running millions of miles per hour. This is why I love to come and sit here on this bench almost each passing day. My mother says that I need to stop daydreaming and start to study and make all of this dreaming a reality, which would actually be good advise if it were not just another scheme for her to get more money out of dear little old me.

"Camílla!" My mother's voice booms from the kitchen. What does she want me to do this time, doesn't she torture me enough as it is?

"What's it this time!" I yell back.

"Don't talk to me like that Mílla," my mom says while appearing on the deck through the white wooden door – the only separation I had between me and my mother, complete in her strawberry printed apron, "how many times do I need to lecture you on how to talk to grownups darling?"

I'm always ready with a snarky comeback when it comes to her, "Probably a million more times." I smirk.

I can hear my mom cursing under here breath, growing up I've decided for myself to never swear, because that would mean I would be a closer version to my mother than I wanted to ever be, "I want you to go and buy me some milk and eggs from the local grocer."

I roll my eyes at her, "Give me one good reason why I would want to do that for you?" I rudely ask my mother. I know that I'm irritating her by being stubborn and I am indeed enjoying it more today than all the other times.

There is just something in the air.

"Mílla! Get up and please go and get me the milk and eggs," she yells.

I can see that she is on the verge of beating the last ounce of resilience out of me if I don't get up instantly and go now or there will once again be a wrestling match on the deck like last time.

"Give the money, but I won't guarantee you getting your change back."

"Take the money on the table and please don't take long. Thirty minutes max or I will call the cops on you," she warns.

"And what will you tell them? That I send my own daughter to the grocer for milk and eggs?" I ask her with sarcasm lased in every word I dare to utter at my own mother.

She don't deserve the title mother in the first place. If I think back about everything, the past, she has done nothing, but ruin the little bit of good I had going for me. Especially from what she has done, the chaos she caused last year, no let me correct myself, the chaos she made my life into since the day I was born. Havoc is the synonym to my meaning of life. Pitiful and truly unwanted.

Most of the times it amuse me that I'm still alive? People in my position would have long ago adopted suicide methods and foster them till they're ready.

What will it take to happen for me to crash?

Part of me hopes to never know the answer to that, while half of me is burning to know what limits I could reach.

When I finally find a parking spot for my car I sigh and climb out. The parking lot is mostly empty, with a few cars sputtered all over the place. As I turn to lock the doors I hear a very familiar squeal, nearing me at an incredible speed.

It's only when I turn around I'm greated by the person that has haunted my dreams for most of my last few years.