Blurred Souls

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Chapter 7

”Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” – Khalil Gibran


Do you know those moments where the only solution that sounds perfect to your mind is laugh? They're called awkward moments.

It felt like I was in a nightmare, one words was echoing through my mind and I wanted to hold on something —anything to help me regulate my breaths and comprehend what was going on. No. No. No. He can't ruin her life like he did to mine. He can't ravage and rip her apart delibaretely until she's damaged and defined.

She would end up a mess and wish upon a star that tomorrow would be her last day to live. No more pain would be her everyday wish to survive.

Somehow, I managed to successfully control my emotions and put on a fake smile that I learned how to build throughout the years of living with him. It was a couple of days after my mother's death. I still remember every moment as if it was yesterday. He got home drunk after staying out the whole night, I remember being absolutely terrified of being alone. When he came back, I had already set a small dinner for him and went to hug him.

One. Two. Three. He had stared at me with nothing but rage and disgust in his eyes. And it happened, his first first colliding with my cheek. It was the only time I ever cried when he abused me. After that, I learned how to smile or laugh everyone his fist approached.

My mind may begin to race to several worst-case scenarios in seconds. Was she aware of his actions? Did she accept him despite his abusive behaviour? Or was she using him for his money? If it was the latter then I had to take off my hat to her and mutter a 'chapeo'. Please be smart.

If she wasn't, I needed to use another method. Make her hate me — even if it meant bruises later on. She shouldn't face what I was going through. No one should. No one. I wouldn't wish this life upon anyone—not even my worst enemy.

"The Old Man and His Young Mistress," I said, impressed, "sorry excuse my French, soon-to-be fiancée."

" Try to keep your jokes to yourself, sweetheart." I was impressed by his acting skills and if I weren't the main character in story and his favourite target, I would've totally believed him. "Let's go inside, come on baby." He placed his hand around her waist protectively like he always did with mum before. Everything has changed. I felt a shudder of disgust of the scene in front of me.

Is there any auditions calls for a man with bad breath and wrathful smile ? Because this man in front of me deserves an Oscar for his acting skills. I think I might shed a tear at his tremendously romatic behaviour.

"Daddy, last time I checked you were making out with another mistress-excuse my french I mean lady."

He glared at me,"My heart belongs to a specific angel."

"I've heard this line. Where did I hear it from?" I pretended to think for a second. "Oh wait, this line was exactly what you said to mum. " I was glad David wasn't his abusive self when he was married to my mum. I was glad she was happy before she... left. My hatred for my step-father was pretty intense. In my hatred, I was lost. And evil took my hatred and used to spark the fires of my own undoing.

"She was such a great woman, but unfortunately she passed away," he said as he began to walk,"she'll always be in our heart."

"I'm sure she was." The lady agreed. It was the first time she spoke and I realised her voice was nothing like how I expected. It was penetrating and her emotions were masked behind heavy make-up look. I hope she isn't sarcastic or I would end up killing her with my bare hands.

I followed them behind to the living room and for a few seconds, it felt strange to me. I always spend my time in my room and I try to avoid coming out of it as much as possible. I had a hard time controlling the scorn and disgust that were threatening to show. They both were comfortable displaying PDA in front of me as if I wasn't aware of their relationship just a few minutes ago. They had trouble restraining their attraction and I had the sudden urge to throw up.

The libidinous couple awards of the year goes to— surprise, surprise— David and his young mistress.

"How's school going, Angel?" he asked, his fake sweetness sickening me, slightly because his true colours where yet to he revealed when it was too late to step back. I wasn't used to his suffocating sugar-coated act and it made me realise just how much I despise David. I hate him. I can't stand looking at his face without the sudden urge to throw up.

David became my worst nightmare and I can't seem to wake up anytime soon. Maybe I was destined to stay trapped in this nightmare.


"As a family, we need to get to know each other." Melissa finally broke the silence that has settled between us."I really feel happy to be in this family." She then stared at David with a look of tenderness and deep affection, "I'm so happy to with you, David."



What a complete and utter joke.

Melissa reminded of an oblivious student who was always two steps back of what was happening.

I looked at Melissa and her sweet smile made me feel deeply guilty of what was going to happen later on. She was supremely in love and the saying 'love is blind' really did fit her situation. David could murder someone and she would blame the victim for annoying him. It was love, ladies and gentlemen. It was a curse.

"Of course," he agreed, his eyes glancing back to mine with rage and I could hear a smirk in his tone. He was trying to get on my nerves. As if he doesn't do that with just breathing. "We are a loving family."

"Indeed. Tell me Romoe, how did you two meet each other?" I crossed my leg over the other, smirking. Annoying him became a hobby to me.

"We met in a bar, he was drunk out of his mind," Melissa answered instead; while on the other hand David was glaring at me,"we can gossip about it later," she added after a thought as she smiled.

Was she that sweet or it's just an act?

Caring wasn't in my dictionary nor loving. I became immune to this word.

Melissa broke the silence with their first meeting. She didn't realise my lack of response was due to lack of interest on the subject. Did I care about their romantic dinner? No. Did I care about their gifts on Valentine's Day? Hell no.

Much to my dismay, I had to comment on a few words she said to avoid her feeling unwanted and David's glare that was ordering me to speak any word.

"Interesting. Nice. Amazing. I've never seen this in movies even. What a lovely story. Excuse me, I need to get a few tissues. I think I'm not emotionally stable after hearing this romatic story." I stood up, giving her a plastered smile on my face.

"I cooked pasta, dear. I hope you like it." Melissa informed me with a huge grin. "David says I'm a great cook and gave me a list on the things you love."

A list I love? Did that include pizza and McDonald's food? Did he list things that I absolutely loathe? That makes more sense.

She was way too nice and accommadating. She was blinded by love. It was depressing, really.

"I already ordered pizza, thanks anyway." I looked at her, giving her a genuine smile.

The doorbell rang and I finally heaved a sigh of relief. My favourite food to drown myself in and never feel guilty about gaining calories later on was simply pizza.


I opened the door, handing the delivery guy the required money, and thanking him.

I wasn't going to share my pizza, of course, I took it to my room.

Sighing with pleasure, I began eating the sliced pizza, taking in the scent of the gooey creamy smell of cheese, and the zesty smell of pepperoni. The stretch marks that will form after I finish my pizza and oreo cookie dough are going to be so worth it.

I stared at the faint purple crevice and red lines that were crawling onto my inner thighs. They matched well with the bruises on my ribs and the marks that will always remind me of this chapter of my life.

I put on Games of Thrones and let my mind zone out and allowed myself to drift to another world of the best show of all times. Well aside from Friends, Breaking Bad, House of Cards, Downton Abbey, The Office, Hart of Dixie, Two and a Half Men, It's Always Sunny in Philedalphia, Grey's Anatomy, House, The Good Doctor, and Two Broke Girls. The list never ends.


After reading the first few chapters Hamlet by William Shakespeare and summarising every paragraph, I highlighted a few words—and by few I mean a lot—that I would look up later for their meanings.

I could hear loud moans coming from the living rooms and I turned on the volume of song playing Hey Jude by The Beatles.


Let me tell you a truth I discoveree in my seveteen-year-old life :Life hurts a lot more than death. Your thoughts are your worst prison, they can ruin you and damage your soul. They can make you go insane and doubt every single thing about yourself.

My thoughts are my worst fear. They're a nightmare.

They make me a broken person that's slowly yet drastically losing myself to the shadow of my thoughts, allowing them to creep into my mind and settle there.

I'm losing myself more every fucking day.

I wrote:

Dear diary,

I'm suffocating. I'm desperate. I'm lonely. Hell, I can't even breathe anymore. My chest is aching and I feel like my heart will stop anytime soon. I want to end the pain.

I want to die, I want to see my mum, I want to be feel loved. Is that too much to ask? They all have parents who love them, care about them, she's her daddy's little girl, he's his mummy's little boy, I'm my food's little crush.

I want to die, I want to die.

Take me back to my mum.

Forever crushed,

Someone who just wants to be loved


I could feel the tears falling one after the other, making it hard on me to breathe.

Tears hold different meanings, you cry when you're happy, sad, angry, upset or even out of blue.

I took in a deep breath, trying to control my emotions. I placed my diary under the pile of jeans and sighed.

After cleaning up the mess that was called my room, I did the only I'm good at in life, sleep.

The next day,

I woke up feeling better than yesterday, I did my morning routine (brushing my don't want to know the rest).

I wrapped two sandwiches that contained grilled cheese, tomato and black olives.

I hated the bus. It was everything that I didn't look forward to in my life. Morning breaths? Check. Sweaty armpits? Check. Loud and rude people? Check, check and check.

My bicycle's tire tore yesterday when I was about to leave school. I was pretty sure that I didn't stump upon a sharp object. It was definetely Chloe or Sebby's work. The bike's shop owner said he has a couple of bicycles to fix before mine and it would take a couple of days.

The bus arrived five minutes later and didn't stop beeping until he saw my face. Just what I exactly needed today to ruin my mood.

The scent of morning breath and raw egg welcomed me or was It sweaty armpits? Kill me please. I had trouble breathing and I expendiously grabbed my small perfume bottle that I always bought with me and rubbed it on my wrists. I never knew the combination of black vanilla, frozen pear and blooming gardenia would be this good.


Welcome to Hell.

The head cheerleader walked by me accidently pushing me, causing me to stumble back a little

You know what I did?

I accidentally placed my leg and tripped her, causing her to tumble in front of me. "Only good players win in the end. Remember that. "

"You're going to fucking regret that, Smiths. "

"I'm looking forward to that, Stylinson."

Smirking, I left her with an opened mouth and wide mouth, the whole cheerleader squad probably glaring at me.

I really needed to win a reward for being such a cool kid.

Walking toward my locker, I saw Alex Blake right at the end of the lockers, frowning his eyebrows now and then.

I didn't question why was Alex always alone, no one dares to approach him, except for his friend, Ryan. With a cigarette, he begins his day, and with another, he ends it.

He caught me staring at him, I glared at him and gave him the finger, he just shrugged and muttered words that I couldn't comprehend from afar.

If I were to rank David and Alex on whom I hated the most, they would be almost equal—well, not really, I hated them before in different ways if that made any sense.

A blue sticky note captured my attention and I frowned. It was the same handwriting from the note before and I frowned. Was this some sick joke from the juniors? Seniors? Chloe? I had no idea why would someone bother to play a sick prank on me when it won't get them anywhere.

Hey Angel,

Do you know the reason we look up the sky?Do you look at us and laugh when we hold on to the past? I wish I could be more like you. Strong. Empowering. Indestructible. And absolutely beautiful.

This was making me furious behind words. Not only I was the type of person who hates surprises and was always curious to know everything. It made me wonder if this was really a joke or someone ... probably liked ..loved even—

as the note before stated—me. If it was the latter, I wouldn't know what to do or say. I was always awkward when it came to love and cliché things. Maybe someone, somewhere, really did find me strong and empowering. Was it a he or she?

The person called me beautiful, it almost sounded foreign to me. Aside from my mother, no one ever called me that. Does calling yourself beautiful consider someone?

May the force be with me.


Making my way to my first class- which was History, I held my books in one hand as I tugged at the tight hairband holding my hair in place and pulled it out.

I've read somewhere that bullying is a human's scream for help, not for punishment and certainly not for shaming. And I totally agreed with every single word.

Bullying someone is like ripping someone's heart into pieces and it ends with the person either losing himself/herself or fighting to be stronger. But it always damages you until you're nothing but wrecked thoughts.


"I have a very exciting news to share with you," Mr.William began, smiling a little."We are going a trip to Easter Island as every year."

The whole class cheered, some high fived the other.

While I, on the other hand, just rolled my eyes, not very interested. I was seated on the back seat and a groan caught my attention. Alex had his face between his hands, he looked up as if sensing someone was watching him.

Abort mission.

I drifted my eyes to the teacher who was busy explaining to others about the trip and some were cheering loudly. At the corner of my eyes, I saw him staring at me blankly.

"Psst," I felt someone poke my back,"you, heeeeey."

I turned around, ready to punch whoever was the person,"what do you want, chicken?"

He glared at me, and then spoke," This is for you idiot." He handed me a small paper.

It read,

Stop staring at me like this, you're making me blush


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