Screw Perfect

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"She was shy. That was the first thing everyone noticed about her. Quiet. Not a word spilled out from her sealed mouth which made the people believe she was insecure or just really, really shy. But deep down, she knew how she was, and that person was a smart caring and often funny creature... but somehow she got lost in her personality and found herself saying the wrong things, more often, every day... at last, she didn't say anything at all.

The thing is by being quiet is that people could fill her silence with their own words: "she's depressed", or "she's shy". When they couldn't read her- they made up their own story of their vision. A story that doesn't fit at all into her description, but at last she couldn't do anything about.

But who was she? Who was this "shy" person everyone apparently seemed to know about?

Well, her name was-”

The slam of a door came like an ear-shattering awakening and made my heart jump up to my throat almost squeezing out the air from my lungs as my stomach crumbled. "The love of Madonna-" I breathed through relief and clung on my book close to my chest as I fisted my sweaty hands.

Ah sorry about that, honey." The 6'3 mountain man had to duck under the door frame preventing from hitting his forehead, again. A couple of gray hair strands on his beard made him look older than he already was although his hair on his head was browner, unlike his work buddies that already have gray hairs. His gray eyes that always stood out from most of his body were matching his beard now.

I giggled sweetly as he moved the door to see a huge mark from the door handle. "This door needs oil." He grumbled and let go of the door moving his attention to me.

"It's okay, dad," I assured him, closing my diary. My dad sighed when he caught the book in my hands and walked up to the bed I was sitting on and sat down himself, placing a warm hand on my knee.

"Are you still writing?" I looked down on my lap, the light pink book was still in my clenching hands as I gave out a nod in shame.

”I’m sorry, ” I mumbled.

"Octavia, I'm just trying to help you out here. A writer won't suit you," he started to ramble again. I felt my heart sink. "It will be too much pressure on you-" He said thoughtfully.

"Like mom?" I cut him off in one breath. I could feel his pity gaze resting on me. He answered after a long pause. "Like your mother."

I knew that I'll never ever be able to become a writer- I knew that, but still I couldn't help the passioning feeling whenever I touched a pen and write my heart out. It was something I liked very much but my dad- my dad didn't want me to become a writer and I understood why.

Because of mom.

He was afraid that the same thing that happened to her will happen to me, although it won't he still was unsure and I understood that. I didn't want him to lose both of his girls when he already has lost one-

"I know, I'm just-" I stopped mid-sentence when his hand let go of my knee and lifted up his palm in the air like he wanted something from me. I widened my eyes when he made a gesture to hand over my book.

"N-No!" I panicked and hugged my book closer to my chest. Dad gave out a painful smile. "Honey, I know you'll keep writing in that book and for you to stop I need you to give me that."

My heart felt like it exploded in my chest at what the crazy guy said before me.

Oh uh. There was no way in mother Theresa I would do something like that. Like ever.

I uncrossed my legs and rolled sideways to the other side of my bed, dropping down on the floor with a groan I jumped up like a ninja and bolted towards my door, my diary close to my chest.

I let out a squeak when a pair of hands came to my sides and tickled me. I dropped the book and started laughing like I always do when he does that. I trashed his hands before they stopped touching my sensitive sides. I turned around and my eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I saw my dear diary in another pair of hands that wasn't mine.

Oh no.

I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted stubbornly. "That's not fair," I whined as my dad shrugged.

"Life is not fair, sweetie." He responded as he tucked my diary under his arm as I eyed it closely. "You'll get it back once you learn to find a better interest." He stated. I rolled my neck and groaned. I will I suppose to find another interest when I don't find anything interesting other than write.

Hmmm. I have to start my life over again.

Dad stepped closer when he saw my emotional state and messed up my chestnut hair with his hand. "Don't worry, Ava. You'll find something, I promise you that. Make your mother happy."

I snapped my eyes up to my dad's gray eyes at the mention of my mom. "Of course, I will," I said without a doubt. I wanted to make mom happy more than anything.

"That's my little girl right there." He cheered me up. A shy smile made it up on my lips when he said that but it soon disappeared when I remembered my dairy that was in my dad's hands and I scowled instead.

Before I could even utter one word from my mouth and scold at my dad to give me my book back- dead serious he beat me to it with mid open mouth.

"Is your room ready?" I closed my mouth again and looked around my room.

Closed boxer lied on my empty bedroom floor filled with my stuff. A painful tug arched in my heart when my eyes caught the sight my empty room, memories flowed within me. All my stuff was stuffed into the brown boxes stacked against my white wall that was now empty, all paintings were gone into the boxes except for my bed- that one won't fit.

I pursed my lips, "now that I don't have my diary-" I pronounced loudly making dad roll his eyes, "I guess I'm done." Sad tone started to float out of me when I realized I was done and it was time.

It's happening. And I don't know if I'm ready.

"Alright then, the van is gonna handle all this so we can leave without worrying about this."

Dad said straightforward and began to walk out of my door. "Put some shoes on and meet me in the car." was all he said before he disappeared from my sight. I turned around and looked at my now empty room. I bit my lip hard from the tears to float up. I didn't want to cry. We haven't even lived here for so long and I really hated school here so why was I sad then? The fact that this was the last memory I got with my mom, the last place she was, was now going to be handled to some strangers and I was not sure if I wanted that to happen.

I didn't want to let go, I wanted to stay here that still held a piece of my mom but I knew it was going to eat me alive if I stayed. Plus of dads job. I couldn't stay here by my self and even if I wanted that dad would never let me. I'm not eighteen yet, I still have four months left.

I took a step back, closer to the door as I wiped my wet cheeks. God, I hated that I was a crybaby which woke one memory in my brain.

You’re such a cry baby.” Yeah, I know.

I shook my head, trying to get that memory out of my head. That was one reason I didn't like school here. Two words: The bullies.

I took one deep breath as I gazed around my room before I closed the door to all the memories and a part of my life to start a new one. Again.

I strolled down the stairs to the hall. The whole house was empty, all memories were lying inside the boxes on the floor. I filled my lungs with cold air before I got the courage to open the main door and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

Dads black car was standing in the driveway, engine turned on and everything. I walked up to it. "You have everything?" Dad asked from the car when I opened the door. I slapped my bum to feel my phone in the pocket as I sat down and turned slightly in my chair to see my backpack in the backseat.


"Alright then." The car started to roll as I looked back to see the house I spent 18 months in for the last time and then it disappeared from my sight. "Let's drive to our new home." It was clear to say that dad was excited to leave our house. He's been complaining about exactly everything in that house we just left.

"Oh, look! That stairstep is cracking. Better fix that for myself since these idiots can't place a wood board right."

"Does any first degreed toerag knows how to screw a screw into a shelf? Not outside."

"Pfft! This door needs oil- like every door in this fucking house needs."

It was safe to say he wasn't that happy with the house. But we moved a lot and when I say a lot then I mean a lot. It was pretty tiring but no can do when dad's job affected it.

I leaned back against the car seat and looked at the passing threes. "Are you excited about your new school?" He broke the silence, making me turn my head to look at the side profile of dad's face, casually driving with one hand.

Bubbles of nervousness appeared in my stomach like it always did at the mention of that. "Um, yes." I mumbled. Actually, I wasn't excited at all. It was always the same story.

Me not fitting in.

Yeah, that's all.

I was just that never-ending shy person that couldn't form a real sentence whenever a person asked just a simple question. I cannot see how this year is going to be different.

We drove- dad drove us in silence the whole rid to our new house. New house. New people. New state. New school. Without mom. It was just us two this time. Of course, it was going to be different and difficult this time. Mom wasn't on my side anymore, just dad and me and at that moment I prayed to God that I wanted everything- no I needed everything to be okay this year. No drama. No pixie-barbie dolls hunting me to the end of schools border. No fight.

Just peace.

That's all I want. Peace. Nothing else.

And that's what I got. Well, almost.

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