Red Rubies | Yoongi

14) Burning Pile

"All my troubles on a burning pile
All lit up and I start to smile
If I, catch fire and I change my aim
Throw my troubles at the Pearly Gates"
Burning Pile-Mother Mother

I warned y'all this was enemies to lovers and you didn't listennnn. Everything was going a little to smoothly to be a book by me cmon now 🙄

Also TW: od drug use

Joy
***********

So yeah, maybe Joy did lie about having a completely normal life growing up. Oops. To herself, and any other people brave enough to ask.

The black outs had started when she was young.

It had been like any December day in Massachusetts.

She was about 7 years old, playing outside by herself. Dressed in a red woolen sweater, a white coat, and red corduroy pants. Her little mittens were red as well. With white hearts. She remembered that vividly.

The door open after she had been playing for a while. Her mother called out to her, voice slurring.

Her mother had been fine earlier, when she had bundled her daughter up. Sending her outside while her step dad at work so she could have some 'alone' time. Telling her the story of how she was born. Right at the end of winter, in the month of March. How her mother begged for her to be fair, her hair black as onyx, and cheeks that flushed with ease. Like a rose. Pretty so that life would be a little bit easier to her. The girl never realizing how strange and odd the mantra was to have repeated to her as only a child.

The little girl had been scared, never hearing her mother sound so sleepy while awake.

Her mother had been standing in the doorway blank look on her face, before passing out and convulsing. Her head smacking into the door frame before coming down.

"Mommy!" The girl had yelled, before running to her.

Before her body betrayed her. Before the panic set in.

She got closer to her mother, who was writing partially in the snow. Not prepared for the cold. Her eyes had started rolling back into her head, and no matter how much Joy had cried, her mother couldn't speak to her.

She was so young then.

She cried until her mom stopped moving. Foam trickling from her mouth into the snow.

When she finally came to, the little girl had been lying on her back. Face to the gray, crying sky. Sitting up, she had noticed the blood dripping from her nose, and onto her cream mittens.

She must have been a sight. Black hair freckled with snow flakes, pale face frosted with pink. Red flowing like a river onto her face.

When her stepfather found them he had screamed. Called the ambulance. The cops. It was scarier to the girl at the time, than the experience itself.

Her mother had been on drugs, and almost died before her. Ever since then, Joy had been diagnosed with panic disorders. Her mother remained and worked on being clean for her sake. It bothered her because even that couldn't be normal for her.

For years, she had fought her own body to remain awake. To feel fear, to feel pain. But like always she couldn't seem to handle it. She had to just faint, on top of feeling like she couldn't breath or that her chest was locked in a cage.

So imagine the girl's utter disparity, as she came back to the present, lying next to a girl that was dead.

No, I couldn't be having an episode now. Not when I would have to explain everything. Every single personal detail I wanted to keep hidden.