Possessions,

Prologue.

Every word, every phrase, every sentence ever spoke, written or thought in the human language has more than one meaning to it. Some meanings will fit the context you’re trying to get across to your audience, some won’t.

The word possession isn’t any exception, yet with that word my situation fits every definition it holds.

pos·ses·sion [puh-zesh-uhn] noun

1. A certain ownership over an object or being.

I’ve lost count on the amount of times I’ve ever heard the all too familiar words ‘your mine’ fall from his perfect lips, still lingering in my ears every time I hear his music begin to play. His songs don’t bring me peace anymore the way they use to, they send cruel, harsh shivers jolting down my spine.

  2. Actual holding over an object.

For those long years I was with friends with him, I didn’t look in the mirror and see an individual; I saw what he had created. I was an object for him to own, a toy for him to play with, a doll for him to dress, a pet for him to teach.

  3. Control over oneself, one’s mind, ect.

As long as I can remember he’s always held a certain power over me, almost like he’d cast a spell upon me. The commands he spoke, I followed. The rules he set, I obeyed. Even as a child he still had the mind of some sort of genius, always knowing how to get what he wants from me, forcing my mind into making me to think it was the right thing to do.

 He twisted the things I said and turned them into what he wanted to hear.

He changed the way I looked and turned me into what he wanted to see.

He moulded the person I was and turned me into what he wanted me to be.

We were best friends ever since we were six which means every memory, photograph and tale I have to show for my life, involves him.

I looked up to him as if he was made of gold, I saw him as my protector; someone that was would keep me safe from all the harsh dangers in the world he told me about, everything he had told me always seemed so believable, every word he spoke I could never find a fault in any of them.

Looking back now, I realised that’s probably why I did anything he said, to make sure he wouldn’t leave me unprotected to reality.

But he did.

 We were only thirteen he got signed, my whole world went away and he left me all alone.

He gained fame by the second and started a brand new life without me, I watched him as he turned into The Justin Bieber right in front of my broken eyes.

Back then I was devastated, left as a small girl who’d been abandoned in a big world I had been shut away from all my life.

Then, being alone actually gave me time to think, it made me realise that what how he treated me wasn’t right.

Everything he ever made me believe was either wrong or a blatant lie.

I didn’t deserve have scars scattered across my skin, I shouldn’t naturally flinch away every time someone raises there hand within centimetres of me, I shouldn’t be forced to stay away from any boy that comes within meters of me, I should be allowed to have more than one friend and I shouldbe allowed to think for myself.

So that’s what I did, I grew a backbone.

My grandmother Lillian was the only one who knew about Justin’s schemes, she is the only person I’ve put my trust into. Just before she passed away, lying on her death bed she said to me,‘Take inspiration from your past but live for your future.’

And that’s exactly what I did. It seemed diabolical for me to think like this but in the strangest way, I actually thanked Justin for treating me the way he did, he opened my eyes to the dangers lurking about in the world, his anger taught me what and who to avoid, after all; anger is only one letter away from danger. 

After hiding away in my room for weeks, lost without him telling me what to do and when to do it, I took everyone’s advice and started the next school term with my head held high and an ever present smile on display across my glowing face.

I took a deep breath and shoved all my problems and depressive thoughts that he’d caused me to the back of my mind and dedicated my whole time on building a reputation for myself.

It’s funny how something you’ve spent so long working incredibly hard on can crumble into a thousand pieces with one piece of news.

I use to cry myself to sleep every night, thinking he was going to forget me.

Now I pray to God every night, hoping that he did forget me.

You know why?

Because he’s coming back to Stratford and the rumour is;

He’s looking for me.