Fix me

2-Back now

Wait.
What do you want now?!
Oh crap!
The plane has landed already and there is no need to remind me that I'm the only one left on the plane. I know. I know. I quickly get my bag from under my legs and basically run out the plane through the tiny space. I hate being in small places.

That's one of the many reasons why I'm sitting up front. Aside from the fact that my stepdad is stinking rich. I might like to be stubborn, but come on who would ever give up first class? Comfortable seats. Somewhat spacious place.
Anyway, when I finally finish with the stupid tunnel we have to go through -whose carpet, may i add, managed to make me trip and fall flat on my face making my nose feel like a rhino ran over it- i got to walk maybe a mile inside the airport.

I get my bags. Only a nike gym bag i always carry around, i put my sunglasses on and my misic is probably way too loud for anyone to dismiss it. I just don't really care that much, i guess.

I see a man in black with a sign held up by both his hands and his face looks worse than mine after all that sleeping in the plane. I am assuming i am the only Beatrice Daniels around here, so i go up to him and just stand there until he decides to acknowledge me as i look at the sign trying to tell him i am that person.

He takes a minute but then he turns and tells me to follow him. Which I obviously do.

Cars in england are weirder than I remembered. I feel like since i am sitting on the "driver's" side, i should have the steering wheel, and i feel like i am sitting way too close to the road. Which I probably am.

My mother barely talks to me but She's always busy. Fashion designer. Yeah, she's a big deal. I don't care what she is, i just want her to be my mom. I want her to care.

My mom got engaged less than a week ago. I don't really know the guy, I've been in Miami for the last three years on and off a rehab facility. I haven't met the guy. I will one day, but I'll put it off for as long as i can. It's a defense mechanism.

The car's wheels stop and that's what tells me that we're already in my old house.

It feels like it's not real anymore. I can't explain it, it feel like if i get too close I'll break it. Some sort of memory that could collapse any minute now.

I know where my room is, no front door is needed to get there so I'm good. I hear some electronica swifting my throat from side to side. I push through the bushes i used to play in when i was only 12. They hurt a bit but they are actually not hard at all.

It's simple. Bushes. Path. Tree. Window.

I follow the path of stone that marks the route of the golf carts the servants use. It's 7:00 am so it's no surprise no one's up yet.

The tree that goes from the window in the first floor to the top of the house can get you anywhere from the ground floor to the third.

It's an ash tree that's been there since i can remember and it has a little tiny stair built into it. It looks like a barbie house. on the tree i had a kickboxing bag, from those days....

I threw my bag onto my balcony, and i reached for the tree and climed it. I opened the door by sliding my hand though the window. Ahh this feels good again, my ocean tinted walls welcome me with a warmth that doesn't match the weather. My bed, my desk, my closet still intact even though the room is perfectly neat and clean. My carpet just as soft and my mirror just as cruel and honest. my hair was chopped to shoulder length and I've probably gained a lot of weight. i am definitely taller. i'm somewhere around 5'7 now. but i've hated my reflection for so long that i've never been able to make peace with it.

I've been traveling for hours that are as heavy as weeks.

I set the bag by the foot of my bed and i lay down for...just... One ...second...