XX: THE HARSH TRUTH

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song for the chapter:
secrets - state champs

chapter twenty; the harsh truth

Ava didn't know that the human body had so much capacity to feel so numb and empty. Or how, unbelievably, nothing could be so consuming that it became everything you felt. Paradoxical, indubitably, but ironic as well, and she found herself sucked into a cesspool of anger, heartbreak, and vacancy. And it sucked.

God it sucked. It was so painful and it was like absolute torture but she couldn't do anything about it. She didn't know how to get rid of the feeling. She hated it. She hated everything. She hated Luke, she hated friendship, she hated the world, she hated feelings—every part of her wanted to scream and just let it all out. She wanted to jump off of a cliff just to feel something—the air rushing onto her skin, the wind in her hair, whatever, as long as it was something other than the inescapable hurt she was encased in.

She needed a relief, but usually that relief was a stubborn and heartbreaking masterpiece by the name of Luke Hemmings, but he was no longer hers (was he ever hers?) and she had no one to turn to but herself. She was strong, she knew that, but the whole myth and pressure to always be strong when you claimed to be a strong woman was nothing more than that: a myth. And just because she was strong didn't mean she couldn't cry or at times feel weak, or that she couldn't feel sad over a boy—because that's not only the intense and unhealthy idea that strong equalized a type hyper masculinity where you couldn't express emotion, but it was also unrealistic and she was by all means against that which would explain her tears but—everything was too much. She just wanted things to stop being complicated. She just wanted things to be okay again, or for things with Luke to be okay again.

Her face was plummeted into a pillow and she was wrapped up in her blanket, tissues surrounding her as she cried softly. No, this wasn't some scene out of a predicable rom-com, this was pure, utter pain—and no 13 Going 30 or He's Just Not That Into You could ever do it justice. Heartbreak wasn't eating ice cream, drinking vodka, and watching sad movies until you felt better. It wasn't adventurous or deep, it was raw hurt and Ava didn't know how to make it go away.

Heartbreak was like losing something with the chance you'll never find it again, having an empty aura floating around like you're constantly going to have to look for something that's not there anymore. It's like a missing tooth: your tongue continuously goes over the gap where your tooth used to be, lingering there because something that was there for so long is gone. And you repeatedly brush your tongue over that one spot in your mouth because it's routine by now and you don't know what to do because you can't just suddenly fill the gap; you have to let it heal and grow.

Patience was never something she was good at.

Mascara left streaks of inky black down her cheeks, eyes blinking at each tear that leaked out of her. She wanted to fall into a deep sleep and just stay like that for awhile; to seep away from responsibilities and feelings and people and Luke. Oh how she wanted desperately to escape the thought of Luke and oh how she wanted to makes wishes on dandelions, holding onto the stem and closing her eyes so she didn't feel so sad. But then again, dandelions were always just weeds.

She heard her door open and rolled her eyes instinctively, already annoyed by whoever it was and the sound of her door creaking. She always hated when it creaked, but now she just wanted to take an axe and let out all her anger on the poor piece of dark oak wood. She heard shuffling and immediately stuck her head deeper and deeper into her sea of pillows and blankets, pleading Jesus Christ to let her be swallowed up so that she could suffocate, but she suspected that Jesus stopped listening to her prayers a long time ago.

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