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THREE | MANIFESTED THAT SHIT
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ABOUT TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE DAHLIA HAD SPENT THE NIGHT WITH PIETRO. To say she felt like absolute shit would be an understatement, truly. She had to be experiencing an all-time low. For starters, the nightmares were back—worse than ever, actually. Now she could barely close her eyes without some haunting imagine appearing. The worst part? Some of them weren't even real and she knew it but she still cried.
Her Grandmothers funeral came and went quickly and Dahlia barely managed to be able to drag herself out of bed the two days proceeding it. The guilt and grief would eat at her for ages—she already knew it. When the autopsy came back, it was deducted that Yema McDeen had died due to a stress-induced heart attack. . . hmmm, wonder what could've caused that? Perhaps, this is just a theory now, her granddaughter planning to leave her for some freaky experiments would do the trick? With the guilt of Yema's death now on her hands—as well as the decade old guilt of her parents' death—it was a wonder Dahlia was able to recover. (Really, this girl really ought to be seeing a shrink or something.)
The only things she did nowadays were sit on the shower floor as she let the water consume her. The water punctured her from above and she let it attempt to wash away all her sins. She felt every single drop slide down her skin and make a splash on the ground. Dahlia found herself on that floor long after the water had run cold—there was no one around to yell at her about waste.
Somewhere during those two weeks, Dahlia had acquired a box of blonde hair dye. One of her friends had once told her that hair held memories and the only way to banish them was to destroy their home. So that's what she did. Gone was her ebony locks and here to stay was very dry, bleached blonde hair. Yes, it was patchy and made her hair all clumpy and lifeless.
At least she didn't look like the girl who killed her grandmother anymore.
It was finally the day Wanda had told her that her and Pietro, whom Dahlia had been avoiding like the fucking bubonic plague or something, were leaving. After telling Susannah to shove her stupid job up her fat ass and, then politely quitting her other job ( "Sorry, Midge, I love stacking shelves and all but I've got bigger fish to fry now—" "You're working at the fish bar, now. . . ?" "What? No—" ), not to quote that one Shawn Mendes song or anything but Dahlia had nothing holding her back. Shoving some essentials into a backpack, Dahlia walked out of her grandmas house, knowing full well she'll never have the stomach to be able to go back. There was just too many painful memories there.
