*~Ambition and Love Wearing Boxing Gloves~*

~ S E V E N ~

Impassioned

"What the hell, dude?" Jeremy smiled at his friend, slapping his arm.
"How did you manage to talk to her? Did she mace you?"

Michael looked at him confused. "What? She didn't mace me! I just apologized for everything and we got high in my car."
Jeremy paused the game and dropped his controller, making Michael scoff in annoyance.

"Dude-"
"She got high with you in your car?" He had a stupid smirk on his face.

"Yah, so?" He shrugged, reaching for Jeremy's controller but getting dodged.
"Nothing just... nothing." He shook his head.

"Dude-!"
"Let's just play." He started the game, quickly ending the conversation.
Michael was suspicious, but ignored his smirky best friend to beat the freaking level that they've been stuck on for a year and a half.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Y/n L/n sat on her bed, not covered by smothering, heat inducing sheets or staring into space.
She did not hold an inept expression while she contemplated everything wrong she did today or everything wrong she could do tomorrow.

She simply smiled while she laid on top of her blankets, and drew swirly scribbles in her diary.
It wasn't a normal diary, it was one that had no words.

Most of her pages consisted of boring grey lines, running across the page like radio-waves.
Some of the pages were red and black and blue, ferocious scribbles scratched into the paper.
But today her scribbles were pastel and airy.

She had a good day, completely forgetting the 'getting-in-a-car-with-a-stranger' part and focusing on the 'getting-high-with-her-new-friend-and-eating-Chick-Fil-A'.

She used pastel yellow, green, and orange to swirl through her page, with whimsical circles and bubbles. It was sirene, like how she felt.

As much as she hated to admit it, the stalker was a pretty cool guy.
She dropped the book and her pencils, hopping off her bed and out her door.

When she got downstairs, her uncles were standing on opposite sides of the living room, yelling at each other. Barry's glasses were hanging from his hand and Scott was still wearing his uniform.

"I was worried, you didn't answer my messages or my calls!"
"We were on patrol, I can't answer every damn message!"
"You could have been dead!"
"You're being dramatic!"

She fished for her old, broken earbuds in her pocket, plugging them into her phone and turning (*favorite album*) up all the way.
The music drowned out her uncles and she went the kitchen, throwing open the fridge.

In the back, there was a mysterious box with something white and fluffy in it.
Oh my god mashed potatoes. She smiled, grabbing it and popping it open.

Instead she was met with cauliflower.
She practically growled with anger and actually threw it back in.

Something small and sharp hit her in the back and she turned around.
Uncle Scott had flung a rubber band at her, and Barry was waving his arms around.

She pulled out one of her earbuds, right at the best part of (*song from album*).
"What?"
"It is way to late for food."
"I'm starving."
"Starving is a hyperbole. You're not dying, you'll live till tomorrow morning."

She shook her head and crossed her arms, shutting the fridge with her back.
"I don't think I will."
"Go to bed."
"It's only 9:00. I think what you meant to say was 'go to your room so we can keep bickering at the volume of a jet turbine'."

"Go." Scott frowned.
She rolled her eyes and he snapped his fingers at her. "And fix that attitude while you're at it!"

Those words. And the snap.
The snap that cut into her thoughts, followed by earth shattering silence.
The snap echoed in Y/n's brain.

That's what made her shake with anger and stomp up the stairs like her life depended on it.

She got up to her room and slammed the door, feeling a lot less sirene than before.
They're allowed to shout and fight all the live-long day, but she rolls her eyes once and she has to 'fix her attitude'? That's such bullshit!

She paced her room, ripping her earbuds out and throwing them on the floor.
Y/n ran her hands through her hair, trying to ignore the pounding in her head while scanning things in her room to help her calm down.

It wasn't working, and she was starting to get angrier.
Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, only to hear a loud shatter, that made her jump.

When she turned around, her million year old penny bank was on the ground, broken.
She stared at it, trying to figure out how it fell from the back of her dresser, to the floor, and completely shattered.

Y/n glanced over at the book on her bed, swirled with pastel and happy colors.
She just got so pissed for no reason, and some things fell from her pacing.
All she needed to do, was calm down.

She walked out of her room to the little coat closet across the hall, grabbing the stupid little handheld pan and broom, walking back to her room.

She got on her knees, sweeping up broken pieces of piggy bank and throwing them out in her trash can. Her trash can that was way too full, and she needed to empty.

When she put the handheld broom back, she could hear her uncles shouting from upstairs, but ignored it.

Instead she cut the lights out, and crawled into bed, staring at the dark, pitch-black ceiling.
Her face remained poker and her head remained empty.

Not like high off weed empty. Like don't think a single thing or anything could happen, kind of empty.
Don't set yourself off, or you may never recover from that dark place...

kind of empty.

Y/n rolled her eyes to absolutely no one, but the quiet room and the pitch black ceiling above her.

God isn't that just the most dramatic bullshit you've ever heard in your life?