Cat Noir smiles. "Purr-haps we should go for ice cream after this."
Instead of giggling like I usually do, I tightly wrap my arms around his shoulders and practically suffocate him. I bury my face into his soft hair and inhale its sweet, comforting...
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8 Months Later...
Friday, August 13th, 2015
66 Avenue Victor Hugo, Paris, France
12:55 a.m.
I can't sleep.
I groan as I toss and turn in bed, running a trembling hand through my sweaty hair. Even after Kaley who, to no surprise was up at twelve in the morning working on the miniature robot she started in January, told me to pull myself together, my hands are still shaking.
This happens every year before the first day of school, but this year, that fear's a bit stronger.
Needing an escape from my thoughts, my hand searches for my phone on my dresser. Once I grab my phone along with the blue headphones already plugged in, I quietly scroll through my camera roll until I come to August 2015.
To the video album titled "Hamilton Play 2015".
Closing my eyes, I press "Play" and feel my heart unclench when I hear the first verse of the opening song through my headphones. My breathing becomes slower, more relaxed as I listen to Act 1 of that beautiful, life-saving play I discovered back in January.
Right after New Years Eve.
Right after Mom gave me that fucking necklace.
Right after people starting giving my mom and I weird looks, whispering behind our backs when they thought we couldn't hear.
Things were so hard after that day. Mom had to support me on her own while constantly being away at work, away from me. And even though I was an only child, I was barely thirteen. I wanted to get a small job to help support us, but Mom wouldn't let me out of her sight at that time. And to cope with what happened, I did the absolute worst thing I could do.
I became gluttonous. I gained thirty pounds because of my mistake. And now whenever I look at myself in the mirror, I break down and cry, take a knife and...
I rest the back of my head against the wall as I stare at the ceiling in the dark, trying not to look at the scars on my forearms.
Why? Why couldn't, why didn't...People say there's some God watching us, protecting us, saying we should forgive those who murder. They say that so much it makes me sick.
But if that's true, then why didn't it bother to step in and change things?
Why didn't it stop Dad?
Why didn't it stop the suffering Mom had to endure these past eight months?
Why didn't it stop me from putting that first Oreo sleeve in my mouth?
