She was the person who loved all things unloved.
She loved the bugs no one liked, the animals considered ugly and most of all, people.
She loved people, she was talkative and kind. She loved everything, absolutely everything.
Flowers, pottery, me.
Those were the things I knew she loved most.
She's gone now.
And I miss her, I miss her more than anything in the world. I miss her tight hugs before bed and early in the morning. I miss the kisses she would place on my cheek before she left for school.
I just miss her being around.
I miss her.
My mother and father have love I've never seen before. Even after around thirty-one years of them being married, they still look at each other with that lovey-dovey look in their eyes.
I don't know how they always have a strong face for us. But I know it's a facade, I just let them be.
My father doesn't like it when I don't work but he understands. He's one of the most understanding people I know, not before her though.
My mother tries encouraging me to write in a journal, secretly I do. But I think she knows I do now because I'm constantly carrying my small leather book around.
I stared down at the pages in the book, reading over the words but they just kept blurring in together, like every day, of every week. I eventually closed it, sighing and putting it in the pocket of my sweatpants.
I stared at the corkboard hung up onto my wall. Pictures were beginning to fall off, hanging by rusty pins and staples. I looked away, knowing that I would have to fix it eventually. I stood up and left my room, going next door.
I opened the door and stared around. My pottery room is my favourite place to be. Clay and tools littered the floor. I liked it messy, I worked better when it was.
I roamed around the room, looking at all the clay items I've made, in dedication to her.
I made cups with engravings of her name and her favourite things. I carved flowers and butterflies and bumblebees into it, then wrote her name at the bottom.
I make plates for my mother, and then glaze them for her. I make cups for my father because I know how much he likes to use them for tea.
I make animals for Alora, mostly teddy bears and turtles. And for my brothers, I make meaningless things for them to smash because I know how much they like to destroy things when they're angry or hurt.
But today I'm only making something for her.
I sat down at my stool and threw my shirt off. I like to work bare from the top. I went over and grabbed some clay from a bag and placed it on my wheel. I quickly collected all my tools from the floor and placed them in the bucket of water besides me.
I then turned the wheel on and started shaping the clay.
I wet my hands and began to mould the clay into a cylinder. My fingers brushed the material, curving the top downwards, making a sort of funnel shape.
I was making a vase for her favourite flowers.
The cylinder stood tall. It was beginning to look like a vase. It had a wide base and kinda tall neck.
But then it started getting harder to control and shape. I was growing impatient with myself.
And then it collapsed. I stared at the clay for a moment.
Then anger began to bubble inside me. I grabbed the wheel and flipped it over. I lifted the bucket beside me and threw it onto the floor, water spilling.
"Vince open the door now," I heard one of my brothers call.
"FUCK OFF," I roared.
"Vince, open the fucking door before I break it down," Mylo hissed. I ignored him and continued throwing my shit around. I could hear footsteps moving around and knocking on the door.
"Vincenzo I swear if you have any broken bones or cuts, ill kill you," Isaiah threatened. I looked around the room, my eyes drifting upon the damage I had caused. I had my sharper pottery tools placed on the shelf. It was tempting, I was tempted to get back into my old habits.
And temptation won.
I walked towards to the wall and grabbed one of the sharp tools. I put it to my palm and went to cut.
I wanted to feel anything other than mental pain. I wanted to feel anything but that.
But then I thought of her. I thought of her and how she would kiss the scars on my hands after I came back from a mission.
And I just couldn't do it again. There was no way I could it without feeling so disappointed and disgusted in myself. I couldn't do it knowing that she may be watching over me and I couldn't do it knowing my sister and mother would cry like the did last time I did it.
So I threw it.
I threw it at the balcony windows, making the glass crack. I was breathing heavily, my hands fisted in anger.
"Vincenzo, figilo. It's me. Can I come in?" I recognised this voice as my father's.
"Go away," I mumbled.
"figilo, I know you are upset with me and your mama, but please open the door. Im worried for you," He said softly.
"I want to be alone," I retorted.
"Vincenzo, please," my father sighed. I stopped answering at this point. The door began to shake from its hinges and the wood began to chip off.
I watched as the hinges snapped from the door, it falling to the ground.
My father and brothers stood there with blank expressions.
"What the fuck is wrong with you Vincenzo?" Mylo hissed while looking around the room. I turned away from all of them and went over to the balcony. I stared at the crack window as they began to talk over each other.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU," Isaiah shouted. I didn't answer. I felt a hand grab my shoulder and forcefully turned me around.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU," Mylo yelled angrily. I rolled my eyes at him.
And then he punched me.
I stumbled back a little upon impact. I stared straight at him then grabbed his shirt. I went to punch him when someone grabbed my hand.
My father stood to the side of me, holding my wrist tightly.
"Don't hit him back," he told me. I fought the grip he had on my wrist but he wouldn't let go.
"Be the better person," he said. I stared at him, angry.
"Get out them out before I hit them both," I hissed. He nodded lightly at my brothers but they stayed in their places.
"Get the fuck out, before I shoot you both," I grumbled. They didn't move.
"GET OUT," I roared.
"NO YOU FUCKWIT, WHAT IS SRONG WITH YOU? YOU CANT GO AROUND AND SMASH SHIT JUST BECAUSE YOU FEEL LIKE IT," Isaiah shouted.
"THIS IS MY HOME, MINE NOT YOURS. SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, THE BOTH OF YOU," I yelled back. I ripped my wrist from my fathers hold and glared at them.
"If you ever come into this house again, without my permission, you'll never leave," I told them.
"Vincenzo, enoug-
"I said get out," I grumbled while turning away from them.
"You're fucking disgusting Vince. We're trying to care for you but all you fucking do is push us away. Is that what Whit-
Before Mylo could finish his sentence, I turned back around and grabbed his shirt. I punched him in the face.
Once.
And then twice.
And then a third.
My dad ripped him from my arms and he collapsed to the floor.
"GET OUT, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE," I demanded. My father and Isaiah glared at me before helping Mylo.
They then left, leaving me alone as I had been wishing for the last seven minutes. I kicked the shit around the room in frustration.
I went over to the shelf where I kept all my artworks and ripped it off the wall.
Pots, plates, vases. They all came tumbling down, smashing onto the floor. I blinked a couple times then got into my knees.
What the fuck did I just do.
No no no no no.
They're all gone, all of our artworks.
They're all gone.
I grabbed some of the pieces in my hands and watched as they crumbled away.
I wasn't even angry anymore. For the first time since she died, my chest began to feel heavier then usual
They're just stupid fucking pots.
It's nothing.
I let go of the pieces in my hands and pushed up from the floor. I walked out of the room and into my bedroom. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I was a disappointment to my family, to her.
She would've been disgusted by what I just did. She would've told me to go apologise to them. She would've told me that what I did was wrong, that what I did could've hurt their feelings.
I've never been a person of morals or rules, but I always promised myself that I would never hurt my family. She made me promise that I would never hurt them.
And I did.
I kicked my brothers out of my house.
And then my father.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
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I was laying in bed, a book in my hand, just looking at the words on the page. I wasn't comprehending anything I was reading. The words were blurring together and my eyes were just travelling over them.
I closed it up and put it on my bedside table along with my glasses. I couldn't find my contacts anywhere so they were my only resort. I pulled the covers to my neck and stared out the balcony window.
My mind and thoughts have always been intrusive. My mind is my weekness, my flaw. I have issues that I haven't been able to over come.
And I sit here, and let those thoughts invade me. I believe that everything that goes on inside my head is real, especially the bad things.
And in all honesty, I wish I could stop it all. I wish I could turn off my brain and just stop thinking.
I've been struggling, I know that. But I'll never admit it. I'm struggling mentally, at least that's what my therapist says.
I'm tired, I just want everything to stop. I want everything to go back to normal, back to the way it used to be.
I continued to stare out the window, watching as the sun began to fall behind the clouds.
My phone started ringing. I looked over at the bedside table, trying to see the called ID.
I picked it up and saw that it was my mother.
I answered, I always do.
"Hello?" She called.
"Hey," I said softly.
"I heard what happened. Why would you hurt him?" She asked, keeping her voice soft. I exhaled a long breath.
"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled. She muttered a small okay.
"I uhh just wanted to talk to you before your dad does. I feel like he isn't going to let this one go," she murmured. I hummed in agreement.
"Mama?" I said softly.
"Yeah bambino?" She replied. I went to ask her the question I had been dreading for a while now, but the words wouldn't come out.
It's just six words.
Why do you pretend you're okay?
"Tell me, I'm listening and I promise you, I will give you an answer to the best of my ability," she promised.
"It's fine, don't worry about it," I mumbled. She mumbled something under her breath then sighed.
"Why'd you shut me out?" She asked. I didn't have an answer. After she died, I shut everyone out. I stoped talking for a while and I kept to myself.
"Because," I mumbled while pulling the blankets to my chin. I could hear her getting frustrated with me.
"Because what?," she asked.
"Just because, okay now please stop asking," I said. She was now cursing in Italian.
"You frustrate me, I'm trying to be here for you but you're too stubborn and rude to even care about me or my feelings anymore," She hissed. I rolled my eyes.
"Get this in your head Vincenzo. She's dead, and not coming back so stop acting like one day she'll miraculously pop up and sit with you like old times. I knew from the day she died that she wasn't coming back so stop wishing she will. She's dead Vincenzo, you saw it yourself,"
"Shut up," I grumbled.
"Wha-
"Shut the fuck up," I hissed at her. The line on the other side when silent.
"I know she's dead, I'm not fucking stupid. I just don't want to believe it," I grunted. I hung up in her face and put my phone back on the bedside table.
Her name was Whitney.
She died when she was eight and I was twenty.
She left behind her family and her friends. She left me behind.
And I miss her, so fucking much that it causes me physical pain.
I miss her.
I want her next to me, beside me. I want to hear the sweet sound of her voice and kiss her goodnight.
Even if it was one last time.
Just one more time.
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Okay guys, I'm so sorry this chapter took so much longer to be released. I really wanted this one to be perfect and I wanted everything to fall in place correctly.
I wanted you guys to feel and know what was going on inside of his head and why he's struggling mentally.
Also I was just wondering if you guys wanted to know what my characters were inspired by. If so please comment here-
Love you guys.
Word count: 2358