Page 158 of Bring You Back

Reyna

My heart knows this can’t be fixed. We can’t—I can’t keeplettingpeople fix and fix and fix when everything ends up rebroken. Something’s gotta give.

And that something has to be me.

I have to leave the pieces, carve lines deep enough they can’t be crossed. I have to stop beingSTUPID. Stop beingDRAMATIC. Stop beingSENSITIVE.

MOODY.

A CHILD.

Everything hurts. I need more air than the breeze is giving me. My favorite sandals feel too small for my feet. My favorite green dress feels suffocating on my body. I’ve already tried shedding those parts of me, laying myself out to everyone’s standards.

Family.

Friends.

Boyfriends. . .

I wanted to be enough.

But I was beingPATHETIC.

Rule Number One: Don’t think you’re special.I’m not special.

I’m not the girl who got the guy. I’m not the girl who fixed the guy. I’m not the daughter who fixed the mother. I’m not the glue. Nobody needs me. My presence doesn’t matter. People are the same with or without me.I don’t matter.

While everyone has been showing me their true colors, I’ve been painting over them with gloss when I should have been repainting mine.

I wantedone. One good parent. One good boyfriend. One good friend.

It’s such crap that I still feel like I need them. It’s unfair that all I want right now is love from my mother. Notamother,mymother. The comfort of curling up on the couch and watching old movies with her when she hasNOTHING BETTER TO DO.

The Fowlers and the Holloways have been nice stand-in parents—mostly Tommy’s, but I wasn’t born to them. And Julian’s parents never said it, but I could tell they—like their son—prefer the safe, clean brunette girl over the blonde who runs the risk of ending up as dirty as the woman who made her.

Thatwoman prefers men and wine. Her hands are full. A dick in one, a slanted glass in the other. There’s no room for me. There’s never any room for me.

Good things are faked.

Nobody in my life is real.

Tommy.

I hug myself, tears pooling in my eyes as I think of leaving him at the lighthouse, giving him my back to remind him he should’ve had it.He should’ve told me.

YOU CAN DO BETTER.

It was a snide remark from my mother who never liked any of my friends, but even she could see through her proverbial wine goggles.

I’m sick of having to pull things from my so-called family and friends that should be handed to me freely. I give and give and give, and it’s gotten me here; walking the streets of my town, alone, under the crescent moon.

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.

I blink to force the tears out of my eyes, and the breeze feels cooler on my wet cheeks. I shiver, licking the salt at the corners of my mouth.

The light from a street lamp flickers as I walk under. I don’t take night strolls without good reason. I’m a daylight girl. The daylight is hopeful, rejuvenating, forgiving. Parts of me that are trying to stay as I find shelter under the stars. The night is hiding my shame. I feel less like I don’t belong.

I’ll paint this night—the first time I’ve felt kinship with the dark.

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