Laila sits on her floor, staring at the guitar. She could cry seeing it. She desired to play it; to hold an instrument in her arms again. To dream the softest dream that she had ever dreamt.
That she could write a song for Violet; one they could play together. A duet, maybe.
Yet there is no time to dream, no time to cry happy tears as her father barges in. Screaming, his voice roaring in her ears.
He knows that girl is more than a friend, he accuses. He had run into Violet's father moments prior, who mentioned Laila as her girlfriend.
They are not together. She is her best friend. All they had done was share a kiss. There was nothing more than that.
She would not betray her god that way: not ever.
Laila shutters as she stands up quickly. Listening to her father berate her. Educating her. Making his opinions vocal. He was communicating, having a conversation with his daughter. His girl!
Time passes as his anger only flourishes like a blooming flower. Naming all the things wrong with her. All the things she needs to change.
Her eyes dart to her broken mirror. All she needs to do is let him change her. She knows what to do now; how to make this man happy. She has always tried her best to.
Her bones begin to ache, a fleeting warning in the back of her mind. The whispers of the walls get louder in her ears. Almost as if trying to tell her something. She can feel her beating heart quicken its pace.
Is she scared? Why would she be scared? That man in front of her is her father!
He is a good man. She swears it on her life. There is no reason to be scared of her own father. The man who used to rock her to sleep on his lap. Who would paint her tiny fingernails. Who dressed up with her.
She shares his blood. His last name. His wife's face and hair. So why is he so upset with her? What had she done wrong? Maybe she had been a bit greedy; she wore a nice dress, kissed the prettiest girl in the world, and accepted a present, but why is that a crime?
Her eyes follow his hand, which latches onto a piece of her mirror. The shattered glass.
The bones in her body hurt more than they ever have before, the walls scream louder than her father, crushing her, holding on to her smaller body as they never have before.
Not even seconds later, does that glass connect to her throat. She gasps in pain, as she drops to the floor.
The walls are squeezing her so tight it hurts, her bones throb heavy. No, that would be her heart. She keeps taking deep breaths, her once delicate hands are turning cold as she writhes on the floor. The cold floor that does not bring her the same comfort as Violet does.
In a panic, her eyes look for Violet. The guitar. She stares at the guitar, her vision only blurs as she tries her best to wail. Her father had left her, and he left her in pain. She wants Violet.
She wants her mom, her mom, who used to kiss her head goodnight. Who would kiss her injuries, who used to cry and beg for forgiveness after her father had hurt her. Where is she now? She is hurting. So, so badly hurting.
Laila can hear the walls. They are crying for her, holding her as if not wanting to let go. It is an uncomfortable comfort, but she does not hate her walls as much today. Her room feels larger than it ever has, and she does not hate the blue. She does not miss the fading flowers from her mother.
Were those flowers mourning her? Had her mother mourned for her from the beginning? Oh, God, please let her hope so.
The bones in her body do not bother her so much now. The gnawing at her chest more a sorrow than anger. Holding her heart close for her. Wishing to protect its beating movement, to keep it from stopping. Begging her to hold on.
She does not hate this, nor the feeling it brings. She hates the pain in her neck. She can feel her body draining itself, not just of tears.
Today, she wishes to be greedy once more. To let herself dream easy. To dream of Violet, playing a song with her. To dream of being a rockstar, writing love songs of not just Violet, but of her parents.
She wishes to express her love. Not the way they showed her love. Could that really be love? She believes it was love, but their love was violent. Nobody else shown her that kind of love. Violet's love was soft, like a kitten.
Her bones did not show her that kind of love. Her bones fit her right and tried its best to protect her. It would shatter for her safety. Maybe being glass is not so bad. It does not shatter that easy either. It was strong until too much force, which is not its fault.
Her walls only wished to give her shelter. To guard her from outside sources. They are larger than they look, and they are not always mocking her. What else could they do but speak of those they exist to witness.
Laila wishes it was Halloween. She wishes for her childhood today. To be youthful and brave. She wishes her parents would take care of her again, instead of leaving her alone. She hates being alone.
She can feel herself dropping. Her bones cannot hold her any longer; they have done the best they could. For her. It has always been for her. They have not been keeping her freedom, they have been trying to push her through it, no matter how bad the ache.
Her vision begins to fade, she is scared, but not as scared as when her father stood above her. There is only a comfortable sadness as her brain takes pity on her. As it allows her to be greedy. As it allows her bones to give up and the walls to keep mourning.
As it allows her to mourn the fact that she will not make it to eighteen. She will never leave this childhood bedroom. She will never fix her broken mirror, but it is all okay.
She can just dream a bit longer tonight.