What's the aquatic version of a Phoenix, I wonder?
I mean, Phoenixes- they show a sign of perseverance to me. They rise from ashes, all strong and beautiful. It would be nice to be compared to a Phoenix, I think.
I meet some of the qualifications, I guess you could say. After all, I was killed.
And now, I'm rising from the dead.
But, then again, I didn't arise from ashes. And I definitely didn't arise strong and beautiful; taking the world by storm like nothing had knocked me down in the first place.
Instead, I woke up:
- Panic-attack having
And not to mention utterly helpless.
So actually, I don't think I really even need to know what the aquatic version of a Phoenix is, because I'm not strong enough to be one.
I'm just a 17-going-on 18 year old, teenage girl.
A clumsy, agoraphobic, freakishly tall for my own standards, hopelessly in love with my best friend, ruler of an underwater kingdom that has dwindled because of its genocide by my own mother, teenage girl.
That's normal enough for anyone, I'd say.
But then again, who would listen to someone as crazy and messed up as me?
After all, I technically did die and ascend from my grave in the middle of the night.
And from society's standards, I don't think that's a very normal thing to do.
These dickwads stare at me like they've never fucking seen me before - Marshall
The sound of my cell phone loudly blaring "22" by Taylor Swift awoke me at 5:57 in the morning - exactly three minutes before I normally wake up.
But goddamn it, those three precious minutes feel like hours on a good day.
"Jesús Cristo, Mya, when I get my hands on you," I muttered underneath my breath like an idiot.
Now that I had gotten a new phone - so my parents could put a tracking device in it after the whole me running out the house and getting killed fiasco - Mya had been downloading songs that I hated onto it.
This included literally any Taylor Swift song, as opposed to all my ass-kicking Linkin Park, Mumford and Sons, and Kid Cudi songs.
Stop being a pussy. I texted back to Marshall, a smile spreading across my face.
I was going to add in something even more raunchy (who knew there was something even raunchier than texting the word dreaded p-word?), but then I decided that'd be pretty awkward; an 18 year old guy having to hear his 17 year old sister tell sex jokes.
Tossing my phone to the side, I stood up from my bed and stretched, yawning. I walked into the bathroom, and stared into the mirror, at my tired looking, yellow-ish skin colored face.
How in all of the fiery fire of hellfire had so much shit happened here, and now, everything was back to normal? Everything else that was an inanimate object, bounced back to its state before all the shit hit the fan.
I mean, why couldn't I do that? Why, to this day, was I still having night terrors that awoke my entire family that slept above me?
Why, to this day, was I waking up with long scratches running down my arms, like I was trying to physically erupt out of my shell of a body?
And why the hell did I have to be revived from death, be stuck in a coma for two freaking months, and be diagnosed by my doctor with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?
I think that I've been through enough complete horseshit by now, but I'm not an idiot. And I may not be a psychic-prophet person like Ivan is, but I'm not naïve enough to think that I won't have to endure more.
With the word 'more' meaning horseshit.
Since I had 'woken up' from my comatose, only one of my eyes had turned back to the dull gray that I was born with, and not the iridescent silver that I had grown accustomed to.
My right eye, on the other hand, was still silver, which looked rather odd, compared to my gray colored eye, even from far away.
I still had the blue-looking scabs on my face - not to mention all over my thighs, legs, and ankles - so basically, nothing had really changed.
On the outside, that is. The inside? A completely different story.
My phone started to play that horrid "22" song once again and it broke me out of my disturbed thoughts.
Toothpaste and brush in my hand, I walked back out into my room to check my phone one last time before actually getting ready.
How can I not be when I get so much of it? - Marshall
"Oh, ew," I groaned, dropping my phone to the bed after I read the disgusting text. "Come on, man!"
I went back into the bathroom without even replying to Marshall's text to continue brushing my teeth. As I finished that and went to bring clothes out of my closet to wear for school, my phone rang again.
But this time, it started to play "Right Here" by Justin Bieber and Drake, a song that Ivan had insisted on using for whenever he called me. He said it was because he wanted me to know that he would always be there for me.
Never mind the fact I think Justin Bieber is a complete douchebag; Ivan just had to insist.
It was stupid. And silly. But then again, that's just who Ivan was.
"Hello?" I answered, a bit hesitantly.
The first time Ivan called me, he handed his phone to a hobo to sing Christmas jingles for me - even though it was only May, but whatever. Forget logic and all that crap.
"Hi," He replied in a low, breathy voice. His voice made me think of Buffalo Bill from The Silence of the Lambs. Or Salad Fingers. Either one was creep enough.
"What are you wearing?" He asked.
I looked down at myself and then smirked into the phone. "I'm actually just in my underwear right now, since you interrupted me while putting my clothes on."
The Melita before my coma, before my death, would have probably spazzed out all awkwardly and try to think of something smart to say, but would have stumbled over my own words.
But now, I was just flaunting the fact that I had only a bra on in Ivan's face. Well, not technically in his face since it was over the phone but…that's what I meant. That's the point. Basically.
Coma or not, I'm still pretty fuckin' awkward.
"Dude, serious?" Ivan said, all traces of playfulness scratched from his voice. "If that's the case, I'll be right over!"
"But you live two blocks away from school!" I screeched dubiously.
"Yeah," Ivan said, with tones of 'duh' in his voice.
"And, since we're just randomly stating facts now, let me just say that I'm a heterosexual guy and you're a girl who's wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
"Why the fuck would I not literally jump at that prospect?" He said like it was a no-brainer.
"I don't know," I said drily, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I bent down to pick up my shorts.
"But you'd better hurry up - I'm getting ready to put on bottoms." I said sarcastically.
"W-what type of bottoms?" He asked, like it was some sort of dire situation.
"A little bit of the pocket might be showing out at the bottom," I smirked the entire time, knowing that I was falsely enticing him for no apparent reason.
"I'll be right over!" He yelled frantically in the phone. A little click sounded as he hung up.
I laughed to myself silently as I realized I had pulled a minor prank on Ivan.
He (and the rest of my friends, honestly) were being extra nice to me lately. They didn't say anything that would upset me or cause my agoraphobia to kick in - something that both my father and doctor added in explicitly - but I guess this prank was a turning point into getting things back to normal.
I resumed putting my clothes on, but let me just say, it was a tough road. The shorts (as short as they were; they just barely touched my fingertips) had little ripped holes in them, and when I was trying to put them on, my foot accidentally went through one of them.
"Oh shit," I cried as my foot went through, and still trying to balance on one leg, I fell over and into my open closet.
Bojangles, my cat with one hell of a bitchy attitude, hissed at me as I narrowly missed sitting on her tail, which would also ultimately lead to me getting my face clawed off - even though I had taken care of her for eight years.
"Fuck off," I said, and then felt like a huge ass for saying it. Even Bojangles looked confused as she tilted her head to the side and blinked her huge, emerald green eyes at me.
"I mean, I'm sorry," I apologized, taking her into my arms and hugging her, ignoring her frantic-sounding protest of meows.
I petted her head, scratching behind her ears just the way she liked, before pushing myself up against the wall and stepping back into my room from my closet.
The hole my foot had gone through ripped out some of the thread sewn into it, but it didn't look too bad, so I just went along with it and shrugged the shorts all the way on.
Taking a quick glance at the clock, I realized it was only 6:20. A little burst of energy surged through me when I realized that I was making good time and might be able to eat some Lucky Charms for breakfast.
Then I realized that it would probably take me about half an hour to do my hair. Since it was May, and it was getting warmer and more humid, of course that meant my hair was frizzing like crazy.
Half the time, if I just stepped outside with my hair down like I usually did, it would only take 15 or so minutes, to puff into a full grown afro. I blame my mom, for being half Puerto Rican.
Trying to hurry up my pace (which of course meant tripping several times on the way), I speed-walked into the bathroom, shirt in hand, and laid it out on the counter.
Wearing my hair down wasn't an option, so I just braided the left side all the way down to the ends, and wrapped it all into a long ponytail-thing. I slipped my shirt on, and studied myself in the mirror.
I knew that the 'Old Melita' would have probably not had the guts to wear an outfit like this. But I was even having some trouble now deciding whether to wear it or not.
I mean, the shorts were so short, and they were just drawing even more unwanted attention to my ass.
And the shirt I had on, I had originally bought it because it had a sick-ass panda playing drums on the front and back, but I noticed it purposely slipped down to expose my bra-strap bearing shoulders.
No dude, don't back out now. A voice in the back of my head tried to convince me forcefully. I couldn't back out now.
Like I said to Marshall: we weren't puss- er, 'P-words'. The Youngs didn't back out from anything. They weren't quitters.
"But I look like a whore…" I mumbled to myself aloud, staring at my visible bra straps. They were just so…there, for everyone to see.
What if people see them and wonder what bra size I am? What if they find out I'm a D cup? And what if they think that I'm lying?
"Nope, nope, too risky," I said, aloud again, pulling at the hem of my shirt to take it off and just put on a plain T-shirt.
"Just leave the shirt on! It's cute! It has pandas on it, after all," Someone cut in.
"What?" I swiveled around, my heart pounding in my chest because I didn't know who was talking.
I tried to turn on my heel swiftly, but my foot decided to do a weird twisting thing and I ended up stumbling and falling back against the bathtub.
Embarrassed, I looked up to see that it was Brite, standing there in all of her model-worthy glowing.
And trust me - I was being completely serious. I wasn't into girls or anything, but if I was, I'd probably hit on Brite.
I mean, I'd hit on her and completely fail, but still, it was just a thought.
Fortunately for her, her fine blonde hair didn't go all afro on her when the weather's humidity ascended the scale like a fucking monkey climbing trees.
"Holy shit," I said, holding my hand to my chest. "You just scared the living fuck out of me. Can you at least give me some warning before you do that?"
"Sorry," She giggled. But then a look of shock crossed over her face. "Oh my god, Mel, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that," She said.
"I mean, I just completely forgot about the coma for a second and how we're not supposed to surprise you or anything," She rambled on, her blue eyes all wide open in shock. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Stop kissing my ass," I grumbled, perhaps just a little upset that I was still jumpy after everything, but more over the fact that everyone was coddling me like I was a baby.
"Just help me up, will you?" I asked, sticking my hand up towards her.
Brite laughed at my pained expression before taking my hand and hoisting me up from my fallen position.
"This would be even more awkward if I was lesbian," She said, her cheeks turning red as she tried to hold in her laughter.
"Huh?" I asked, confused.
But then, I looked down, and saw that my shirt was pulled more than halfway up, exposing all of my bra and not just the straps, like I had previously worried about people looking at.
"Oh, goddamn it," I grumbled before yanking my shirt back down. "You know what, I don't even fucking care anymore. People can stare at my 34D bra strap." I said crossly.
At first, I didn't realize how awkward that sounded when I said the whole size, but I just ignored it and hoped that Brite wouldn't notice.
By then, I had Brite trailing behind me as I stuffed my phone into my pocket and we ascended the stairs from my basement-bedroom. Since everything happened two months ago, before my coma, I had gotten used to its dark shadows.
After all, I knew there were scarier things out there other than the dark.
"Whoa, wait," Brite said, stopping me as I softly closed the door to my bedroom door behind me.
"What?" I asked, a little frightened.
I imagined that when I fell onto the bathtub, some water from my shower last night splashed onto my back or something, and it looked like someone pissed on the back of my shirt somehow.
I mean, it was a long shot, but weirder things had happened to me.
"When did you grow into a D?" She gasped, her eyes fixated right onto my chest.
"Um…," I hummed, feeling a little awkward. For extra measure, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Like, last year?"
"But I'm still only a B! That's not fair!" Brite cried, stamping her foot into the floor like she was three years old.
"Yeah, but you have the fucking face of an angel!" I cried, thrusting my hand out to her head, like I was a lawyer proving my case, and her face was Example A.
"Plus, you don't have to worry about being freakishly tall," I sneered, thinking of my height in disgust.
"Do you know what it's like to be almost as tall as your brother? Who's 6'2"?"
Brite rolled her eyes at me and then grinned. "I'd rather have big boobs and a nice ass rather than an 'angelic face'," She said, eyeing me doubtfully.
"Which I don't have, by the way. My face is just as normal as anyone else's."
"Oh please," I said, waving her off with my hand. "Your face is like…better looking than Bar Refaeli's."
"Who the fuck is Bar Refaeli?" Brite asked, giving me a weird look.
"She's an Israeli model," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration from all the time we were wasting.
"I only know that because Marshall left some magazines in the bathroom after he left and I get bored in there…"
Brite just burst out laughing at me. "It's so weird that you know that!" She flashed me a smile. But then, she said in a softer, more serious tone, "I'm just glad that we're best friends."
"Me too," I said, grinning back at her. "Especially since you basically just told me I have big boobs and a nice ass," I joked, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.
"Oh yeah," Brite said, unable to stop herself from smiling. "If I ever go bi, you'll definitely be my first target."
"Fuckin' sweet," I said, before we finally walked into the kitchen.
Mya was sitting at the table, enjoying her own Lucky Charms - something that I didn't get to enjoy myself, since it was seven already, and the bus usually swings around five minutes after.
"Brite told me not tell you that she was sneaking in on you," Mya said, grinning at me behind her big bowl of cereal. "Did it work?"
"Hells yea!" Brite said victoriously, fist bumping Mya.
"Hey, you guys," I said, looking them both straight in their eyes, "Fuck you."
"I told you, I'm not experimenting yet!" Brite yelled back at me.
Upon me losing my shit all together and laughing hysterically, my dad walked into the kitchen. He looked grim, like he had since the day Marshall stormed out after the gigantic fight he had with Dad.
He hadn't talked to Marshall, and he hadn't asked about him; he just disregarded the situation like it hadn't even happened.
"Have you talked to Marshall?" Mya asked quietly, sending me a trouble looked right as Dad walked in.
I silently nodded and then stole a glance at my dad. He had the newspaper in his hand, and didn't really say much as he sat down at the head of the table like he always did and began to read.
"We're leaving for school, Dad," I alerted him, sending Brite and Mya a look. They nodded at me knowingly - they knew the deal with Dad, of course.
"Have a good day," He replied, not really paying attention to me.
I knew that my dad wasn't a very emotional person - that little 'gene' or whatever he had most definitely was passed down to me and Marshall.
But when it came to things that count (like his family for instance, or especially Mom), he usually knew what to do.
From the way my dad's jaw was set, I knew that he wanted to say something, but he didn't know whether or not he should say it.
"Go on ahead to the bus. Don't be late." He said, sounding more and more like the usual 'Dad' than he had in a while.
I swallowed a little lump in my throat that seemed to appear out of nowhere. I thought he was going to say something about Marshall - it was the only logical thing that he would possibly want to say something about.
But of course he didn't say anything. He was Dad. He didn't talk about things as stupid as feelings; none of us did (besides Mom and Mya, of course).
I gave him a tiny little smile, like I was reassuring him that it was okay, that he didn't need to say anything right now because I understood.
The three of us walked outside, and saw the bus slowly making its way up from the street.
I could see Dominic, like an idiot, hanging out the window and waving to us as the bus approached.
"What an asshole," Brite muttered as he came closer and closer. "And I can't believe he's still dating that whore."
I opened my mouth to scold Brite for referring to Elise, who was supposed to be our friend, a whore. After everything happened, things turned serious, Brite had broken up with Charlie.
Brite was convinced that he had cheated with Elise, but every time she asked, Charlie refused. She didn't believe him, and that was the end of that.
Deep in my heart, I had a feeling that he actually didn't cheat on her with Elise, but I couldn't really convince Brite. Usually, I could persuade her, but with Charlie, she felt like she knew him much better than I did.
As I started to say something, I saw a white-headed figure poke out from the bushes a few houses down.
"Who the hell is that?" I said out loud, losing my train of thought.
Both Brite and Mya pivoted their heads to see what I was staring at. Brite tilted her head forward and squinted her eyes.
"Is…is that Ivan?" She asked, sounding like she couldn't believe it. "Why would he run all the way down here when he lives two blocks away from the school?"
"Beats me," I shrugged, ceasing to give a fuck. I stole another quick glance at him. "Sheesh, he's running fast. He should try out for the track team, or something."
"What a weirdo," Mya sneered, barely paying attention as she walked up the walkway to the bus.
Mya didn't really like Ivan - if that wasn't obvious.
She thought Ivan was competing with Dre to be with me (which, in a way, they were, but in a much less flattering way than how she worded it), and she didn't like Ivan because she liked Dre more.
"Whatever," I said, ignoring Mya's comment.
I still liked Ivan; he was one of my best friends. Besides Dre, he was the one who actually cared for me and tried to help me in the crappy situation the three of us were in.
We finally started to walk towards the bus, when I noticed out the corner of my eye that Ivan was gaining speed. A lot of speed, actually.
"Mel!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. I stopped to turn my head, and then I felt the impact of him as his entire body slammed into me, knocking me to the ground in the process.
"I missed you," He cooed, practically mounted on top of me. His face was a good inch away from my face, as I shrunk my head away from his against the grass.
I was too shocked by his full-on body slam that I didn't really reply. When I didn't say anything, he finally he got up from his position, and put extended his hand to help me back up on my feet.
"I…missed you, too?" I said dubiously, a little confused by his excited reaction. We had literally talked on the phone half an hour ago, after all.
"Sweet," He said, grinning.
Before I could say anything else, he grabbed me by the hips, smashed my body up against his, and kissed me as hard as he could on the lips, much to my chagrin; I should add.
"Nice!" I could hear Dominic yell from the bus. "Finally, free porn!"
What a great first day back. I thought to myself sarcastically in my head.