...

I would like to think of myself as a poet.

For hours and more hours longer, I found myself writing about whatever I could; the most ridiculous themes until my fingers bled from the woodenly numbered two pencils. My craftsmanship came down to the ideas of which words looked right together, which colors schemes made sense to me collaborating and how art could make a sound.

When I was a child, my father told me I was more oddly satisfied by watercolors and could never be soothed by bottles of porcelain milk. In buckets of paint, my protruding thumbs went, then out came my source of rawly veracious happiness.

Sadly enough, my happiness died a long time ago with my father after he'd succumbed to extensive, antagonizing years of cancer. I slowly watched him decline over the expansion of my fluid speakeasy phase. I doused myself in bourbon for weeks, gin became tasteless as it never left my sour lips.  I didn't know if I'd ever recover.

Eventually I did.

But it wasn't easy.

I must admit to no one but my subconscious mind , that after his death, I was a mess, just like any other person would be; I was not perfect. With me knowing this, I became all the more self deprecating as I deteriorated socially. My friends wouldn't speak to me, mom always busy. I didn't have any siblings, not that I knew of anyway. I had time to fully indulge what it was like being alone, however it never felt good to me.

It has been a year since I've last been softened by my father's smile, I didn't have to worry about his intellectual curiosity rubbing off on me.

I didn't have to worry about him anymore.

Instead, paint brushes and colored pencils weren't just utensils anymore that turned me on, paper was no longer just something to write on. No, my art could think for itself and it made noise. Canvas, notebooks, and even crayons were all now weapons for the utilizing. I used these things to leave messages, it first started with postered signs until it full on became vandalism. My mother called these " further disarrangements."  As it costly got me into trouble.

Once my father died, my occupational-driven mother made life after him no better. She made living seem like death without the physically dying part. She was a general surgeon most of the time, other days she was a doctoral psychiatrist.

In short, mother was constantly getting me out of misdemeanors. The whole city loved her, she had a way with words. I guess you have to be hospitable in order to be a general surgeon, if you weren't too busy saving lives. Imagine having a misfit as a daughter, who constantly ended up behind bars for painting propaganda on a teacher's car. It couldn't have been easy, I made sure of it.

Being bad was just another thing I was good at it, and it felt extremely too right for it to be all so... wrong. To think actions were faulty at willed truly amazed me, or maybe actions were only justifiable depending on the person who committed them.

Do you know how hard it is to be appealing? Imagine choking on a hazardous toxin and then choking up artificial rainbows afterward...what's next? I'm expected to ride on a pony? Am I expected to save the day like mother?

Everyone in my hometown thought I was redeemable, well everyone but my mother.

If only she could see me now, what would she think... my hair not wildly untamable on top of my head but instead, it's slicked down nearly behind my flat ears. I didn't wear any earrings, no large hoops the size of bowls in my ear holes anymore. My old fashioned chipped blue painted nails were manicured nude. What would mother think if she saw me fully clothed and not half naked as I sat in the backseat behind Aunt Scarlett,

Aunt Scarlett drove adamantly and constantly tried at small talk.

Usually I wouldn't speak back, a few words in retort at most. But today I spoke back to her.  I spoke a lot actually.

I kept our conversations going until I couldn't bring myself to fluently keep talking. Now I remained fluently kept solid to the point it almost pained me.

I had many concerns for this new life ahead of me, but instead of voicing them, I only hugged myself tighter upon Aunt Scarlett pulling into a driveway.

Inside her black mustang, I sat with my bags packed on side of me with my notebook tucked securely into my jacket pocket. Hesitantly, I began to step outside of the vehicle being instantly greeted by winter's ashy lips.  Squinting my eyes, I took a notice of everything. From the way my chest filled with cool white air, to the sweater no longer being good enough for me against Bellinghams winter's assault.

Winter amusingly made goosebumps arouse all over my exposed skin. I could feel the heat flush around my cheeks to the very tip of my snub nose, an entirely new change of climate compared to my old home in Fresno, California.

I could hear Aunt Scarlett rustling around from behind me as her husband, my uncle Thomas, chuckled after he grabbed at my heavy suitcase and even heavier tote bags. He made a playful snarky remark, something along the lines of me harboring bricks inside of my suitcase instead of clothing. I can only imagine his response, had I told him they were my collection of documentary tapes and DVDs, that he was carrying.

And the heaviest one? Yeah, those were my interviews from the filming of the Harry Potter series. I can imagine the horror on his face if I chose to admit this, which is enough to make me giggle.

I tasted the cool air on my tongue as I bent down and fisted my hand into the soil despite ice sickles freezing every nerve on impact. I began pulling up all the rooted daises caught underneath my fingernails. After sighing for the first time, I felt a presence closer behind me. When I turn, I become face to face with my aunt. 

"I remember you and your father, always having a torch for the outdoors," She began.

"He thought he could become one with the earth. Every time he dug his fingers, burying them into soil beds of every place we've ever traveled." The resemblance was uncanny I realized as she spoke, Aunt Scarlett looked just like him; seeing as my father was her younger brother.

It was a blessing and a curse, to look like someone who would never grace this planet's surface again, who you could never lay eyes upon; leaving your mind to fainted memories. Only I could know, I was a complete clone of my mother. A reminder, each time I looked into a mirror.

"You're going to love it in Bellingham, Delilah. This town has so much potential for you here." Aunt Scarlett seizes this moment to fully embrace me into a hug which I reluctantly comply with— sulking into her chest. I could feel her warm heart beating. It was enough to tame my distaste towards the cold; chillier winds that I wasn't accustomed to. Inside of my rib cage, I could feel something else defrosting.

I batted my eyelashes to blink the tug of vulnerability away but it also yanked at my heartstrings. If this is what hope felt like, so convincing yet so harvesting, I was determined to keep it. Maybe now I could have a less traumatic beginning at a semi-decent life.

But how can I expect good fortune while both of my parents are dead, and even they lived such short, counted lives?

It was a science to be studied.

..

After comforting myself by storing away all of my personable items and accessories, I thought it would be tranquilizing enough to take a hot-scolding shower to climax the evening. More than tense, I craved instant relief. It has been over two months since I've been rehabilitated, and only several hours now have I been restored into society. I can reminisce the day without any zeroed in concentration.

Once my mother was pronounced dead, I'd been ushered simultaneously into a psychic facility for troubled teenagers like myself. That was to happen before Aunt Scarlett and Uncle Thomas took me in

For something that lasted so long, my time there was rather short-lived. I can barely recall a thing up until the point my aunt Scarlett showed up, with a sheet of paper proclaiming custody rights and heavy sympathetic blue eyes. Then suddenly, I'm here with a family I hadn't seen since I was four years of age.

Knitting my blackened coal hair, I tied its wetness into a top knot bun before wrapping a red towel smoothly around my slender body. Biting my lip back, I evaded the bathroom allowing steam to cling around my figure. Color me surprised at who I found grinning from ear to ear at me, with outstretched arms, a new face I hardly could recognize if at all. Some random stranger and most astonishingly enough, he was hugging me.

"The rumors serve you little to no justice," Scampering away, I tightened the towel even more around my boobs, closing it over my cold skin. This male frightened me damn near outside of my skeleton and he had the nerve to let his hand travel down the length of my bare shoulder. "You look nothing compared to how your cousin described."

Shuddering, my eyes flicked immediately across the room as my shoulders slouched out of discomfort, "Thanks, I guess?"

I tailor around him to near my dresser, immediately I'm pulling out a white night gown and white socks to match. I grimace before slipping on underwear underneath the towel rather quickly, in a hurry.

I grimace harder after hearing a chimed giggle ring aloud, I saw her damsel blonde hair lolling -around before she revealed herself to me with a dazzling smile and a gift bag in hand, "Lilah!" My cousin exclaimed, shouting from apparent excitement at the top of her lungs.

Even while I'm still evidently in a towel she doesn't stop herself from tumbling on top of me, knocking us both down in the process. God, how careless can Darcy be! My legs are sprawled apart so I'm pretty sure every asset I hid beyond this towel, was now fully on display.

"Oh Delilah, you haven't changed a bit," Darcy says, smothering me to death with cuddles.

Whatever could that mean, I thought.

Darcy had the features of a dove but the energy of an ape. When we were kids we spent long tampered summers in mud pies before she took interest in feminine schemed things such as makeup, luxurious attire, and of course, sex!

We were polar opposites but I'd be lying if I said she hadn't lived the easy life I've always wanted. Normal family, wealthy familiar ties, and even a healthy appearance— charisma.

She was your modern-day blonde raised in between a nuclear family down pact to the fluffy white dog, who all adored her despite her not having a casually nice personality. Don't get me wrong, I love her to pieces but she could be quite  shallow.

Clearing my throat, "it's been a long time since we've met." I say. She nodded still smiling, in agreement. "Whose your friend?" I try for conversing further.

Darcy'z squeal is enough to cease my attempt at socializing, I trail over towards my bed. My agitation towards the male dissipated slowly, once I noticed him picking at his teal-covered nails. I began smirking at this.

"Delilah, I told my mother I would take you downtown to meet some locals," The blonde's mischievous sly grin assured me, that what she would say next was the total opposite of her statement.

Maybe it was a lucky guess, but I couldn't help but to overanalyze people. Think of it as my hidden superpower.

"But that's just not what I had in mind," Underneath my towel I yanked down my silk blue panties between my legs, eyeing my cousin suspiciously. "We're going to a party." Darcy finishes, even adding a wink at the end.

After dressing myself I dropped my towel to the floor, and my hand fell to my hips, sassily. Me? At a party? I think not.

"And you are going regardless of what you have to say, we need to be out by eight," Darcy instructed.

I sucked my teeth at her, "You can't make me go, I don't want to." I turned my back entering the bathroom once again, to which she and her male companion followed.

"What do you think we should do about this Robin?" Blondie spoke with so much as the determination to assess me, as if I couldn't see nor hear her, in fact glaring at me from head to toe. "I don't know Darce, project Sandy seems indifferent about attending the party tonight." The guy Robin, shook his head in honest defeat.

Well, I thought it was an honest defeat.

Abruptly my cousin and Robin attacked me, rustling me down to the floor. Darcy chirped excitedly as I felt a dress being tugged over my head, sliding down the shaft of my legs which I clenched together.

Impatiently, I was being stood upright, forced to sit on the toilet seat. I felt pins and prickly hair clips shaping my hairline. "Project Sandy?" I questioned. Robin only nods his head.

"The project is you, if it isn't obvious." Robin peered down at me before stooping lower to my complacent level on the toilet seat, "Nice to meet you. I'm Robin Gates." He winks.

Darcy sighed while Robin sent me two encouraging thumbs up. Darcy' added a taint red hue to my lips. Visibly cringing, I caved in underneath the weight of Robin's wide arms. I could tell they were both enjoying this, so I stopped struggling to comply.

"Delilah, do you realize  how pretty you are?"

With a flickering pulse sending shivers inside of my veins, I harshly gulped down irritation while eyeing the makeup tools Darce intended to apply to my facial.

" I use to know you, Blaine. We were friends once. Let me restore you." Darcy copes, brushing my hair into tight curls.

Robin made specks of glitter shimmer down my cheek bones.

"What have you done to me Darcy." I hissed, snatching the hand mirror.

"She made you beautiful darling." Robin lazily smirks.

Darcy scoffs at his statement, fluffing my curls pridefully, "Oh don't be silly Robin," she ushered me to stand up, only to redirect me towards an even wider full body mirror. Ironic enough, I'd be lying if I said I easily perceived my own reflection.

"I only enhanced what was already apparent." Darcy clapped her hands together, applauding the work that had shone on my face.

My complexion was brighter, smoother, and softer.

Instantly blushing, my eyes widened as I gazed at the girl in front of me. God, was she so stunning.
So unfamiliar, I truly doubted whether I was seeing correctly.

This was really me.

Reinvented.

Soon enough, we were already arriving to the crappy party. Robin was more clingier to my hip with Darcy strutting before us through filtering sweaty bodies. I drank everything that was handed to me, succumbing to the punishment of superficial musky teenagers, drugs, and high attraction.

All I could see was bright colored hair, broken glass and smell the aroma of spirited marijuana. Time became fleeting, the nervousness resided at the back of the party, in the house, he sat perched up against the window— eyeing me provocatively. Nervousness waited to act, daring me to slip up and fall to hit my face, but I couldn't let it.

I could hardly breathe nor focus, feeling all sensitivity leave my being. I swayed tenderly to whatever pop music blared over my eardrums. For a brief moment, being guided by compulsion, I wanted to swim. To get away from suffocation from the crowd. So I pushed past Robin, opened the door which let outside to what I thought was the backyard.

I spotted a 40 meter inched pool, with the deepest end being 12 inches. But it was dark, I couldn't make out how far my thready legs were walking.

Before I registered my own movement, I dove head first with closed eyelids. My eye sockets were burning as they bled ginger tears, from the beer that was thrown at me half way during my plunder.

Instead of falling, it felt like I was flying.

For the last time, I moved gracefully slow before my lungs replaced oxygen with water in absolute. It might have been refreshing had I been thirsty. But at the moment, all I could feel was water, and god was it horrifying.

I couldn't really fight back the urge to inhale until everything I gulped in was liquidated.

Simultaneously, my head started pounding, lungs whining as I tried to scream.

Soon there were these piercing silver irises, until that was all I could make out behind milky vision. I didn't have time to panic, as I accepted what was to happen next. I ran out of air, my head swooning at the water crushing down my windpipe. The beholder of said irises, had began to hoist me above the raging tides of the pool, with me immediately coughing violently.

I didn't care in that moment how embarrassed I was, while the guy carried me to a pool side chair, he allowed my head to lay against his clothed chest. I curled up my legs that fell loose against his soaking wet dark blue jeans. I felt his hand cradling my head, similar to how a mother would hold her baby. He rocked me silently, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I wickedly kept coughing in his face, but all I could hear was.

"I have you."

"You're okay now."

"I got you in my arms."

Darcy ran from outside of the house, without words, grabbed a towel and handed it to my savior. Silver's eyes never left mine, even when he held the towel over my head, shielding my face from invasive humiliation. My wavy dark brown hair was doused, framing my forehead like a little boy.

I'm almost positive everyone who attended the party was now outside gauging the sight of me flustered, my cheeks had to have been redder than a tomato. All I could think about was how this insanely hot male covered my whole body with his own. He softly caressed my face in his palm, with his arms wrapped around me, protectively.

"Damn, he's already got the new girl wet." Some random guy mumbles, arousing laughter which erupted from the people around us. However, I still hadn't dared to speak, trying to catch my breathe.

I expected the guy who saved me to say anything, hell, maybe even a bold manner of defense. Yet, why would he? He did not know me well, frankly he did not know me at all.

But what he says in response to the other drunken guy is far from what I half expected.

The Silvery eyed guy had taken a step back scoffing. I could now see a blurry image of his full face. One of his eyes were silver whilst the other had made my heart panic. His right eye had been a darkening shade of hazel, the color of brandy.

Out of what I can assume to be disgust, he exchanges looks with me. "I wouldn't go that far to say I wet those panties," I feel stricken as he proceeds to walk away from me, with intentions of abandoning me to the heated attention alone.

"She's not my type." Silver mutters. Then he's gone with only the thought of him remaining.

.