PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE. IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)

Mila Cervantes slammed her bedroom door with such force that the walls seemed to tremble. Her scream of frustration echoed through the house, a raw expression of the storm raging within her. She had been caught graffitiing an alleyway, an act of rebellion that had backfired spectacularly, landing her in serious trouble. Now, she was grounded, confined to her room, and seething with anger. She felt isolated from her boyfriend, alienated from her family, and consumed by a rage she couldn't understand or control.

In her fury, Mila tore her room apart. She threw her pillows across the room, sending them crashing against the walls. Her eyes, wild with anger, searched for something to take her frustration out on. Her gaze settled on the wall. Without thinking, she balled her fist and punched the plaster with all her might. Her hand went through the wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain up her arm. She pulled her fist back, bits of plaster falling to the floor, and looked at the damage she had done. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she barely noticed. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil inside her.

The sound of her outburst reverberated through the house, drawing immediate attention. Her bedroom door flew open, and there stood her father, George, her stepmother, Natasha, and her sister, Marisol, all looking shocked and concerned. Marisol's eyes widened in disbelief. She had been worried about Mila's increasingly erratic behavior for some time. Given their family history, Marisol had feared that Mila might have the same mental illness that she and their mother had: bipolar disorder. But Mila's symptoms were different. The more Marisol observed, the more she began to suspect that her sister might be dealing with borderline personality disorder, a condition their grandmother had struggled with.

George took a step back, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. Natasha, her accent thick and comforting, took a tentative step forward and reached out to Mila. "Mila, what's going on?" she asked gently, trying to take her hands. Mila snatched her hands away, her face twisted in anger and defiance.

"I think it's stupid! Everything is stupid!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. Marisol bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears. She didn't understand what was happening to her little sister, and the pain of seeing Mila like this was almost too much to bear.

"Mila—" Marisol began, but before she could say anything, Mila shoved her back violently.

"Leave me alone! I wish you would die!" Mila screamed, the words hanging in the air like a curse. She immediately regretted saying it, but it was too late. Marisol's heart skipped a beat, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She turned and fled to her own room, the sting of her sister's words cutting deep.

George shook his head in disbelief and anger. "Mila Cervantes, you are going to stay in this room and think about what you did. And clean this room! After that, you are going to apologize to your sister," he demanded, his voice firm and unyielding. He slammed her bedroom door shut, leaving Mila alone in her rage and regret.

Mila sank to the floor, clutching her throbbing hand. The room around her felt like a prison, and the weight of her actions pressed down on her chest. She knew she needed help, but the anger and confusion inside her made it hard to reach out. The hole in the wall seemed to mirror the one in her heart, a gaping void she didn't know how to fill. She looked around her trashed room, the mess a reflection of her internal chaos. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, trying to calm the storm within.

In the silence that followed, Mila's mind raced. She thought about her family, the words she had said to Marisol, and the look of hurt on her sister's face. Guilt gnawed at her, but it was swallowed up by the overwhelming tide of anger and frustration. She knew she needed to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she sat there, lost in her own turbulent thoughts, wondering how she had gotten to this point and how she could ever make things right.

Mila heard her name being called and reluctantly made her way downstairs. As she entered the kitchen, she saw her dad, stepmom, and sister seated at the table, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. Mila crossed her arms defensively. "What?" she snapped.

Marisol, still hurt and angry, glared at her sister. "Mila, lose the attitude—" she started, but Natasha gently nudged Marisol in the side. "Not now," she whispered, trying to keep the peace.

George stood up, his posture firm. "You are going to live with your Aunt Shannon for a little while," he declared. "Hopefully, this hostility will be gone, but if we hear you're still acting out, you are going to therapy and we'll further discuss you coming home. Before you go pack, your sister deserves an apology."

Mila's face softened, and her arms dropped to her sides. "Um..." she looked over at Marisol, feeling the weight of her actions. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, her voice small but genuine. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked back upstairs to her room.

Marisol sighed deeply, her emotions a mix of relief and lingering hurt. "Do you guys really think this will work?" she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

Natasha nodded reassuringly. "With my sister being now clean and sober, she's gonna be tough on her to make sure this delinquent behavior doesn't happen anymore. Plus, Robby will be there and will watch her closely," Natasha explained.

George placed a comforting hand on Marisol's shoulder. "We're doing what we think is best for her, and for all of us. She needs a change of environment and someone who can give her the tough love she needs right now," he said.

Marisol nodded slowly, understanding the reasoning behind their decision but still feeling the sting of her sister's words. "I just hope she gets better," she said softly.

Natasha gave her a reassuring smile. "She will. We just have to be patient and support her from a distance for now," she said.

Meanwhile, upstairs in her room, Mila was sitting on her bed, surrounded by the chaos she had created. Her pillows were strewn across the floor, and the hole she had punched in the wall was a stark reminder of her anger. She began to gather her belongings, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag haphazardly. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, regret, fear, and a tiny flicker of hope.

As she packed, she replayed the scene downstairs in her mind. She felt a pang of guilt for pushing Marisol and shouting those hurtful words. Deep down, she knew she didn't mean them. Her anger had taken control, and now she was facing the consequences.

She picked up a framed photo of her and Marisol from happier times, their smiles wide and genuine. Tears welled up in her eyes as she traced her finger over the glass. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty room, wishing she could take back everything she had said and done.

Downstairs, George and Natasha sat at the kitchen table, discussing the logistics of Mila's stay with Shannon. Marisol lingered in the doorway, watching them with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Shannon is expecting her tomorrow," George said, rubbing his temples. "She's prepared to take her in and give her the structure she needs."

Natasha nodded. "It'll be good for Mila. Shannon is tough but fair, and Robby will keep an eye on her. They've got a lot of activities planned to keep her busy and out of trouble."

Marisol stepped into the kitchen, her voice hesitant. "What if she doesn't change? What if she comes back and she's still... angry?"

George sighed, looking at his eldest daughter with weary eyes. "We're doing everything we can, Marisol. Sometimes, people need a drastic change to find their way. We'll support her, but she has to want to change too."

Natasha reached out and took Marisol's hand. "We'll get through this together, as a family. She'll come back stronger. We just have to believe in her."

Marisol nodded, squeezing her stepmother's hand. "I hope you're right," she said softly, her heart heavy with worry.

In her room, Mila zipped up her bag and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall. She felt the weight of her family's decision pressing down on her, a mixture of anger and sadness bubbling inside. But somewhere, buried beneath the turmoil, was a small seed of hope. Maybe this was the fresh start she needed. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to heal and come back to her family as the person she wanted to be.

The next morning came, and Mila found herself standing in front of Shannon's apartment building. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder and a small suitcase in her hand, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, revealing Shannon with a broad smile on her face. "Mila! It's so good to see you!" Shannon exclaimed, pulling her niece into a warm hug. She ushered Mila inside, talking quickly. "Your room is right there, my room's over here, and Robby's room is just down the hall. He'll be here sometimes; other days he'll be at his dad's. I need to head out to a meeting, but tonight we'll have a movie marathon, okay?"

Before Mila could respond, Shannon had grabbed her purse and was out the door, leaving Mila standing alone in the small, tidy apartment. She sighed deeply and dragged her suitcase into the room that would be hers for the foreseeable future. She flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mila groaned, rolling her eyes in frustration as she got up to answer it. When she opened the door, she found Anthony standing there, looking concerned. She immediately tried to close the door, but Anthony stuck his foot in to stop her.

"Mila, I just wanna talk!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with desperation.

Mila sighed heavily and opened the door wider, crossing her arms. "Speak. What do you want?"

Anthony stepped inside, his eyes pleading. "You! What's going on with you?"

Mila furrowed her eyebrows, her expression guarded. "What do you mean?"

Anthony shook his head in disbelief. "You know what I mean! I know you. I know you better than anyone. This isn't you," he rambled, frustration evident in his voice.

Mila shrugged, looking away. "I don't know," she said quietly.

Anthony stared at her, his face a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you doing? Living at your Aunt Shannon's place, telling your sister to die, shutting me out—why are you acting like this?" he begged for answers.

Mila shrugged again, tears welling up in her eyes. "I don't know, okay? I don't even know if we can still date. I've got my own issues, okay? Bye," she said, her voice breaking.

She slammed the door shut, leaning against it as tears began to stream down her face. She slid down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and she didn't know how to fix it.

Anthony stood on the other side of the door, his heart aching for Mila. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. He turned and walked away, feeling helpless and lost.

Inside the apartment, Mila tried to pull herself together. She wiped her tears and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She knew she had to face her problems, but she had no idea where to start. The journey ahead seemed daunting, but she hoped that maybe, just maybe, being at Shannon's would help her find a way through the darkness.

ASH SPEAKS!

i told yall season six wasn't gonna be mila's season:(

one week til i write this book again officially!!