Nicotine. It's an escape that people take. The drug helps the mind calm down by blocking the rising levels of cortisol in your blood. Is this true? Probably. But nevertheless, it's a drug. Taken only by those at the precipice of mental breakdown as the overwhelming feeling of anxiety bubbles deep within one's body slowly climbs over one's back.
The sight of the hue of frilly pinks contrasting with the dull grays and blacks is a sight to behold to the uninformed and untrained eye, but for a certain someone it brings comfort. It's strange how these colors clash in both vibes and aesthetic and yet here she revels in both mirrors of the sane and insane. A personal safe space where the cracks in her facade could be carefully plastered with a brand new reassurance that everything will be alright if she simply weathered the storm.
The room was a clash of vibrant pessimism that takes in the brutalist nature of the world and decorated it with a mixture of frilly pink cuteness and gothic lolita; her bed is littered with small cute characters from noticeable mediums that came out of Japan and the United States.
As posters and works of art littered her walls, she took a massive puff and then breathed out a large cloud of smoke. The feeling of a familiar white plushie with two large blue eyes and long fluffy ears gave comfort to her wandering mind; she clutched it tighter to her chest with a small sad smile. The scent of tobacco and lavender clashed in the room as the calm midnight breeze made its way in, rustling the curtains slightly with a gentle sway that also made her messy hair move slightly.
The music blasted out of her headphones as she scratched her left tit; Despite not wearing a bra, the weight on her chest never seemed to ease itself out. As problems stacked atop problems, the constant anxiety on the weight of her actions caused her to be on edge for about a week now. Moonlight peeked through the passing clouds and grazed her sickly pale skin, as the vibrations of the bass of her earphones kept her distracted long enough; a thought emerged from the depths of her mind that she tried so badly to lock up.
A sigh escapes as she couldn't contain the disbelief of the past few days, after getting out of a car crash of emotions; meeting that damned fool that was ready to throw himself off a bridge and now at her very feet. It was an intense mixture of the most intoxicating concoction that God had to offer to her, a vial of uncertainty in her already chaotic lifestyle.
Before she could continue to even ponder at this ridiculous shitshow with her as the main character; Her door creaked open slightly revealing a silhouette of the only person she could trust.
As the light from the hallway entered into her bleak and contrasting room, a figure stood by the door and cast a large shadow against the wall that might as well devoured her whole. Lyanna smirked, it was a familiar shadow; A shadow she so gleefully chased for over a decade, trying to imitate somebody that she could never truly copy. The one thing that irritated her so much was the fact that she knows the truth; an imitation can never be as good as the original piece.
Pride and Prejudice would swell when she would be outshined by a star that was far brighter than what she can ever hope to be. The blood, sweat, and tears of their beloved mother; Groomed to perfection at every opportune moment of their existence while all Lyanna could do is live in the shadows of her older sister.
Silence made its way in before her sister asked a single question that made Lyanna turn her head from the window. "You're still awake?"
Lyanna loved her sister dearly, yet she detested her voice. Not out of anger or envy towards her sister, but because it's a massive contrast between the two of them. A voice far mellower and soothing than hers will ever be; she hated the fact that she could sing better than Lyanna could even dream and yet she barely did anything with it.
But as tired and battered as she already was, all Lyanna could speak was a simple nod before the gloom in her eyes settled back in. A temporary respite from the never-ending toil of reality to her fragile psyche, Lyanna was glad to see her sister once more.
After all, her sister felt more motherly than their mother. A maternal figure to both look and challenge was something she welcomed; with a directionless life and still reeling from everything, Lyanna was just glad to still have someone to cling onto.
"I brought some food if you're hungry." she spoke and then carefully closed the door.
Before her sister could leave, Lyanna waved at her and with a small smile spoke:
"Love you sis."
The darkness returned from the corners and once more Lyanna was alone and at the mercy of her thoughts. The whispers of the void lingered all over the parts of her head that were still functional and rational; though crying wouldn't do much, she had already broken down earlier in the week.
The strongest wills face the hardest challenges; Lyanna kept telling herself that. Despite all the misery and suffering, she can never give up on everything. He had already shown her the purest form of love that she could ever hope to achieve, and yet she still yearns for all.
There's this one particular maxim that many have really taken into heart. However, what many never know is that even if beauty is in the eye of the beholder; not everyone will always have the same, similar, and mirrored viewpoint on what are the accepted standards of beauty. It could be a particular hairstyle, one that fits the way a person's face is structured.
For some it could be one's eyes as they gaze into a future they wish to spend with that particular individual, maybe even to dare gaze into the true naked soul of a living and breathing human being. However, there are those that believe that the eyes reveal the unfiltered and ugly truth; No matter how much one can hide behind layers of foundation and mascara, the contours of the colors of one's face will always be overshadowed by this lingering and unsettling feeling of nakedness.
For Lyanna, beauty means everything. Each stroke, each dab, each gentle and precise caress of her eyelashes; Aesthetics are her everything. A single flaw meant death as her entire existence relies heavily on this facade that she had carefully built over the last few years. It is her armor of faith, her unbreaking shield, and her first line of defense against those who seek to manipulate her. The blush which looked artificial only added to this collection of mystique for the levels of iron in her body is dangerously low; Pills would litter her room, many considered supplements, some are multivitamins, others considered placebos.
She is pretty. For some, beautiful. To many, gorgeous. To her, hideous.
Lyanna stared at the most recent picture taken of her, the canvas of the dark sky and the light which shone unto her somewhat delicate and pale skin; a smile which seemed genuine looked fake to nobody else but her. The picture was beautiful, the subject, the backdrop, the angle, the lightning; yet even with all these coalescing together to paint a work of art only seen in museums, she could never accept that fact.
If there was no woman on Earth as beautiful as her, then why did he escape to another realm where other women exist to take advantage of his instability. She looked unto him as her savior, the one who pulled her out of an abyss so deep that only a miracle would've saved her already forsaken soul. Her once fragile body was nurtured and held within his ever caring arms, her fragile psyche pieced together by this person who tore himself apart and fixed this broken bisque doll using his own flesh and bone.
She sighed as the sanguine color which lingered on her lips slowly dissipated as time went on by. That unfortunate day slowly returned to her; holding back this blossoming feeling of bittersweet melancholy; all she could do was laugh at the absurdity of that day.
It was like a romance novel, under the horrible downpour at midnight. Crying and screaming her lungs out as that bus that carried half of her entirety—the man who had saved her from the abyss just to place her back in—left to seek greener pastures.
He told her that she'd live a life now that she was whole again. That she had an indestructible will, that her sorrows were no longer her worries. He wore that stupid bracelet that she got him for his birthday, his rugged hair and unshaven face, the deep bags under his eyes as he tried to stay composed even if their worlds were about to crumble. She remembered how she knelt on the concrete, begged him to stay, told him that she'd fix things and set everything right. That even with all their imperfections they'd make it all work—because that's what they do best.
The taste of that last drop of liquid courage as he stepped into the bus and gave her a final smile that she'll never forget till the day she died. A smile that she'll forever bear till the end of time and a smile that'll no longer return to the sanctuary that is her heart. It would take her a second to realize that a tear had already run down her cheek, ruining the carefully and elaborately placed powder on her face. She just sighed and placed everything down, for at this point she'd have to restart all over again. Even if the day is about to end, there's this urge to wear this mask of hers even if there's nothing to be done.
Restart.
She wondered if it could even be done.
To begin again, to let go. Like a casino in the middle of a desert, built to stand as a testament of one's love only to serve as the tomb of the very person it swore to represent.
No matter what beauty she exhibited, there's this understanding of the unforgiving truth. She'll never be Aphrodite for gods no longer realm this godless world. She figured that she's just another Helen; fought over by savage and simple minded me fueled by an insatiable list and greed. But she knew that her face would launch a war so great, so catastrophic, that it may very well end in a Greek tragedy. It already happened once after all, what's stopping another one?
But never let yourself be unguarded, for this Helena strikes like a spiteful Gorgon. Her fury unmatched as within her ever deepening sorrow lies a storm which never called after this disgrace that she would experience at his hands.
Her arctic glares and tempestuous attitude deters those aiming to taste this ambrosia of hers which she never gave away for years as a testament to her devotion to a man who'd never return; her words, though never on par with the oracles and wordsmiths, are still as sharp as the thorns of a beautifully blood-covered rose which grew in a lush garden. Where others died or decayed this rose stands, defiant of all the evils and sins of this world, Lyanna stands.
Because, even with all the disgusting stares, the carving words of lewdness, the disrespectful attempts to touch her carefully guarded temple.
She waits. She endures. She believes.
The man who'd saved her from the death of her persona, his promises carved into her very soul which shattered on his departure. These words are the only things left for her to cling onto as the distance between her and her sister grows ever larger, as the world becomes more ludicrous, more disgusting, more manipulative.
Lyanna closed the windows of her room, the moon no longer shining down at her now naked body which had departed from the clothes that kept her warm. Her skin feels the warm and silky textures of her bed and blankets; a similar feeling to a light hug which encapsulates her entirety.
She tossed and turned before grabbing a pillow by her side and held it tightly to her chest. More tears would stream down her face as her heart began to race.
Alone. Naked. Tired. Afraid.
Lyanna's throat forced one last sound before she'd try to escape to a world where she's safe.
"Please come back home…" she muttered.
But before she'd join Morpheus, the loud buzzing of her phone would interrupt her slow descent to the darkness.
It was the man from the bridge. A small smile formed on her face.