. . . . .

"LOOK AT THE STARS!" I sang into my makeup brush. "Look how they shine for youuu!" I bopped my head as I dabbed a little bit of highlighter and blush onto my cheeks. I continued to hum under my breath and leaned over to pick up the hairspray on my desk. I pressed down on the can's bud and sprayed it all around my hair to lock in the curls I had spent all morning doing.

With the can and makeup brush still in my hands, I walked in front of the mirror and stared at myself. I was wearing a white short skirt, a black cardigan, and a cute little pearl necklace. I wouldn't normally wear something so, different, but today I felt like it — minus the words from the text last night in big bold lettering that I was doing so hard to forget about. It was probably just a prank. It had happened before.

I settled the items in my hands onto my desk and grabbed my phone from the charger, hopping down the stairs and over to my shoes, slotting my feet into my sneakers. I had already made my breakfast as soon as I woke up, and clearly, the blueberry oatmeal had set me up for the day. I hadn't felt like this in a very long time.

Happy. On top of the world.

I wanted to feel like this every day, that way I didn't fear anything.

I dropped my phone into my school bag and hauled it over my shoulder, keys in hand as I locked the door behind me. Mom had the day off today, spending her day resting in bed like she needed. I had woken her up this morning to a glass of water and some toast, which she gladly had before going back to sleep again. I left her a P&J sandwich on the kitchen counter as thanks for letting me stay up late and for drinking wine on a school night. I didn't have a hangover which was weird considering after I tucked my Mom into bed I went down and finished the whole bottle.

Turning on the radio to listen to some music, I changed gear and started reversing out. But just as I was about to switch into first gear and head off to Starbucks to grab myself a quick coffee, my phone chimed in my bag. I stilled, and felt sick. It was a strange phenomena that happened every time it had gone if this morning. Every notification made me feel sick to the stomach that it could be who messaged me last night, and that they were back for more. But they always turned out to be a Instagram notification or even a message from my friends.

But maybe it was different this time, like any other time this morning.

I switched off the car and took out my phone, setting it in my lap before turning it over and switching it on to which I was left staring at a message from Callum, which took me by surprise. I looked up at the time on my phone and on the radio and started to pull out of the drive when my phone buzzed, making me jump. I looked at my bag and sighed. Stupid technology. I took my phone out of my bag and switched it on, my screen booming with the time, 7:09 am.

Who could it be this early on in the morning, huh?

It was Callum. Ha!

Hadn't seen him in a long while. Now he had remembered I was here alive. I pressed on the message notification, not satisfied with his abruptness.

Callum, 7:09 am
I'm so sorry, but this is the truth.

*Callum sent an image*

As soon as I opened the image up, spectacle of what Callum was wanting me to know about, I pushed open the car door and ran back inside, over to the bathroom. In seconds, my head pounding and feeling as if it was being crushed by a vice. Before I knew it, I was throwing up, and I couldn't stop.

It was my Dad and Mrs Walker — my Kindergarten teacher. They were looking a little more than friendly.

My hands were grasping the toilet seat with as much intensity as my stomach was using. My skin burned with tears and I ached all over, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Even my throat was closing up, blocking my airways to even breathe, and now I was panicking. Everything around me was blurry and I could feel the twitch in my heart telling me how badly I was straining. This happened for over five minutes, and when I finally managed to get the lady of it out, I slammed my hand on the flush and slumped against the toilet seat; the world was spinning.

I felt hopeless.

I was gasping rapidly for air as I went to grab a tissue to wipe my mouth clean, feeling how weak I was that I couldn't even hold myself up. My legs were wobbly just as much as the world was spinning in circles and my vision was blurry and unrecognisable. I felt limp, disoriented, and weak.

But after another five minutes slumped against the toilet seat, I knew I couldn't wait around here all day, basking in my self-pity. I had to get up and sort myself out — if Mom came down and saw me like this, how was I supposed to tell her about what I saw. What Callum and I both know now.

I clasped my hands on the sides of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror before me. My eyes were dark, covered with messy mascara whilst my porcelain skin cracked. The façade. I was cracking and it was showing now. No matter how hard I astride to keep it at bay. It was finally happening.

I spat into the sink, grabbing a handful of tap water to drown out the gagging taste of sick.

I hadn't ever been like this before. Yeah, I had anxiety and yeah I felt panicky at times, but never like this. This time it was different, worse, uncontrollable. It felt like I was dying, like every cloud of oxygen left my body, leaving me for dead. My chest was rising and falling rapidly, my head still wrapping around what I had seen — who I had seen. Who I wished I didn't see. I was crumbling, and I was scared I wouldn't be able to keep myself afloat.

Fifteen minutes passed, and I knew I wasn't going to go to school today. I was so hopeful, too. So optimistic. How naïve of me.

When I regained back my strength that had curtly left me minutes ago, I walked back to the car and grabbed my phone. The device was searing hot as I had left it on my seat in the view of the sun that was hammering down with no remorse, so I headed back inside, my stomach empty but my mind compacted with everything and anything.

As soon as I collapsed onto the couch as it was the nearest thing there was, I unlocked my phone again, the same familiar sickly feeling rising in my throat; I gulped it down and took a second.

Callum hadn't just stopped at two messages, he had messaged multiple times since the photo. He was just notifying me about how hard this was on him too — but he wasn't the one who was blindly reacting to this. He must've knew about them before since he went out his way to find them together at some house. He knew where he was, or where she was. He wanted to find something, whereas I didn't, and I didn't want any of this to happen. Even if it was for the better.

I didn't want to accept it — because if U did then it became real, and I wanted nothing for everything to go back to the good old days.

I didn't want to accept the fact that my dad was having an affair on Mom. My beautiful, caring, STRONG, mother. Did she even know about it? I couldn't decipher if I wanted her to or not.

I took in a deep breath and twisted myself onto my stomach, head hitting the pillow with a thump. I sent my friends a quick message to say that I was staying home this morning, and I had got a successful streak of messages back, all worried and all. But I was fine— or at least I would be soon.

In a couple of months, maybe.

I switched off my phone and fell asleep, my mind not holding me accountable for any little thing I had done as I dropped into peace. Not even that picture of Mrs. Walker and my Dad entering a house— her house, I could only presume.

I slept and when I awoke, I tried to drink something. But I couldn't. It was like my body was blocking every food and drink there was but I knew I needed something because my stomach still felt very much empty and my head was already so clouded with thoughts that I couldn't even comprehend what they were anymore. It all just became one big blur and it was hard to even focus when my throat was burning so badly.

Thirty minutes passed with my head in my hands, eyes closed and blurry eyes, swelling with hot tears. I knew I couldn't just stay sitting here, wallowing in pity and thinking about everything going wrong in my life, so I got back into my car and fastened up my seatbelt with shaky, clammy hands. Soon, I reversed out of the drive, driving at a snail's pace along the street, whilst the picture Callum had sent me was playing over and over and over again in my head like a record player. I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know how to forget it. But it was doing me a great deal of harm.

I cried too much that I honestly didn't think anything was left.

Beep.

"Shit!" I yelped as I abruptly swerved into the correct lane on the road. I had never done that before. Fuck, maybe I shouldn't be driving.

I frantically turned around to check the car I had almost crashed into but nothing new was happening. The car was continuing to drive along the road, just the mere thought of almost dying or being in a great deal of pain if it wasn't for them beeping their horn.

The slow car journey was tiresome and made me think. Maybe too much, and I didn't like it. I could get lost in my mind sometimes and when I arrived, I couldn't remember how I had gotten there. How had I not crashed for real this time?

I gulped when I noticed the house, suddenly regretting the stupid idea to stalk them when I was in my most vulnerable state. But I needed answers. No thanks to the street sign in the photo, I wouldn't be here right now — and I didn't know if that was for the good.

I hid my car behind a black SUV and sat quietly, waiting in deafening silence for something to happen.

Anything.

This was already too much to cope with.

I glanced at the clock in my car and gulped.

My throat was burning raw and my forehead was scolding hot.

So much for taking on what today had to bring.

I waited there for ages. Nothing new was happening — only that people who had work would get in their flashy cars and drive off. But the house remained untouched.

Shaking my head, I started up the engine, shaky hands wrapping tightly around the wheel, squeezing it with all my might. I deserved this.

I deserved my best friend leaving me.

I deserved the anonymous texts.

I deserved having fucked up, one-sided feelings for a heartthrob.

I deserved this — I deserved it all!

Thump!

That was a door.

Switching off the engine, I peered up at the multi-story house. The door was open, and there was a guy who had stepped out, clothed up in a grey sleek suit and holding a briefcase.

Unfortunately, though I knew it was fortunate since I didn't want to believe it, the guy was facing away from me. I was sitting right at the edge of my seat, my chin resting on the top part of the wheel.

I wanted it to not be him so bad, but I had a gut feeling that I already knew the answer. An answer I didn't want to believe.

It was like it was playing in slow-motion. My fingernails were digging into my palms, the first initial sting as they tried to break the surface of my skin. But as a whole, with everything at stake here, that didn't matter. What did, however, was the guy I was looking at, hoping desperately from the bottom of my heart that it wasn't him. But the unthinkable happened — and sick was rising in my throat.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot." I shook my head, slamming it down onto the steering wheel a minute later. Tears were escaping and flowing from my eyes down onto my legs, a cold sensation jerking me alert. Then I got used to it, scrunching my eyes closed as hard as I could muster. You fucking asshole.

I glanced up, my body shaking all over. Dad had turned around for a mere second, smiling, laughing. But then he turned back around to wave to someone who I couldn't quite see at first. Only when they were emerging from the doorway and resting against the doorframe. I watched as he blew them a kiss, and a hand grabbed it in the air. A hand belonging to her, Mrs. Walker.

I watched and I watched, seeing Mrs. Walker in her prime. She was wearing a white silk sleeping gown and pink slippers, whilst her hands cradled her stomach. Her stomach?

While he was here, staying with me and Cal's Kindergarten teacher, Mom was giving her all at work, scared to not be able to pay the bills or get a meal on the table in the evening. He was here, having a second life. Well, that was a pussy thing of him to do. Only pussys did that, clearly not being able to stick at what they already had, but being able to salvage that relationship, that love, those raw emotions, and feelings just because someone else was a better fuck. No phone call, no text message, no nothing. He didn't fucking turn up to any school plays, any sports events, or even any awards evenings where his 'Golden Girl' won an award for being the most kind to her peers.

Where was he when Mom would book herself off work to come down and see me?

Where was he when Mom would be tucking me into bed after a long shift, only getting to see her for a fraction of a whole long day when I'd be cooped up with my auntie whilst she was at work saving people's lives?

Where was he?

Well this explains it. He was here playing second families.

I couldn't bare to cry anymore, finding this funny rather than sad. I laughed even harder when some kids ran out into his arms, and when Mrs. Walker rubbed her belly again. She was fucking pregnant, and whatever gender that baby was, I was going to be related to it.

Instead of running back home and crying into the comfort of my bed — which was really fucking convincing — I drove down to the beach instead. As soon as I got there, I just walked. Walked all the way down to the pathway me and my friends took just yesterday — though now it was just filled with a terrible memory. No smiles and laughter.

I hadn't been down to the beach by myself in a very long time. It was calming, serene, and fucking peaceful. But it made me think of the past, like the good old days when Betty and I would have sleepovers every weekend. When we were sleeping at her house, we'd always steal the large pot of Nutella and crepes, whilst at mine we'd always take chips and a chili dip. It was just that way ever since our second sleepover. We always got into trouble together, just the way we liked it — and our parents would ground us just because we decided to sneak out to the beach late at night.

I missed the old days when me and Callum were close. When we'd bake together and run around catching each other in a game of tag. We were great kids and I had never understood how much he was there for me. He helped me learn how to tie my shoes since Dad was always away and Mom was always at work. He also helped me to ride a bike — with Mom's help when she had the chance. But it was an utter disaster and would go into my bedroom with bruised legs and arms.

It's not hard to ride a bike, Willow. Dad said.

I'll try harder tomorrow. Harder than before. I told him — and I was serious. My Dad's words gave me the motivation I needed to push myself even harder. I needed to try harder instead of accepting my defeats. Even if his words were a little distasteful, but had the right meaning behind them, I had to thank him for his words. I always was able to move them and change them into something much nicer, much more caring. If it wasn't for him, I'd be shaped so much differently.

Much more softer, and you couldn't be like that in the world today.

I perched myself onto a pretty silver and orange rock under the pier and pulled my legs up to my chest, leaning my chin on my knees whilst the glistening ocean smashed a little calmer today against some rocks. The beach wasn't as busy as it was yesterday and this time, no one was surfing — which allowed me to just sit there and soak in the ambiance — and to touch bases with myself.

I was soaking in the warm heat shining down on me from the blazing sun up above. I was soaking in the smell of sea salt that was wafting into my nose. I was soaking in the sight of the aqua blue waves crashing down against every rock and pebble and that made me want to just dive right in and swim until I reached somewhere that wasn't here. Somewhere that was really far away.

Would anyone care?

A/N: