Chapter 73: Chapter 73

Chapter 73 Is that even normal?

I fell asleep shivering that night and with the feeling of the cold, hard bench pressed against my side. I curled myself into a tight fetal position in an attempt to preserve as much body heat as possible.

My thoughts roamed wild from the day's previous events. First my performance, then my guitar, and finally, Colton. Something about that man draws me in, but I'm afraid.

He has a dangerous aura around him. And not only that, but I know he's locked away the majority of his emotions. He almost shows nothing, and when he does, it's gone faster than I can blink.

Is that even normal?

I remember when I spent some time in the mental asylum, many of the patients were emotionless, and it was scary. The doctors attempted to make them normal again. They tried all this medicine and counselling.

But the look that he wears....I've seen it before. The girls back at the pimp house wore the same look. I imagine I did, too, and hell, maybe I even still do.

It's the look of brokenness. Hopelessness. Surrender. Like they had completely given up on life getting better and are completely broken from the inside out.

And he is no different.

Why are you so concerned? Let it go. You shouldn't be getting involved with a possible dangerous history. He was going to steal from you if he hadn't known you, after all. I tell myself. I try so hard to convince myself, but it's not working very well.

The autumn sun didn't do much to warm my chilled skin. Its rays danced along my sealed eyelids and seemed to awake me from within. I groaned, and with a yawn, I rolled over.

And fell right off of the side of the bench with a painful thud.

My eyes shoot open and I growl in irritation. Sitting up, I stretch my sore and stiff muscles while I look at the creation in front of me. The park's green grass rolls on for hundreds of feet and it sparkles with dew. Paths wind themselves throughout the park and maple trees of oranges, reds, and yellows line the pathways.

Their shed, dead leaves blanket the dewy grass that surrounds them and the sky is alive with dark blues that fade into a lighter color as the sun rises. Wispy clouds float by leisurely without a care in the world, taunting me of that fact.

Robins and various other birds bounce around on the ground in search of worms and insects. They pluck their meals from the ground before perching themselves on nearby tree branches.

I yawn loudly and viciously rub my eyes before collapsing onto my back on the ground again. My eyes find themselves lost in the sea of leaves that hang on the branches and I sigh. Another day has come.

I know exactly how I'm going to spend this day, too.

I kick pebbles as I walk with my hands shoved into my pockets. Few people walk around with a mug of steaming coffee in their hands on their way to work. Some teenagers clamber along the sidewalks with their backpacks clinging to their backs, no doubt on their way to school.

Some of the people actually offer me smiles, and I smile back. This town is so much more....friendly than the last city I stayed in. People here seem a little more welcoming and not as judgmental as the last city I was in.

It's quite refreshing.

I make my way to the little club I work at. The building is made of old, red brick but it is otherwise in good shape and decorated nicely. It feels....homely and I enjoy the atmosphere and the feeling the place gives me.

It's nice to finally have something I enjoy in my life.

The club is still closed, and I peek in the window. Dagger sits in a little chair, sipping his coffee alone and scrolling away on his laptop that sits on a wooden table in front of him.

I smile as I press my nose against the class and knock on the glass with my knuckles. He noticeably jumps a little, obviously startled by the noise. His gaze flickers upwards and he smiles as he approaches the locked door.

"Here for your guitar?" He chirps joyfully.

I nod. "Yes I am."

"Goody! I'll go get her for you, alright?" He says.

I nod shyly and he takes off in a hurry. I don't know how to repair a guitar that's damaged, but, like Dagger said, it's possible.

I just hope he's right about that.

In no time, he's back with the beautifully broken guitar with, yet again, a smile graced upon his lips. He hands the guitar over to me and digs his hands in his pockets, fishing out his wallet.

"W-what are you doing?" I ask.

He takes out seventy bucks. "I want you to buy the materials you need to repair this ol' thing. I want you to run to the local music and buy yourself the supplies you need to doctor up that instrument and make it as good as new."

"You want me to do what?" I ask, dumbfounded.

He shrugs and chuckles humorously. "You heard me."

"Are you sur-"

"Of course I am. Now, run along, then, that little guitar isn't going to fix itself." He cuts me off.

After he gives me directions to the nearest music store, I shyly take the money from his open hands and wander back out the shop. I don't know exactly what I'll need, but, I suppose I can ask those people at the music store. They should know, right?

The door rings as I enter the large musical store. Upon entering, the smell of wood attacks my nose and a few grand pianos sit in one corner of the shop. Racks of guitars- acoustic and electric, hang on the racks.

Other instruments are also visible, and I can't help but glance around the store in awe.

It was so beautiful....instruments were my passion and I think....I think I just landed myself in heaven.

As I stood there, eyes wide like a child on Christmas, I wasn't aware that the store's owner was approaching me.

"Looking for something?"

I jump out of my dazed state and I'm snapped back into reality. Turning around, I see an old man - perhaps in his late seventies, eyeing the guitar in my hand with one eyebrow raised.

I turn the damaged instrument over and his eyes widen. "Is there anything you can do about this?" I ask.

He nods, a small smile settling onto his face. "I believe I have exactly what you might need."

* * *

The man at the music store was very nice and cordial. After inspecting my guitar, though, he told me it would be better to buy a new one altogether than to go through the trouble of trying to fix it.

But he agreed with me when I said it would be such a shame for such a beautiful guitar to go to waste. Bag and guitar in hand, I send the man my last thanks before I head out to the cemetery.

I had yet to visit my mother, and I wished for some time alone to spend at her grave. Just me, her, and the broken guitar that so much mirrors how my own life is.

The black barred fence of the cemetery became visible. The grass was green and well trimmed and the sun peeked through the grey clouds and traced the edges of the headstones with light. Black birds flocked under the willow trees whose branches beautifully draped over one another and skimmed the ground.

I searched for the headstone that matched my mother's, and after a few minutes of searching, I found her.

Her grave was beautiful. Ribbons and flowers was fresh around her grave and her headstone was carved from beautiful, expensive granite, no doubt showing off my family's wealth. That thought put a bitter taste in my mouth and I quickly expelled it from my mind.

I touched her headstone, my fingers catching upon the rough edges of the stone. Her name was engraved in cursive. Below her name said: A loving mother. A generous giver. A joy to all.

I smile sadly, wishing the words written into her headstone was true.

Perhaps, she showed a different side of her, one I never knew, to her friends. I sit down beside her grave and wrap the grass around my fingers as I struggle to find the right words to say.

I was angry. Angry because my mom had treated her own daughter like trash throughout her life. She had always degraded me, telling me I wasn't pretty enough, or good enough, to be happy in life.

But I loved her.

For some twisted reason, I always loved her.

I was angry because she didn't help me in my time of need. When I had gotten out of prison, she rejected me and left me alone to wander the streets.

Amidst the anger, deep sadness lingered.

I was sad because, all my life, I missed out on a mother's love. Everyone should have loving parents, and those that are lucky enough to have them, shouldn't take it for granted.

Because where others are bountiful, some are not.

Some have nothing.

The first words that tumbled out of my mouth wasn't the least bit nice. They were honest. They were full of emotion and they wanted revenge. It was a sudden burst of uncontrollable rage that caused my mouth to open.

"You bitch! I hate you!"

I could no longer settle to sit down. I had to stand back up and I paced around like a madman. My breathing was heavy and I was thinking so many words at once I was speechless for a few moments.

"How could you do this to me? You think you can treat your own daughter like crap all her life and then you.....j-just leave me? I know you had your own problems to deal with but....I bet you didn't know I used to self harm under your roof."

Silence choked me for a moment and I looked at the grass in shame.

"Of course you didn't know," I spit bitterly, "Because you never once asked how I was doing. You never once cared about me - or even acted like you cared about me. Do you want to know the reason behind my self harm?"

I took a deep breath, never thinking I would be admitting this aloud to me mother - deceased or alive.

"You. You were the reason. Most of my childhood I spent crying. Crying because I could never figure out why you didn't love me. It devastated me as a child, mom. It devastated me. And you didn't even realize it. But how could I blame you? You couldn't. You couldn't, not when you were busy bathing in the temporary riches and happiness the world produces."

At this point, my voice was breaking. Tears were emerging. Anger was slipping from my fingertips and sadness settled heavy on my heart.

My knees hit the soft grass beneath me and I bury my face into my hands. "Why do you get the easy way out? Why did you have to leave me? I had money, friends, and fame. But I wanted something money can't buy. I wanted something much more meaningful."

Cries escaped my lips and I struggled to get the last words from my lips. "All I wanted was a mother who loved me."

Perhaps, all these years, perfection was merely an illusion.

An illusion that I tried to find comfort in.

Because maybe, if my life looked perfect, than nobody would see the crumbling walls of my heart and the ugliness in my life.

But all it took was one mistake to bring me to my knees.

All it took was one mistake and the reality of the situation finally became clear.

My life was never perfect, and it never will be.