Theea
maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live
I can’t help laughing at his choice of words, shaking my head but grinning all the same. “Adventurer chic,” I repeat, like I’m rolling it around on my tongue. “Might at least be appreciated by some people.”
When he glances up and says you too, my smile spreads wide and genuine. More people my age relate to that awkward shift into adulthood than I’d expected, and I’m stupidly grateful my family actually gets it. “What was the hardest part for you?” I ask curiously. “Growing up so fast, or was it the shaving part?”
Damien’s voice flickers in my mind—how he’d told me it was unfair I’d had to grow up so fast. I still don’t totally get what he meant. I mean, I hadn’t totally missed out on my childhood… had I? Maybe he’d meant the way it all changed after my dad died. The way freedom turned into survival in an instant.
But I’d much rather think about dresses and parties right now.
“Thanks for pinning me in,” I say brightly, motioning toward the bolts of violet and reflective silver ribbons I’d set aside. “The help is a fucking gods-send.” I think for a second, then pick up the scissors, take a breath, and make the first cut. The strip of violet I hold up afterward is… well. “Only a little crooked,” I declare proudly. It is, in fact, very crooked.
When he glances up and says you too, my smile spreads wide and genuine. More people my age relate to that awkward shift into adulthood than I’d expected, and I’m stupidly grateful my family actually gets it. “What was the hardest part for you?” I ask curiously. “Growing up so fast, or was it the shaving part?”
Damien’s voice flickers in my mind—how he’d told me it was unfair I’d had to grow up so fast. I still don’t totally get what he meant. I mean, I hadn’t totally missed out on my childhood… had I? Maybe he’d meant the way it all changed after my dad died. The way freedom turned into survival in an instant.
But I’d much rather think about dresses and parties right now.
“Thanks for pinning me in,” I say brightly, motioning toward the bolts of violet and reflective silver ribbons I’d set aside. “The help is a fucking gods-send.” I think for a second, then pick up the scissors, take a breath, and make the first cut. The strip of violet I hold up afterward is… well. “Only a little crooked,” I declare proudly. It is, in fact, very crooked.
maybe one of these days you can let the light in
