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Author of 4 Stories |
She paced the tiny bedroom, then opened the balcony doors to step out onto the patio. She was on the third and highest floor in her apartment complex, and she loved it. The breeze pulled her hair back behind her and ruffled the oversized t-shirt that she had on. She gripped the banister tightly and looked down at the grass under the balcony. The moonlight shining on each blade, giving the lawn an eerie glow. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears start to leak out.
This isn't working, Monica...You can't do it...You'll wonder forever, 'what could've happened?' 'What could've been?'
But isn't that better then getting hurt again? I don't think I'll be able to take it another time. I almost lost it... She argued with herself, hoping that something would come out of it.
"Lo que no le mata, Le hace más fuerte," the familier phrase her mother had told her as a little girl, 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' A cliche, true, but relevent nonetheless. She would come home crying, sobbing, because of things classmates had said about her. Begging her mother to home-school her. Más Fuerte... Stronger. And she had. Eventually she had stood up for herself. And immediatly they backed off. And she had made a few friends. And just as Mami said, she had become stronger, smarter, braver.
Be stronger, Monica. She squeezed the banister tighter, not ready to take the responsibility, yet knowing that if she ever wanted happiness, that was what she would have to do. Take responsibility for her own life. She took a deep breath of air, and knew that this wasn't where she belonged. She belonged in Washington. With John. She would let herself trust him. She had to take a chance. She was smart enough to protect herself now.
Almost instantly, she felt at peace with herself. She went inside and slept, calmly and peacefully, like she hadn't slept in years. She had found her happiness.