Just a belated THANK YOU to DancerNwriter for the lovely cover that everyone's been praising about! You are amazing girly!

Also, a reader is telling me that someone is stealing this novel and somehow posting it on a phone app that is completely not WP related. I havent confirmed it with my own eyes yet, but if there is someone actually doing this, stop.

Chapter 6: Wonderland Or Neverland?

            For Tyler, it was like a young boy at a brand new toy store. Everything in my room captivated him, and everything within reach, he wanted to touch. I could tell it from the way his eyes caught and reflected the bright sunshine that fluttered into my room like golden butterflies. It left my room aglow, casting a soft, warm blanket over it, but I’m freezing. All I feel is cold.  

            His fingers touch the poster of Audrey Hepburn on the wall, crept across the edge of my vanity, felt the texture of the blankets I slept on and pinched the ear of the single teddy bear at the corner of my bed and nightstand. The whole image reminds me of all the times I visited Chinatown, where all the stores had big round mirrors on the corners, cameras zooming in, shop owners staring at you, and little tags that decorated every shelf, ‘you break, you buy.’

            Except in this case, Tyler has broken enough things of mine. I’ve drained him dry and now he stands in front of me, with a smile of painful nostalgia on his lips. He’s broke now. Just as I am. And I don’t want anything of him anymore, just for him to get out of my store.

            “It’s the same,” he said. “Everything’s still the same.” His eyes landed on the picture of my mother holding me when I was only 5 days old and gently picked it up to have a closer look. It’s the only picture I have of the two of us together, and after a brief look, Tyler sets it down on the nightstand before angling it so that the picture faced the bed. It was the way I liked it. From that angle, I could see it when I woke up in the morning, the picture of my mother holding me, and the words that she wrote at the bottom in small captions.

            My beautiful daughter Camila, you were born to do something amazing. Never let anyone stop you. Remember that the brightest stars in the sky are always surrounded by darkness. Shine on. Love, Mom.

            “Things have changed,” I said. “You just haven’t noticed. Nothing lasts forever.”

            Tyler stood with his back facing me, didn’t say a word as he slumped down and placed his backpack on the carpet. “Have you found a topic for the project? Since it’s on psychological diseases, I was thinking maybe Bipolar or split personalities. Or do you have something else in mind?”

            I grabbed the small, coffee table that’s placed in the corner of my room and parked it in the center, separating Tyler and me, like a wall. I often do my homework on it, but the excuse for today’s occasion is slightly different. “I do have something else in mind,” I told him. “I’ve already started on it last night.”

            “And what did you decide on?”

            “Alice In Wonderland Syndrome.”

            It wasn’t one of the things covered in class, but Tyler seems to know what it is. “Beautiful name for a beautifully tragic disease,” he said.

            I agreed.

            But I didn’t tell him sometimes I feel like I have it – like living inside a vivid fantasy of a bitter nightmare. No one ever wakes up. When Prince Charming comes to kiss Sleeping Beauty, she turns to ashes. You’re late. A hundred years too late. That’s the story of Tyler and me.

            Concentrating on the assignment in front of me, I separated our tasks and topics, letting Tyler look over the books I borrowed from the school library while I searched online for more information. “Oh look, I found something really good on reason of causes.” I spun my Mac around to face him and leaned in slightly to explain to him what I found while I pointed at the appropriate diagrams. “Tyler?”

            “Hm?”

            He’s not even listening to me. Instead, he’s staring into my eyes with this dreamy look on his face, lips curved upward into a gentle smile. “Are you even listening to me?”

            He straightened up immediately, his eyes darting awkwardly down to the notes in front of him before he peered up at me with a shy grin. “To be honest,” he murmured, holding back a laugh, eyes both apologetic and mischievous. “Not really.”

            “You can’t be like that,” I said.

            “I know.” The color drained from his face. “I won’t be like that anymore. I just lost it for a second.”

            It was then that I realized he hadn’t been looking at me. All this time, he’s been looking at Camila, the younger one, the one with the blonde hair spun out of gold which darkens into a light brown every winter, the one with the floral sundresses that stop just above her knees, the one that ran through fields of sunflowers playing hide and seek, the one with the pigtails. That Camila, not me.

            “Maybe this is enough for one day,” I said. Any longer with him, I was going to lose it myself.

            Tyler didn’t complain, and quickly packed up his stuff before I showed him to the door. He paused just outside. “Marshall,” he murmured. “I hope there’s nothing going on between you guys.”

            “And if there is?” I asked. Tyler flinched. “What are you going to do about it?”

            I was a mess for the rest of the day. I wasn’t feeling the songs I sang, I couldn’t concentrate on my steps when I danced, and my mind always drifted off whenever I started reading my scripts.

            When my dad came home at 5, he didn’t come back alone. I narrowed my eyes when Principal Hoskins stepped through the door in a sassy, black dress – boob revealing of course. “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

            “Mila, that’s not how you treat a guest.” My dad’s eyes threw me a glare before they melted back into their usual warm chocolate gaze. He turned to Ms. Hoskins and they giggled in a disgusting manner before my dad sat me down on the couch, excitement spilling out of his pores.

            They stood in front of me after, and I’m quickly reminded of a scene where a teenage girl brings a boy home for the first time to show her dad. I frowned, like most fathers would have, as my dad started to speak. “Mila, there’s something Diana and I want to say to you.”

            “Just say it. Today cannot get any worse.”

            They squealed excitedly at each other before screaming at me at the same time.

            “We’re getting married!” My dad shouted.

            “I’m having a baby!” Diana squealed.

            I sucked in a huge breath and then started choking on it. “Bag,” I heaved. “Pa... pa... bfgh bag.”

            I could feel my eyes rolling back. This is all Marshall’s fault. I have no idea why, but it’s all his freaking fault and he was the first one I was going to haunt after I die.

            “Here baby, here.” My dad’s voice came in a panicky hush. “Take this. Nice and easy. There you go. That’s my girl.”

            I calmed down enough to hold the paper bag to my mouth myself, taking in deep breaths in and out so that the bag crumpled before blowing up like a balloon. My eyes glared unwavering at the both of them and they don’t look as confident as they did 2 minutes ago.

            “How could this happen, dad?” I screamed. “I can’t believe you just knocked her up! Aren’t you guys a bit too old for this?!”

            My dad looked a bit hurt – nevermind the expression on Diana’s face, but I wasn’t going to back down. I didn’t even know they were dating, and suddenly telling me they were getting married because Diana is pregnant was absolutely preposterous. “I thought you would be happy for us.”

            “Well I don’t know what to say to you. I guess as the saying goes, if you have nothing good to say, don’t say it.” I stood up. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

            “Don’t worry,” I heard him tell her as I moved away. “I’ll talk to her later. She’ll warm up to you eventually.”

            It wasn’t too long after that I heard my dad’s car pull out of the driveway. I assume they had been meaning to break the news to me before taking me out for a celebratory dinner, but so much for that.

            My eyes quickly found my mother’s picture by my bedside. “You’re so much better than her,” I murmured.

            The day must have worn me out because the next thing I knew, I was rubbing my eyes, being woken from my unexpected nap by my phone on the nightstand.

            Marshall: I’m in front of your house. Come out.

            I groaned and peered out my window to find a figure standing on my front lawn under the fading sky. Great. This day just refuses to end.

            Camila: I’m sleeping.

          Marshall: At 7?

          Camila: Bad day.

          Marshall: Come down then. Let’s go for a ride.

          Camila: No.

          Marshall: There’s a place I want to show you. I’ll make it worth your while.

          Marshall: Promise.  :)

          I sighed and threw my head under the covers. Marshall had already, in his obviousness, messed up my whole day, and I refused to let him interfere anymore than he already unknowingly had. I just wanted to black-out, to sleep and to forget, which was why it surprised me more than anything when I opened up the front door in nothing more than a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt that slipped off my right shoulder.

             Blonde hair tousled like he hadn’t gotten out of bed too long ago himself, he was sitting on the seat of his bike with one foot planted on the ground and the other playing with the pedal. “Yo.” He smirked and patted on the rear seat of his stupid bicycle. “Hop on.”

            I arched an eyebrow at him. “We’re going for a ride... on that?”

            Marshall stared at me. Then looked down at his bike. Then looked back up at me. “Just pretend it’s a motorcycle,” he said.

            “Right. Keyword being pretend.”

            He shrugged, and I realized I wanted so badly to be swept away that moment that I didn’t even care. Both hands clinging loosely onto the side of his shirt, I hopped on top of the metal seat and he quickly started off down the empty road, the night air cool against my skin. “Will you hold on?” He grumbled. “You’re going to fall.”

            “That’s not something you need to worry about.”  

            His arm reached behind and grabbed my hand before pulling me forward, drawing me close to his body. Then he tugged my arm around his waist and rested his hand on top before gently weaving his fingers through mine.

            And it’s warm. His hand is warm – so impossibly warm that it spreads to my face and reminds me of a time of sunsets and mazes of corn, of cherry trees and strawberry patches, and it wouldn’t matter where I am because I know all I have to do is turn around and he’s right there. Always. The pain I feel is so overwhelming that it leaves me breathless, that I hold onto to Marshall, just a little bit tighter.

            “Camila,” he murmured as soft as the wind. “Your heart, I’ll melt it.”