Clash Of The Rockbands
Masked Depression
Daphne’s POV
I heard the front door close with a reverberating snap. I officially had the whole house to myself until midnight. I looked over at my bright orange clock hanging on the wall. It read 7:35. I sighed and closed all the textbooks around me. It was the weekend; I didn’t necessarily have to finish my homework tonight, since I had all of Saturday and Sunday to do it.
I shoved myself to my feet, shaking out my legs. They had grown a bit numb from the way I’d been sitting. I dropped my notebook down amid the textbooks and headed out onto the landing. I descended slowly down one of the curving staircases, my palm sliding upon the dark mahogany banister. Once I reached the parlor with its alternating white and dark brown, shiny tiles and spotless white walls, I spun around and headed down the hall situated between the two staircases like the body of a lizard between its legs.
Once I reached the kitchen, I dragged open the metallic refrigerator. It contained plenty of food, of lots of different varieties. There really wasn’t anything sugary and junk food-ish in there. All five of the girls were very conscious about their health, since they had to stay skinny-minny rockstar chicks; therefore, anything chock full of sugar or fat wasn’t even allowed in the house.
I sighed and grabbed an apple. After washing it off in the sink, I walked into the living room to see what was on television. As it turned out, absolutely nothing was on TV. I looked out of the window to see a glimmer of dusk still showing on the horizon. Now would be the perfect time to go for a stroll on the beach. The stifling heat of day had disappeared, but the chilliness of night had yet to roll in, making it just the right temperature.
“Light bulb!” I exclaimed, shooting up off of the couch. I strode back out into the parlor, turning lights off as I went. I hated leaving lights on that I wasn’t using. I slipped a pair of sky blue flip-flops on, pulled my light jacket off of the coat rack, and checked in my pocket to make sure that my keys were there. They were, and I pulled open the front door, flicking the electric chandelier in the parlor off as I went.
I stepped out onto the front step, closing and locking the front door behind me. I skipped down the steps and strode down the sidewalk, sticking my hands in my jacket pockets. A gentle breeze lifted my chestnut hair, slipping it over across my emerald eyes. I swept the lock of hair behind my ear as I continued down the sidewalk towards the beach.
As I walked, the streetlights flickered on, illuminating me and the path before me. One lone car rumbled past, and the yellow streetlight glow splashed through the windshield, shining upon the driver, but then the car was gone before I could make out any specific features. My shadow twirled around me as I walked, passing beneath each streetlight, distancing myself from it, before stepping beneath the next one.
After about five to seven minutes of steady walking, the sidewalk gave way to sandy beach. A small moon in the distance illuminated the beach dimly with its silver silkiness. I took off my flip-flops and stepped into the sand. It felt pleasantly cool between my toes as I began to step forward towards the water lapping at the shore. Its sloshing filled my ears, the only sound except the occasional bird or frog or cricket or whatever animal happened to be out on the beach that night.
Once I was about fifteen yards from where the ocean beat at the sandy beach, I stopped and plopped down in the sand, sitting cross-legged. I placed my elbow on my thigh, and rested my chin on my palm, staring out at the water.
My poor parents had been hopelessly landlocked. But they had always loved water. Once or twice a year, Mom, Dad, Melrose, and I would all travel up to Lake Michigan and stay there a weekend, swimming and relaxing and playing. We’d eat out at nice restaurants before spending the evening playing board and card games. I loved those times, when we’d just hang out and be together and laugh together and be a family.
A family. We used to be a family. Now...it’s just me and Melrose. The two orphans. Neither one of us had a father to walk us down the aisle and give us away to our future husbands. Neither one of us had a mother to spoil our children and take care of them when we couldn’t. Neither one of us had parents to ask for advice, to share our concerns, to share our joys with.
Hot, painful tears pricked at my eyes. I blinked once, and felt a tear slip stealthily out of each eye. More tears soon followed, until a long streak of them danced down my slightly tanned cheeks. I unfurled my legs and curled them up to my chest, resting my chin on my kneecaps. I curled my arms tightly around my shins as more tears trickled down my cheeks.
Melrose didn’t mourn anymore. Melrose didn’t grieve anymore. She’d mourned, grieved, and cried all that she could, and she was used to the fact that our parents were gone. I knew it saddened her to think about it for too long at one time, but she’d bounced back relatively well. But that was just Melrose. She’d always been the cheerful one, the happy one, the one that got over something sad and horrific relatively quickly.
Me: not so much. The vision of all those doctors and nurses trying to save my parents still haunted me. They came unexpectedly in my dreams, shifting them to instant nightmares. Some nights, that’s all I would dream about. I’d fall asleep, and then my brain would be assaulted by the visions of my parents dying, the sad, sympathetic look on the doctors’ faces, Melrose bursting into tears — something I don’t think I’d ever seen happen before in such a sudden way.
I still cried plenty about my parents’ deaths. I could count on my fingers how many days in the last month that I hadn’t cried about my parents. The daily distraction of school helped, and being with Jay always took my mind off of my parents. Without Jay, I doubt I could function too well, even with school and all. I didn’t know what I would do if ever Jay and I broke up. I feared what would happen, because I knew once he was gone from my life, my depression would increase tenfold.
Yes, I considered myself depressed. There was no point in kidding myself that I was just grieving. You got over grieving. You moved on when you just grieved. I still hadn’t stopped grieving, and I sure as hell hadn’t moved on. I was depressed.
Why didn’t I tell Melrose, you wonder? She wouldn’t understand. She just...wouldn’t. She’s too happy, too cheerful. She’d tell me something completely useless, like, “Turn that frown upside down, Daphne! Be cheerful! Join a club or something! Throw a party! Hang out with friends! Distract yourself. You’ll get over it, I know you will.” It wouldn’t help at all.
And I know she won’t ask about it, either. I’m a pretty good actress. I fake smiles awesomely. I act happy around her. I don’t want to bother her with my problems. I know she would catch onto it if I didn’t act happy. But so far, my acting had been good enough to fool her, to fool everyone.
I wiped my tears away with the palms of my hands, probably causing bright red streaks on my cheeks. I didn’t care, though. It would be gone by the time I got back home. I struggled to my feet, wiping the gritty sand off of the seat of my jeans. Then, I turned around and walked back towards the sidewalk, leaving the sloshing waves behind me.
I heard the front door close with a reverberating snap. I officially had the whole house to myself until midnight. I looked over at my bright orange clock hanging on the wall. It read 7:35. I sighed and closed all the textbooks around me. It was the weekend; I didn’t necessarily have to finish my homework tonight, since I had all of Saturday and Sunday to do it.
I shoved myself to my feet, shaking out my legs. They had grown a bit numb from the way I’d been sitting. I dropped my notebook down amid the textbooks and headed out onto the landing. I descended slowly down one of the curving staircases, my palm sliding upon the dark mahogany banister. Once I reached the parlor with its alternating white and dark brown, shiny tiles and spotless white walls, I spun around and headed down the hall situated between the two staircases like the body of a lizard between its legs.
Once I reached the kitchen, I dragged open the metallic refrigerator. It contained plenty of food, of lots of different varieties. There really wasn’t anything sugary and junk food-ish in there. All five of the girls were very conscious about their health, since they had to stay skinny-minny rockstar chicks; therefore, anything chock full of sugar or fat wasn’t even allowed in the house.
I sighed and grabbed an apple. After washing it off in the sink, I walked into the living room to see what was on television. As it turned out, absolutely nothing was on TV. I looked out of the window to see a glimmer of dusk still showing on the horizon. Now would be the perfect time to go for a stroll on the beach. The stifling heat of day had disappeared, but the chilliness of night had yet to roll in, making it just the right temperature.
“Light bulb!” I exclaimed, shooting up off of the couch. I strode back out into the parlor, turning lights off as I went. I hated leaving lights on that I wasn’t using. I slipped a pair of sky blue flip-flops on, pulled my light jacket off of the coat rack, and checked in my pocket to make sure that my keys were there. They were, and I pulled open the front door, flicking the electric chandelier in the parlor off as I went.
I stepped out onto the front step, closing and locking the front door behind me. I skipped down the steps and strode down the sidewalk, sticking my hands in my jacket pockets. A gentle breeze lifted my chestnut hair, slipping it over across my emerald eyes. I swept the lock of hair behind my ear as I continued down the sidewalk towards the beach.
As I walked, the streetlights flickered on, illuminating me and the path before me. One lone car rumbled past, and the yellow streetlight glow splashed through the windshield, shining upon the driver, but then the car was gone before I could make out any specific features. My shadow twirled around me as I walked, passing beneath each streetlight, distancing myself from it, before stepping beneath the next one.
After about five to seven minutes of steady walking, the sidewalk gave way to sandy beach. A small moon in the distance illuminated the beach dimly with its silver silkiness. I took off my flip-flops and stepped into the sand. It felt pleasantly cool between my toes as I began to step forward towards the water lapping at the shore. Its sloshing filled my ears, the only sound except the occasional bird or frog or cricket or whatever animal happened to be out on the beach that night.
Once I was about fifteen yards from where the ocean beat at the sandy beach, I stopped and plopped down in the sand, sitting cross-legged. I placed my elbow on my thigh, and rested my chin on my palm, staring out at the water.
My poor parents had been hopelessly landlocked. But they had always loved water. Once or twice a year, Mom, Dad, Melrose, and I would all travel up to Lake Michigan and stay there a weekend, swimming and relaxing and playing. We’d eat out at nice restaurants before spending the evening playing board and card games. I loved those times, when we’d just hang out and be together and laugh together and be a family.
A family. We used to be a family. Now...it’s just me and Melrose. The two orphans. Neither one of us had a father to walk us down the aisle and give us away to our future husbands. Neither one of us had a mother to spoil our children and take care of them when we couldn’t. Neither one of us had parents to ask for advice, to share our concerns, to share our joys with.
Hot, painful tears pricked at my eyes. I blinked once, and felt a tear slip stealthily out of each eye. More tears soon followed, until a long streak of them danced down my slightly tanned cheeks. I unfurled my legs and curled them up to my chest, resting my chin on my kneecaps. I curled my arms tightly around my shins as more tears trickled down my cheeks.
Melrose didn’t mourn anymore. Melrose didn’t grieve anymore. She’d mourned, grieved, and cried all that she could, and she was used to the fact that our parents were gone. I knew it saddened her to think about it for too long at one time, but she’d bounced back relatively well. But that was just Melrose. She’d always been the cheerful one, the happy one, the one that got over something sad and horrific relatively quickly.
Me: not so much. The vision of all those doctors and nurses trying to save my parents still haunted me. They came unexpectedly in my dreams, shifting them to instant nightmares. Some nights, that’s all I would dream about. I’d fall asleep, and then my brain would be assaulted by the visions of my parents dying, the sad, sympathetic look on the doctors’ faces, Melrose bursting into tears — something I don’t think I’d ever seen happen before in such a sudden way.
I still cried plenty about my parents’ deaths. I could count on my fingers how many days in the last month that I hadn’t cried about my parents. The daily distraction of school helped, and being with Jay always took my mind off of my parents. Without Jay, I doubt I could function too well, even with school and all. I didn’t know what I would do if ever Jay and I broke up. I feared what would happen, because I knew once he was gone from my life, my depression would increase tenfold.
Yes, I considered myself depressed. There was no point in kidding myself that I was just grieving. You got over grieving. You moved on when you just grieved. I still hadn’t stopped grieving, and I sure as hell hadn’t moved on. I was depressed.
Why didn’t I tell Melrose, you wonder? She wouldn’t understand. She just...wouldn’t. She’s too happy, too cheerful. She’d tell me something completely useless, like, “Turn that frown upside down, Daphne! Be cheerful! Join a club or something! Throw a party! Hang out with friends! Distract yourself. You’ll get over it, I know you will.” It wouldn’t help at all.
And I know she won’t ask about it, either. I’m a pretty good actress. I fake smiles awesomely. I act happy around her. I don’t want to bother her with my problems. I know she would catch onto it if I didn’t act happy. But so far, my acting had been good enough to fool her, to fool everyone.
I wiped my tears away with the palms of my hands, probably causing bright red streaks on my cheeks. I didn’t care, though. It would be gone by the time I got back home. I struggled to my feet, wiping the gritty sand off of the seat of my jeans. Then, I turned around and walked back towards the sidewalk, leaving the sloshing waves behind me.
♠ ♠ ♠
Heyloo.A look into Daphne's mind...
A bit sobering after that last chapter, huh?
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