It's What Makes Me, Me

Cowering in Charlie’s firm grip, the reporter unraveled the mystery surrounding my father’s death. It was still unknown to the others as to why I was in tears cradled in his arms but they would know soon enough. ‘Suicide’, the reporters voice seemed almost deafening as she spoke that vital world, I had before this, managed to control my sobbing but now I couldn’t stop as the floods of tears fell.
All eyes were on me as I struggled for breath in between the tears; I did not want to be the centre of attention so I ran, I couldn’t think of anything else. Luckily for me, the first door I had come to lead into a large bathroom. The floor was polished marble and my feet squeaked along it as I walked, dragging them towards the sink only then would the mirror reveal the truth. That it did, makeup in large lines down my face added to the iconic panda look, right now I was in a house full of guys and was oozing craziness rather than sex appeal, any girl’s worse nightmare.
‘No, NO, NO’ I panted, all my work keeping emotions hidden gone, George could destroy me even from beyond the grave, I wouldn’t let him control me not anymore, I could escape. I thought I could anyway, but he was family, blood relations my biological father and I couldn’t abandon his spirit. Now I was conflicted, at war with myself, if I wasn’t screaming a need for mental help before then I most certainly was now. A fight between my head and heart, my head the most likely to lose was the one I had so desperately wanted to win.
I couldn’t take it the screaming in my head, my hands had a firm grip on my head and hair as I screamed for as long and loud as my lungs would let me, taking a deep breath I repeated. Unaware of the others able to hear my screams I continued each time feeling calmer they however, became more agitated and worried.
The door, was it locked? I couldn’t remember if I had, the only thing I could remember or think about was the battle raging on in my subconscious. It was up to me I had to try and suppress my emotional side, it had to be controlled. People didn’t understand this was my emotional side at its best, when it was only against my mind and not my whole body. To be seen as emotionless, distant and cold was better than the risk of anybody meeting this side of me, I loathed the other personality I had.
The door handled rattled behind me, I whipped around in an instant staring, my eyes became bigger almost psychotic as with one final blow the door came crashing towards me. I hadn’t flinched; their eyes darted around the room, wondering who I was screaming at. There was no major evidence of my internal struggle, the only thing different was my appearance, my hair resembled being dragged through a hedge backwards, my makeup was smudged more by the flow of tears that refused to stop, the most significant sign that only I knew meant I’d had an internal clash, crimson blood dripping from my lips and nose. Bursting into hysteria, my body shook as shivers and laughter washed over me in waves, making me weak. I stumbled towards them, nearly making it before my legs were jelly and I was on my knees in a pile of cracked wood and my own tears. Then all was black and I was calm.