// burst-of-color.tumblr.com

~In For The Kill, La Roux

It's like my life is revolved around British/English people. Like @twobytwo, I am an anglophile. I quite like the the UK. Some of the best artists are from there. I'm afraid I've gone mad. Oh dear.

I'm also quite chuffed because I am eating ice cream. Yay! Guess what flavour it is? Yes, that is correct. Pistachio! Oh it is divine. I must carry on now. 
Toodle pip!

AND LOOK! http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzg3ehTD0E1qck00vo1_500.gif (color)
http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzf8w4IUau1r9id84o1_500.gif (without color)

________________________________________



Sometimes I would look in the mirror and it would take me a couple seconds to remember who I was staring at. A lot had happened since that day in the dressing room with Veronica. Things changed. I had stormed out of that room and ran. I was running away from more than just Veronica. I was running away from everything. I was running away from my career, my “friends”, my home, my money. I had run away from my life. Everything.

Running away was a very impulsive thing, I realized when I was standing in the rain waiting for a taxi. I regretted it when I walked into a convenience store dripping wet from the rain. I had clearly picked the wrong day to run away. It was pouring outside. Running away was a bad idea. I regretted it again when I realized I was alone. No bodyguards. No limousine. No protection. Did I really just /run away/? It was hard to believe for the first few days. It was the single craziest and wildest thing I had ever done in real life. Playing characters in movies was always fun. I could do anything and be anything I wanted in movies. I could be crazy and wild in movies. I got away with lots of stuff in movies. But movies weren’t real life. I reminded myself. Movies weren’t real life. I’m not an actress anymore. I’m not a celebrity anymore. I’m not a singer anymore. I’m not famous anymore. I’m nobody. I’m alone. It’s all my fault. I did it to myself.

The first week on my own was difficult. It was a blur. From what I could gather, this is what happened: 

I ran out of the dressing room. I ran out of the building. I wrapped my scarf around my head to ward off the paparazzi. I ran down the street. I caught a taxi. I remembered telling the driver to go to Coronado. To Coronado, California. It was just a random city that popped into my head. During the ride, I remembered hearing about Coronado before. It was a nice seaside city. I couldn’t remember where I’d heard about it but that didn’t matter. Upon arriving to the city, I thanked the driver and handed him two Franklins, which I regretted once I understood that $200 was worth a lot more now that I wasn’t rich and famous. But I didn’t know. How could I? I was naïve, lost, and scared. I walked around the city. It started raining heavily. My hair was soaked and my clothes clung to my freezing body. I ended up staying in the El Rancho Motel. It was decent. The first night was terribly frightening. I had to sleep on an uncomfortable bed in a strange hotel in a strange city…alone. For the entire night. By the second day, my fears were gone. Staying at the El Rancho was okay. The only clothes I had were the ones on my back. I regretted that I didn’t bring extra clothes with me. However, I was glad I escaped with my purse. So I hadn’t technically ran away from /all/ of my money. I had enough to stay in the cheap hotel. Living in a cheap hotel for the weekend wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was nice, actually. Liberating. I walked around following my own rules. Thankfully no one seemed to recognize me. How could they? My makeup was smeared, my clothes were disastrous, and my hair was ruined. I didn’t look like Melody Xi at all. Maybe running away wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

I had more money. I had enough to eat. I had enough to run to a store and buy a jacket and umbrella. I was surprised that I had enough to rent a one-bedroom apartment the day I checked out of the hotel. For some reason I had expected it to be fully furnished and equipped. I was wrong. The apartment was empty, of course. The first night was unpleasant. I slept on my thin jacket that I laid on the carpet as a makeshift mattress. I woke up with a sore body the next day. Was life really like this? Is this how non-famous, normal people lived? No. I had played enough roles in movies to know that even normal people had beds to sleep on, food to eat and tons of other things. Then why was it so hard? 

That’s when I missed it. I missed my old life. The comfortable life. I missed being Melody Xi. Melody Xi had it /all/. I missed everything. I could just go back. I could go back to Veronica. They would take me back in a heartbeat. I could go back to that life. I could do it. I could. I could be happy again. 

But I didn’t. I didn’t need Veronica to be happy. I didn’t need money to be happy. I didn’t need a comfortable bed to be happy. I didn’t need an endless supply of clothes to be happy. I didn’t anything. I could find my own happy. Maybe it would take a while. A few days, weeks, months, who cares. I have all the time in the world. I’m not longer restricted to any tight schedule. I have no where to be tomorrow. No interview to do tomorrow. I have nothing to do. I have no one to please but myself. I’m on my own now. This is my life. This is what I wanted all along! I can do whatever I want. I can do whatever I want! I can do anything. I’m Melody Acosta. I’m nineteen. I’m living alone in a shabby apartment. But I’m free. I can do anything. 

In my apartment, I had one bathroom, one bedroom, a small living room, and a claustrophobic kitchen. That was all. But it was enough. The first thing I did the next day was run to bathroom. It felt odd, but I smiled when I flicked on the lights. This was /my/ bathroom. The toilet was mine. The sink was mine. The bathtub was mine. A sense of pride swept over me. Sure, I was /renting/ the apartment, but it was still mine. It was mine. It felt good to know that. 

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A lot had happened since that day in the dressing room with Veronica. Things changed. My surroundings changed. My financial situation changed. My perspective on a plethora of things changed. But the biggest change was me. /I/ had changed. I was in control of that change. It was /my/ choice. I made my /own/ decision. I rented this apartment. I did it myself. I didn’t ask Veronica. I didn’t have to make sure it was okay with her. I didn’t have to check in with my managers about it. I didn’t need anyone’s permission. I did it myself. I controlled what happened. I was in control. It filled me with a strange sense of happiness. I was in control.

Why had I not run away sooner?

xx Melody

Read the last two stories too! http://www.polyvore.com/melody_acosta/collection?id=583527
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