My Blood [The Vampire Diaries]

Chapter 11 - "You're grounded."

~ Lost girls ~ Part One ~

Ronnie's POV

I sat on my bed, my back leaning against the headboard, while my head rested back on the wall. I brought my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

I think I'm still in denial.

I have to be in denial. No, I'm not in denial, I'm being sensible. Vampires aren't real. They're fiction, books, movies, nightmares we have as children. They're a figment of our imagination that has run wild. My mother was absolutely crazy. And now I am too, blindly believing what the journals say. This woman may be my mother, but she was barely there for my childhood. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't know her well enough to trust her.

I didn't spend my toddler years going to the park with her, having her braid my hair, and tuck me in at night. No, I never had that. Instead, I had a restless father taking care of me. We never went to the park, my hair was always messy, and the babysitter always tucked me in. But at least my father was there. She wasn't.

And now this crazy woman is making me believe insane things. I'm trying to think of logical reasons for both sides. On one hand, why would she lie? To make me think I'm going crazy? That's a long shot. And on the other hand, she could be crazy and made this up through all of her childhood. Maybe she believed it was real. I mean, from what little I read, she didn't have a very good home life. Sure, she had parents, but they hardly were parents. They were more like generals. It was like they were training her for a war. She probably just made up the vampires to cope with not being loved as a child. Yeah, that seems reasonable.

I looked around my room, seeing little things scattered everywhere. Everything in here had a story.

The skateboard in the corner was my first ever form transportation I had. It was also how I broke my arm for the first time. Yet, even after I broke my arm on that thing, I still got back on it. I was not a quitter. If anything, breaking my arm made me want to skate more.

The tiny snow globe that had buildings of New York sitting on my desk had a story. That was the first place I had ever traveled to. I was nine years old and mom wanted to take me out somewhere. I thought she meant to the grill or something, but nope. She meant to the big apple. New York was also where I had my first panic attack. Fun times.

The scratches on the floor from when Bonnie and I would drag my barbie doll house out from my closet every day. She was my first friend, and even though I didn't particularly like barbies, Bonnie did. So I learned to like them.

The ballet slippers sitting in my closet, collecting dust for the past four years. I used to love ballet, but mom ruined it. She loved to overdo everything I did. If one of the girls in my class had a nice leotard, mom would call her designer and get me an original design. Let's just say, no one liked me in that class.

Every single thing in this room has a story, yet when my eyes find the box of journals, I couldn't help but wonder what their story is.

A knock on my door knocked me out of my inner monologue. I'm starting to notice I have inner monologues a lot. "Yeah?" I cleared my throat, sitting up to look at the door.

I saw the door handle jiggle, though it wouldn't open, making me remember I locked it. "Ronnie, are you okay?" I heard my dad, earning a sigh from me.

Since he last checked on me, I hadn't been out of my room. I locked the door, jumping into bed and letting the big covers engulf me into darkness. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." I lied.

I don't think I'm ready to face him. What if he asks why I'm acting so weird. Again. He'll go all dad-cop on me and start searching my room. He'll probably even think I'm doing drugs before assuming it has anything to do with mom.