I'm mad, sad and all of a sudden fucking glad

((Here on the Masterpost))

I'm mad, sad and all of a sudden fucking glad

A story by Suzanne Helen James

Viola frowned and threw the piece of paper in the nearby garbage can. Fuck it, she muttered in frustration. It wasn’t perfect. It was far from perfect. The finesse just wasn’t there. The message she wanted to express couldn’t come out. “Prick.” She whispered, glaring at the white wall of her office. “You dumb son-of-a-bitch, pussy-whipped, motherfucking ass prick.” Clenching her fist, the young woman rose from her chair and kicked the garbage can to the floor. The can creaked and tipped over, leaving a large trail of crumbled paper with it.

Her eyes glared at the can. All of her failures were in that can. All of the day’s rejection letters were in that piece of trash. All of her poems, essays and drafts were lodged in there. But worst of all, with all the school work, were all of her conversations with that goddamned, egotistical, self-loathing fuck. There they were, the evidence of her biggest failure spilled out, in a flurry of printed white paper balls. Before long, Viola’s staring turned into wild, loud stomping. A series of creaks and grunts were soon heard as again and again her foot collided with the can. Eventually, it was reduced to a series of curves created by the shape of her sneaker. Swallowing, Viola closed her eyes. A tear soon streamed down the girl’s cheek. Viola shut her eyes as she tried not to cry. Was she really crying over something that can be easily fixed? That’s not right. It’s not the paper, the voice in her mind said. It’s something worse than that.

“How dare you fuck me over…” She whispered again, sniffling. How she hated being this vulnerable. Viola Miles was not a vulnerable human being. Viola Miles was not someone to ask for attention from others. No, rather, Viola Miles was someone who others relied on her.  No, not relied, worshipped. She was the undisputed Queen. Her friends adored her and if ever there was something wrong, she would be the one to come to for fixing. No one ever had the power to make her bend to their will, instead they bent to hers. No one had the audacity to turn her eye. Her pen ruled and as the voice of the school, her words lead the masses.

Who held such a power to make her so weak, angry and powerless?

It wasn’t her mother, though as demanding as she was. She was Viola’s heart. It wasn’t her career as the head journalist for the school. No, the job wasn’t taking its toll on her. It wasn’t her friends, her family or her personal activities. They were distractions. They entertained her, protected her and gave her a purpose. No, the reason for her heartbreak was because…

“Stupid…ass…bitch...!” She sobbed, giving the can another angry foot stomp.

It was all because of Charlie. The image of the androgynous blonde made Viola angrier and she gave another violent stomp, but this time to a stray paper ball. The sound of the ball scrunching calmed Viola, but still she applied more pressure and the paper flattened under her sole. Looking at her dirty work, Viola closed her eyes and exhaled a deep sigh. All that pent-up anger was now replaced by fatigue as she fell to her knees. Sitting on the floor, Viola picked up the grimy paper and flicked some dirt off.  Straightening the paper to its former form, she looked over the contents. It was one of the emails exchanged between them. Skimming over the words, Viola’s face softened and before long she smirked.

Fuck her life.