A blur.


That's the only word I knew best to describe my life.

A blur of colors, emotions, words, all melding into one and giving me a migraine.


I blinked, my eye lashes coaxing my vision back to reality, from a long fulfilling rest. A dull ache throbbed down my spine as I straightened on the plush seat.


I almost didn't want the journey to end, the low hum of the bus' engine having lulled me into a deep sleep I had long forgotten could be endured. Most nights consisted of tossing and turning, in futile attempts of finding my piece of heaven in unconsciousness.


The other passengers getting off at this stop were already packing away food, throwing empty packets into the waste bins and reaching for the duffel bags on the racks above them. But I was too caught up in the scenery beyond the thick bus windows, a whirlwind of emotions battling for dominance within me.


Social services had started up a program for 'troubled' teenagers. Whereby parents could enroll the teen, and a social worker would have to accompany them to a new closely inspected family and area, for a period of six to twelve months.


I couldn't help remembering that day like it was yesterday, Laura Jastine had told me to pack my bags, eyes unable to meet mine as she explained she needed space, space from my troubling ways.


The sun was rising, air thick with the burst of light and fog, creating a bleak orange tinge to the air. The sky was fairly clear, nothing short of pale blue, with a surge of minuscule birds dotting the sky, the long curved roads already had a steadily growing traffic, my first wave of nostalgia already hitting me hard as I remembered the main roads of Cape Town were no better at this hour.


Yet, as the bus weaved its way between cars, getting closer to our final destination nothing but dread welled in my belly, making the sudden urge to yell at anyone who would listen to "take me back home!" the more appealing.


The tall buildings were old and weathered, making me doubt they would stand much longer, the streets were littered with dirt, almost as much as the sea of people all pushing and shoving their way to reach their destinations.


It seemed hypocritical to be so outraged by this, because some parts of Cape Town were no better, yet there was something about the foreign street signs, something about the thought of not being accepted, not fitting into their equation that made me press back into my seat and let my eyes clench closed, under the illusion I would open my eyes to a task less daunting.


I could see the old tattered sign now, our stop a few minutes away, and I panicked, gnawing on my lower lip to keep in the raging emotions within, pressing my eyes shut harder to will away the scorching hot tears.


Then it was all over. The low hum was gone, my emotions had numbed me into oblivion, and the she devil beside me was rising from sleep.


"We're here." She mumbled, stretching her limbs and shaking off her sleep.


"Like hell am I getting off this bus!"

Meredith Blair sighed, tipping her head back to massage the bridge of her nose with two fingers.


I watched as she closed her eyes briefly, before reopening them to stare back at me, with a look too understanding for the harsh glare I was directing at her.


Her voice was soft, too cautious not to fuel my easily flared temper.


"Rosaline, can we not do this, honey?"


I scoffed, incredulity clouding my emotions.


"Don't Rosaline me! I told you, woman. My name is Skylar! S-k-y-l-a-r. Or is that too mind bogging for you to grasp?"


I almost winced at the increasing octave of my voice, not missing the way she attempting to suppress her flinch.


"Can we at least get off the bus, its seconds away from leaving." She reasoned.


See, but I wasn't listening. My older brother often pointed out that there was a vast difference between hearing, and listening. Hearing we were born with, and listening was a skill.

Thinking of him seemed to add more fuel to my fire, and I jammed my hand into my sports bag, blindly retrieving my iPod and earphones, successfully lodging them into my ears and cranking up the volume impossibly high to Sleeping With Sirens.


Sometimes we're so caught up in anger, one of the most consuming emotions known to make man think or act without an ounce of sanity.
Anger has been, and will always be, an emotion often regretted after it has passed.


I truly wish I was an exception, but as the bus suddenly lurched forward, my heart dropped, but not as fast as Meredith's calm demeanor.


Sweet baby Jesus.

"No. freaking. way."


The glare directed my way was brutal, and if I wasn't anywhere near the receiving end, I'd ask Meredith to teach me how she made it so fierce.


"That was not a question Rosaline. Give me that phone. Now" she said.


I suppressed the urge to storm out the car, first of all it was on the free way and second of all I'd caused her enough trouble as it was.

Grumbling like the adolescent I was, I reluctantly reached for my iPhone, handing it over to her with great difficulty.


Meredith, the witch, smiled a humorless smile, that sent shivers down my spine, her hard eyes finally turning to face the road ahead.


Whoever said social workers were nice needed to update their memo, Meredith had blown up on me so much so that I think I wet my pants. She was livid as she yelled at me about 'being stubborn taking me nowhere in life' before storming away to reason with the driver, who was unrelenting to her pleas, his need to sympathize clouded by the lack of sleep.


So we ended up in Pretoria, which was so much better, if you ask me. But I pinched my lips shut, helped Meredith with retrieving all my bags and stood next to her on the sidewalk as she made calls.


Not long after, a guy Meredith didn't bother introducing me to parked a sleek black KIA Cerato Hatch in front of us, had a word with Meredith before walking off.


Which is how we ended up two hours down the four hour trip back to Johannesburg, with Meredith confuscating nearly all my gadgets.


I was sinking lower into my seat beside her now, praying my legs were doing a good job of hiding my small laptop bag. It was the last thing left, and if taken, so would my sanity.


The tone of her voice struck a cord in me, making me fold my arms tightly before me, in an attempt to shield myself, keep myself intact.

"I don't get it, Rosaline."


My jaw clenched, and I stared hard out my side window, watching the flurry of unfamiliar scenery.


"There's nothing to get, Meredith." I bit out.


She ignored me, "You have a wonderful mother, home, siblings, and a step-father who wants nothing short of the best for you. Other kids end up with step-fathers who couldn't give a toss about them."


She let her words linger, as she took a sharp curve on the free way.

"I know how you must feel about your fa-"

Meredith never got to finish that sentence, because she'd gone too far.


My voice was decibels above sanity, unwelcome tears stinging the corners of my eyes.


"No! No, you don't know! You're just some lady who went to school, filled her head with notorious notions that she has a clear understanding of every teenager's mind. No! You don't know how I feel, let alone the person who was the reason my world was revolving!"

My eyes inched into laser like slits, lower lip trembling with suppressed emotions.

My voice was low and hoarse, a meager glimpse of the untold.


"How dare you."