Overcoming My Limits

At only the age of 11, Blythe Mitchell had been caught up in a terrible situation. One her family recalls as "The Accident." Her right leg was considered paralyzed and all the nerves had died, but Blythe had hope. One doctor she had consulted told her that in several years, she may just walk again.
Now, at the age of 17, Blythe is still wheelchair bound and even more curious about her "accident." It seems as if everyone but her knows what happened those many years ago. Her seemingly over-protective mother keeps silent and no one, not even her loyal maid, Macy Matthews, will tell her a thing. Which lead to another mystery. Why did the Matthews' go bankrupt after her accident? Did it have anything to do with her family?

Questions keep appearing. Can Blythe find the answers? Will she find her past, or will she finally understand the danger she's in?


12. "you need me and i dont need you" -ed sheeran

I didn’t have any nightmares that night. Mainly, because I didn’t get any sleep that night. I lay in bed, crying, staring at the ceiling, my emotions too unbalanced to allow anything resembling slumber. I’m not sure when, but I eventually feel asleep.

I awoke later than usual the next morning, tear streaks down my face. I had obviously been crying in my sleep. I mindlessly wiped them on my sleeve, sniffling. I looked into my chifferobe mirror; my hair was frizzy, my face was flushed, and my eyes were red and puffy. To be ultimately honest, I looked a complete mess. Worse, actually. I rubbed my temples, in attempt to ease my oncoming migraine. It wasn’t doing much good, especially once my mother stepped into the room.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

“I think we both know that you’re my problem.” I spat.

She scoffed. “It’s not my fault that you were being a stereotypical, stupid girl.”

“And just how was I being so?”

“Were you seriously thinking about having sex with him?” she asked seriously.

“I was contemplating, yes.” Haha lie. I was almost there, but then he had to go and be a gentleman. But I loved that about him. He is seductively sweet.

“That’s my point. You just want to throw yourself at the first boy with a pretty face and a seemingly nice personality.”

“How would you know about his personality? You wouldn’t even spit in their direction, let alone speak with them!” I retorted.

“Sweetheart, I know them better than you think, and we talk often.” She smirked.

“Yeah, at about midnight.” I mumbled.

“Excuse me?”


“You said something.” She stepped closer.

“No I didn’t.”

“Are you saying that you’ve heard us talking?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I picked at my nails. She practically ran at me, jumping onto the bed and throwing me back. First, grabbing my face, then groping my neck. She began shaking me back and forth, cutting off my airflow.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you little twit!” Pain shot through my neck as she dug her claws into my skin. I tried to scream but it came out in a throaty rasp.

“He said you knew! Tell me what you know!” she yelled, slinging my head back over and over. I could feel the lack of oxygen running to my brain as my eyes fluttered, my eyes beginning to roll into the back of my head. I was gasping, on the edge of passing out when my mother had released me. But by then, there were already spots in my vision, and everything turned black.




The intense pain in my neck woke me up. I rubbed a cautious finger down my jawline, wincing at the agonizing pain. The scratches rose up from my skin, obviously leaving an ugly mark. It was foreign to me how she could be so hurtful lately.

That’s when I thought back to the note Brandon wrote me. It seemed like so long ago; I pulled it out of my bedside drawer. I didn’t have to look at it, I’ve already memorized it word for word, but I unfolded it anyway. I read everything from “Blythe,” to his charmingly written name. A tear landed on the paper, smudging some of the writing. I gently dried, folded, and put it away. I didn’t want to ruin the only thing I had left of him; not even the roses could survive in this house. I sighed. I missed him dearly. In fact, I missed him so much that I could physically feel the breaking of my heart.

He said he loved me. Did he mean it? I didn’t have the privilege of actually hearing it, but he had said it all the same. Yet another tear rolled. He wasn’t coming back, and even if he tried my mother would most likely kill him. I wish I had the nerve to kill her first. No, Blythe, don’t think that way. There has to be a way can both live. Though it most definitely won’t be the easy way.

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