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But then he pulled the carpet from under my feet.
Finding somewhere to belong just to realise you never do is like a betrayal. Perhaps, it’s the worst type of betrayal.
Maybe that day I abandoned him in the forest, Xander felt betrayed, too, and that’s why he’s been taking revenge ever since.
I understand that – I think I can anyway. I just can’t pretend it’s not affecting me or that I can be strong.
What’s being strong even like?
Is it waking up in the morning and not looking at the sharp blade I stole from Mari’s kitchen? Is it smiling while FaceTiming Dad, even though I want to scream at him to return? Is it forcing myself to look in the mirror so I can have my makeup done?
Or maybe it’s staring at my knight in the eyes and having a stranger staring back at me and not flipping there and then.
Once upon a time, he used to be mine. Now, he’s anything but.
The fog turns thicker with every breath I take, wrapping itself like a noose around me.
For the first time in my life, I have no energy or will to fight it.
I have absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to suffer.
“What the hell, Kimberly?” Mum’s voice rings like an alarm before her shadow falls over me in the bathroom.
Like a small kid with broken wings, I crawl up so I’m sitting and face her. No idea how I look. I’m wearing my pyjamas and my hair is in a messy bun. I put mascara on this morning, so it could be smeared all over my face. I didn’t check, because the thought of seeing that face made me want to ruin it.
Mum, however, has on her designer trousers with a khaki shirt and Louboutin heels. Her rich brown hair is elegant and with a beautiful wave to it.
“Hi, Mum,” I slur, then slap a hand over my mouth.
I’m drunker than I predicted. Oops.
“Have you been drinking?” She shakes her head and points at the food containers, the half-empty crisp bags “And what is that junk food? What did I say about losing that weight, Kimberly?”
“I’m sorry.” My chin trembles. “I’m sorry I’m a disappointment, Mum. I’m sorry you have to be stuck with someone like me.”
With every word out of my mouth, tears stream down my cheeks. They’re not only tears, though. They’re everything I’ve felt since I was a child.
Every time Mum is in sight, I feel so small; I dress wrong, breathe wrong, act wrong.
I exist wrong.
“If you’re sorry, fix it.” She stares down her nose at me. “Be worthy of being my daughter for once in your useless life.”
I nod frantically. “I’ll fix it.”
She does another glance over and her lips thin in a line, in disgust, in disappointment, in distaste.
Mum isn’t seeing me or the scar that’s visible since my pyjamas are short-sleeved. She doesn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes or the screams behind those tears.
She’s seeing a mess that she’s stuck with. She’s seeing someone who can ruin her image.
That’s all that I’ve been to her since I was born, a liability, a damn mistake.
I heard her tell Dad that last year, around the time my mental health took a sharp dive and the fog became my constant companion.
We shouldn’t have let her come into the world. Look at her. She’s a mess, Calvin.
Dad fought with her and stood up for me, but I don’t remember his words. It’s strange how the human mind only focuses on certain things, but not others, how I can only remember her saying I’m a mess, but not Dad calling me an angel.
