Childish Tendencies

Chained

*i like this chapter. A lot. Tell me what you think.*

Mia

There's a reason they say that your past holds you down. Your past is a chain of uncalled for irrevocable events that bind your soul, and sometimes your entire being, to that moment when everything went so unbelievably wrong that you were unable to untangle yourself, to untwine the net of images, mistakes, decisions from the roots of your personal camera roll of memories. The past embraces you with large incredibly terrifying arms, and once you give into the feeling of comfort, you cannot possibly leave it behind. The past is like and addiction, an addiction so deep that living without it for a single moment feels unnatural and grossly undeserved. And even if by some unimaginable miracle you do manage to escape the endless labyrinth of memories, the past is like an undeterred ferocious beast, it finds you and tears you down till you are nothing but a pulp of shadowed memories and blurred thoughts.

I can't say I haven't been held back by the mistakes -and sometimes undeniably the joys- of my past, but what I can say is that the more you try to escape the determined maze the past is, the more you give in to the regret, depression and ridicule of your past. I also can't say that the past is certainly always petrifying, I can't say that nostalgia is not pounded with gay memories or that the simple action of remembering does not bring comfort but what I can say for sure, however cliche it sounds, is that the past is unforgettable.

It's been a little over a week since my confrontation with Alia- well, it wasn't really a confrontation in the societal sense, that, undoubtedly unfortunate social gesture is still pending- and quiet expectedly, she was still to answer me. I am not particularly taken aback by her reaction and wouldn't be surprised if she didn't talk to me further although it would take quiet a while for me to stop hurting.

I liked her. Undoubtedly more than a friend and the thought of loosing her hurts more than belly-flopping into the swimming pool but just like all circumstances presented by life, I have to learn to accept it.

Fate is a queer thing, it can cradle you in its arms and flip your life around completely with one simple decision. It's cruel, really, fate, for it decides if you are forgiven or not. But there's also the fact that you can't be forgiven if you can't forgive yourself.

All teenagers, at one point or another, maybe even for a slight second, think of killing their mother. And ofcourse, they are only kidding. Me however? I wasn't. I did the unforgivable- I killed my own mother. I'm not saying that she didn't deserve it, she completely and surely did, Jake had cared for me more than she ever had and she had no right to beat him, especially since he was my biological father. It's gruesome really, beating someone, more so if that someone is related to you.

Sometimes I wish I could have the strength the forgive myself for my mistakes, maybe then I would be able to enjoy my queer past rather than regret it deeply.

"'I read it Mia. You owe me an explanation," Alia's melodious voice dissolved my thoughts. I turned to her, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Alia, can I ask you a riddle?" If she continued showing my true nature, I would surely be in trouble, "Pinch me and punch me went to the garden, pinch me died, who was left?"

"What?" She looked at me, an expression of bewilderment painted across her beautiful face.

"Pinch me and punch me-"

"Mia, drop the act," she snapped at me. I gave her a nonchalant shrug, taking my journal from her hand. I cracked the book open, the familiar smell of decaying pages filled my nostrils as I grabbed the pencil from near my bed.

"Punch me." I said, finishing what I was writing. I handed the book to her, her slender fingers brushing mine for a second.

"What?" she said, looking down at my scrawl.

I can't tell you here, take me out, check me out of this place and I'll explain.

"That's the answer of the riddle. Punch me," I told her.

Alia

Mia sat in front of me, fidgeting with the sleeves of the shirt the hospital had given her.

"How long did you check me out for?" she asked, her voice loosing it's childish tinge.

"Till seven. They said if we don't go back till seven, you can't check in till the morning," I snapped at her. A giggle tickled her lips as she averted her gaze from mine. "What's so funny?" I asked her, my voice still sharp.

"You angry," she guffawed.

"You find my anger funny?" A hint of surprise tinkled in my voice.

"Yes. It is hilarious, frankly," she looked into my eyes as if challenging me. We sat in the Starbucks a few blocks away from the institute and thankfully we had beat the pouring rain.

"I thought we're here so you can explain?"

"Urgent, are we? How very cute," she smirked.

"Are you flirting with me?!" I asked, bewildered for the second time today.

"Maybe," she winked, "do you want me to?"

Yes. "Will you just explain?" I sighed.

"You know, they say if you sigh, you're in love with the person your thinking about."

I rolled my eyes are her.

"Oh, alright. You are so insistent," she glanced towards the plate in front of her, "what do you want to know?"

"Uhm, who's Jake?"

"He's my biological father."

"What?!" Bewildered for the third time.

"Yes, my mother raped him."

"Is that why you killed her?"

"No, I killed her because she was hitting Jake. I loved Jake."

"Loved?"

"I'm not entirely sure where he is."

I searched for another question, "So you were in prison, how did you leave?"

"I was too crazy for the prison."

"So you did think you were five?"

"For a while, yes," she said, chewing on a piece of lettuce.

"What happened then?"

"I found out that I wasn't, infact, five," she shrugged.

"So then why didn't you leave?"

"They would send me back to prison. To that wretched bed again," she shuddered.

"Oh," I said dumbly.

"So are we done?"

"For now, yes." I nodded slowly.

"For now? How long am I here?"

"As long as I want you to be," I smirked.

"That's not creepy at all," she shook her head, laughing. "So, are we just going to sit here all day?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Can we go out?" Hope filled her voice as it rose with excitement.

"Like on a date?" I smirked at her.

"I want to go to the garden," she pleaded, ignoring my question.

I looked at her for a moment as she batted her lashes at me with a puppy dog face.

"Okay. Let's go."

That's how I ended up, an hour later, in a stinky garden crawling with God-knows-which insects, sitting on a molded swing with Mia's head on my lap.