Heart for Hate

Lesson Two: You Shouldn't Always Obey What You're Told

            The ride back is just as silent as it was on the way to La Luna Belle. There are so many things for me to think about. I'm actually leaving the place I'm supposed to call a temporary home and living permanently where there are others like myself. Different. And this time, I am in control. My destiny is mine to decide. I choose whatever path I take. Except, what am I exactly? And how did I become this way?

     "Thorne," I finally break the silence just like shattering a glass with a thrown rock. He keeps his eyes on the road but does a small grunt to let me know that he acknowledges the fact that I'm going to say something. "What was my mother like?" I wonder.

     "Why do you want to know?" he asks in return, surprised by my choice of question. I never wanted to talk about my past, especially about those whose lives are now nonexistent.

     "Because I'd like to know," I state simply. "What was she like, Thorne? You remember her, right?" I throw the question out there again with an intent to fish for some answers that will help me understand what I am.

     "Yes, I remember your mother. She was a kindhearted woman. Not many people who met her disliked her. She always had a smile on her face even if there wasn't anything to be smiling about. Her reason was just because life is so beautiful. There was never a thing too boring or uninteresting to her," Thorne says as if he's talking about a person who never was, as if there wasn't even a remote possibility that this woman could have been real.

     "What did she look like?" I ask some more. He takes his left hand off the steering wheel and runs it through his hair while he drives with his right. The gesture reminds me of when someone is frustrated or when a person is talking to someone who makes him think twice.

     "She was a brunette. Had long hair that she complained was too plain. Her eyes were dark brown, kind of like chocolate. She had a somewhat long, slightly rounded nose and a heart shaped face." He continues to stare at the road with glazed over eyes. "Short. She was short," he nods as he finishes the description.

     "What about my father?" Thorne looks at me for a moment with hesitation.

     "You want to know about your father?" he questions and I can literally feel a slight tension emanating from him.

     "If I'm going to know about the woman who gave birth to me, then I might as well know about the man whom she loved to bring me into this world," I counter. He clenches his teeth and I notice his jaw tighten and go rigid. His hand that is steering flexes, his knuckles going white when he grabs back onto the wheel.

     "Fine, I'll tell you about your father. Your father was a proud man. His pride was his deadliest sin. He left your mother because she didn't think the same way he did. And when I say left, I mean he left her to burn in that fire. He never went in to save her. He never even thought about saving her. I'm glad that you don't look like him and that you have your mother's face. He deserved what he got," Thorne grinds his teeth, just proving how much he loathed my father.

But is Thorne talking about the same person? The man I remember to be my father was a loving caring man. If I ever asked for something, he provided it. He was there whenever I needed him and so much more. He devoted his life to raising me. Is Thorne seriously telling me who my father truly was?

     "Why do you hate him so much?" I look at him to see his facial expression. He laughs without humor.

     "Why do I hate him? Because he was a sick conceited bastard and was the height of arrogance. He thought of nothing but himself," he fumes. I wait a few moments before I ask my final question.