The Perks of Being a Freak (Editing)

68. That's Why They Had A Key

But did I really need them?

I know that parents are important. Hell, parents are essential. But did I really need these parents? Did I really need these people who accused me and hit me and always assumed the worst? Did I need parents who told me that my best wasn’t good enough and that I was a failure?

I really didn’t want parents like that.

So instead of going outside, and flying, and being free, I curled up against the wall, swaddled in blankets.

And I cried.

I cried because I could remember a time when I was Lucy. I could remember day trips to the beach, when my father would carry me on his shoulders, or my mother taking my to the mall, always holding my hand. I could remember playing outside on the wooden castle with my brothers. I could remember a happier time, before my tenth birthday party. Before Juliana died.

I was ashamed to admit that I wanted that time to come back.

I wanted my mother back. I wanted the woman who would read to me every night until I fell asleep. I wanted the woman who would pick me up from school and listen patiently as I told her every excruciating detail. I wanted my mommy.

And I wanted my daddy back as well. I wanted the man who would pick me up and swing me around, simply because he liked the sound of my laughter. I wanted the man who would stand in the bleachers and cheer me on at every single swim meet. I wanted the man who taught me how to climb trees, and play football, and ride a bike.

God dammit all to hell I wanted my fucking family back!

And that’s why I cried.

Becoming this freakish winged creature had nothing to do with the loss of my family. Maybe my idiosyncrasy had driven another wedge between us, but the real separation had been there long before.

“I want them back,” I whimpered, hugging a pillow to my chest. “I want my parents back. Please, please, give them back.”

There was no answer.

I had never been religious, and I had never really thought about what I believed in. It was habit to say “oh God,” or “God dammit,” but I didn’t know if I believed in a God. At least not in the normal sense. I didn’t believe in a giant man sitting in the sky, striking down homosexuals and sinners. I didn’t believe in an all-powerful, righteous, omniscient, good force that controlled everything. If God was so great and good, he wouldn’t have let them turn me into a freak, a weapon.

But maybe there was a universal energy, or a spirit that connected us all. Maybe there was something.

And whatever that something was, it wasn’t answering me.

A sob was torn from my chest, and I curled inward tighter.

There was a soft click, and my ears perked. Almost without thinking, I stood and walked towards where the click had come from. 

At the base of the ladder, there was a door that led to Seth and Cody’s closet. I had to go through their room to get out. Maybe one of them was knocking, trying to come in.

I smiled and wiped at my eyes. 

But when I climbed down the ladder and reached for the doorknob, it wouldn’t turn.

It was locked.

I don’t know how long I stood in front of that door, turning it repeatedly, like a complete idiot. My arms and legs felt cold and a little bit quivery, just like they felt after a long, hard practice.

They had locked me in.

Well, at least now I didn’t have to wear the sweatshirt.

I curled back up on my bed and cried until my vision went black. 

I had always tried to keep my promises. I hated going back on my word. It made me feel dirty, guilty. I especially hated breaking promises to myself.

I had once said that I would never cry myself to sleep again, and here I was.

I suppose some promises are just too hard to keep.