Arranged From Birth

Chapter 9 Stories

"My story," I repeated, rubbing my hands together. 

"Yeah your story. What's your past?" Talbott asked, leaning back against a rock, seeming comfortable.

"Well, I was born into a relatively wealthy family. I don't have any brothers, or sisters, but I was alright. Until my mother died when I was 8. And after that my father decided he would micro-manage my every motion. And I do mean micro-manage. The micro-magement went from how I held my fork, to the amount of water I drank at once, to what I ate, and exactly what I wore.

"When something didn't go his way, I was always to blame. At 10 years old, I had been held responsible for the carrier pigeons dying, the glass ceiling cracking, supper burning, and his horse bucking him off into a river."

At my last statement, Seamus snickered. "That must've been a sight to see."

"Indeed it was," I agreed, smiling at the memory of mud covering my father head to toe. "Aftermath wasn't. The first scar he left me, was this one." I pulled back the bottom hem of my shirt to show them all the V-shaped scar that was now 11 years old.

"Anyhoo, all of this continued, getting progressively worse up until I gave up on the hope that my world could be anything like how it was for my mother; which took place about 9 years ago. So I tried my absolute hardest to be exactly what my father expected. He taught me at age 11 that crying was a sign of weakness; he told me this right after I cried due to the fact that he had my kitten drowned. After that, I never let him know about my pets."

"Did you have any after that?" McCoy asked, picking apart a piece of tree bark.

"Yes, I had ducks. But they would always lay eggs in the middle of winter, or we'd find them in the middle of winter, and we would have to keep them in my closet as so they wouldn't freeze." I explained. "Anyhoo, I ran away the night I was introduced to the man he had for me to marry."

"Aah," Was all anyone had to say back.

"What about you McCoy? What's your story?" I asked, trying to break the awkward tension.

"Quite similar to yours as a matter of fact. My parents aren't amazing. They didn't physically harm me often because they wanted to keep in good light with all of the other noble families. But when my little sister was born, I stopped receiving love. Which wasn't ideal but I was okay with it for the sake of my sister."

"What's her name? If you don't mind me asking. Your sister." I asked after waiting for the break in his sentence to talk.

"No it's alright, her I love. Her name is Amy." I nodded, and McCoy continued his story. "Of course we had Amy to take care of, and my mother refused to let the nannies take care of her. Amy was always this... perfect child, and in my parents eyes, I was nothing in comparison. Second rate, less admirable, less desirable.

"My parents became incredibly... suffocating. What was the word you used Mya?"

"Micro-managing?"

"Yes. That. They became obsessed with controlling my every move. Every time I breathe, every time I speak, even when I blink my eyes; my mother has something to say about it. She keeps breathing down my neck as if I have a chronic illness of some kind.

"And I got sick of it. I hated it. Every single bit of it. Not to mention the fact that Amy was being raised completely differently than I. They never cared what she did. It was worthy of recognition and special. I was trying so immensely hard to match up to how they saw Amy. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally draining. To the point where I drove myself ill. Which of course only made them less pleased with me.