I watched the movie, and it was boring as hell. The movie wasn't focused on the horror at all; instead, it was focused on how a family of five managed to beat the demons that were hunting the new, not haunted house they bought. Are you kidding me? Can you guess what the moral of the story was? Everything is possible when a family sticks together. At least that's how I interpreted it.
Nothing is possible for me, I guess, as I don't think I even have a family. I mean, I do, but the one I have is really, really broken. It almost makes me think I'd be better off without one. I know I shouldn't be saying this, and I should try to be grateful, but after what they've put me through and what I am still going through, I really wish I was born in an orphanage. I mean, think about it – I would have had to deal with them for 18 years legally or officially, and then both I and they would have been rid of me. But now, despite me being 20, I'm still struggling.
I couldn't fall asleep. Not because I was scared, but because there was so much stuff going through my head. I know both of my parents are adults and they can do whatever they want, but did they not think for a second how their divorce would affect me? Who am I kidding? My dad would beat me daily, and my mother would stand there blaming me for his anger issues. They never cared about me. In fact, I think they hated me. If that wasn't pretty obvious...
...But I still love them. I love my parents so much. Why can't they just love me back in return?
I felt this heaviness in my chest, like someone had dug a hole and placed a stone where my heart is supposed to be. It was there every day, but now it's much worse. It's much bigger. I don't know how to deal with it.
I left the room and went into the living room. There was a door that led to our apartment's balcony, and when I saw it, I got the idea to go there for a bit of fresh air.
It's actually a really nice little space. There are windows and a roof, so when it rains, the space is closed, and no water can get in, which meant that I could place a seat sofa there and not worry about it. Even if it did get wet, I doubt a bit of water can do much damage.
I sat on the sofa, and when I looked at my phone to see what time it was, it was almost midnight.
'Damn it,' I thought to myself, 'Will this insomnia ever go away?'
I hated this. I hated my life so much. I thought my sleeping would get better, and my anxiety or whatever I'm feeling would go away the moment I left Peter's house – I struggle sometimes to call him father or dad – but no, it never went away. It's not as bad; I know now at least I don't have physical danger around me, but the pain is still here. I still feel like sometimes, every time I mess something up, someone, my father, is waiting around the corner to whip out his belt and beat me up until I can't cry any longer.
"Fuck," I swore under my breath. "FUCK!" I screamed, but then I stopped myself from yelling anymore as I remembered my mother had her 'special guest' over.
'When will I stop hurting?' I asked myself in my mind. 'When will I stop... feeling this way? What did I do to deserve this?' I hated feeling like a victim. I hated it so much. So fucking much. There's nothing worse than victimizing yourself because it means that you have no power and no control over what's happening to you, and that was true. I have no power over this. My dad had power over me for so many years, and I was a victim back then. 'When I leave this house, I will not be a victim anymore. I will be a survivor,' I believed, which turned out to be false. I still have barely any control over anything. He still controls me, and there's nothing I can do about it.
I felt my lungs get tight and a lump grow in my throat. My eyes watered up. 'Why do you want to cry now?' I asked myself. It didn't make sense to me. Nothing made sense.
I started weeping like the same scared innocent child I was back then. I put my legs on the couch and got my knees to my head, hiding my face in them. I placed my arms around my skull, hugging myself, protecting myself from the dangerous environment. I let the tears flow. There was no point in stopping them now. There's no point in hiding how I truly feel.
My heart sank to my butt as I heard a knock on the glass pane of the door to the terrace. While I was still in my 'hiding,' I erased whatever little tears I had left on my cheeks and around my eyes, praying that whoever it is isn't here to hurt me for being a weakling again.
I turned around to see who was banging on the door, and lo and behold, it was Mummy's dearest Daniel.
My breathing got heavier and heavier until I reminded myself that he was probably a nice, normal guy who wouldn't just barge in with no warning whatsoever and do that. But no, he was gentleman enough to even ask if it was okay with me if he wanted to come in. Under normal circumstances, I'd be quite annoyed that he thought he had the right to be anywhere near me after everything that's happened, but right now, I was actually glad as I really needed someone around me to distract me from this hard shit just sinking in my torso.
"Yeah, it's fine," I said in a plain tone loud enough for him to hear me.
He opened the door, and I moved from the middle of the couch to the side so that he'd have enough space to sit next to me. He was holding a blanket. He put it on his lap. I guess he wanted to spend some time here alone as well. It was then that the cold hit me. I never realized how desensitized I had become and how much I could not feel physical stuff anymore.
"Thanks. I owe you."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely perplexed. What good did I do to him?
"Well, for letting me stay here."
"Oh," I said. "It's fine. Don't worry about it," I broke my gaze from his, directing my view towards the buildings in front of me. It was a beautiful view if you ask me. While the town may not be that big, it's really pretty. Everyone knows each other – at least most people, as the guy next to me was fairly new – and everyone's friendly to each other. The only thing that sucks is if you do something society considers remotely bad, word will spread around like the bubonic plague.
"By the way," he continued, "are you okay?"
Panic rose in me. "W-what?" Why was he asking me that? Did he see me shedding tears?
"I just... I just thought that I heard somebody crying. That's why I came here, actually. I mean, when I saw you, I was gonna leave, but then I thought I heard cries. So, are you alright? Is everything okay?"
Shit. Shit. Shit. He saw me. What is he gonna do to me now? Is he going to hit me? Every time my dad caught me showing emotions flashed in front of my eyes. From the first time I fell and hurt my knee on the concrete to the last time he did part two of beating me up like the shit I was after beating me up in part one because I had to give him an exam with a B minus.
I wasn't at my apartment anymore. I was back at that house again. It was that same damned small room. I was laying on the bed on the opposite side. I closed my eyes and started to cry again. I was ready to get yet another beating of my life I deserved. It was pointless – my father had already heard me.
I was pulled back to reality, thankfully, by Daniel as he put his hand on my shoulder. It was probably the first time someone had touched me or even seen me break down and not wanted to hurt me. It felt... good.
"Hey, hey, hey," he said. "It's okay... it's going to be okay." It was the initial occasion I had ever heard those words from someone, the very first time someone offered me comfort.
"Hey, look at me," he put his hand on my chin and moved my head to face him. "What happened?" he asked. "You can talk to me..." There was this sweetness and carefulness in his voice that I had been aching for for years. Why was the new fiancé of my mother better than my own biological divorced parents?
"I..." I didn't know how to answer his question. So many things were not alright. So many things were falling apart in my life, and I just couldn't keep up with it. Under my sobbing breaths, I managed to utter, "I... I'm sorry."
He didn't know what I was sorry about, and neither did I. Was I apologizing to him? He was the one that invaded my personal space. He was the one that got into my home without any type of invitation from its owner, me, whatsoever. He was the one that needed to be sorry.
But right now, I couldn't feel anger about that. I couldn't feel any type of wrath towards him. All I wanted was just to have him around me. To be there for me. To show me the comfort my parents never did. And he was. And I was loving and hating that at the same time.