Selene
As a single child, children usually don't notice when the peace between the parents is about to shatter. generally in a family of 4 or 6 wouldn't relate to it, but a single child would, My mother wasn't always on the right side of the law neither was my dad, even dad made the law as it fit to him, I never once questioned it, at the age of 15, I noticed, the debts of ours crossed the boulders we had set for the financial stabilty, usually it takes a minute to let the dread gets to us, but sometimes its usually a year and more. It started gradually. Dad started taking money from the local thugs, decoys, thieves, giving them labour work at our drug dens and never paying them the right amount, or even any amount. The devastation of being bankrupt gradually ate my dad's heart until it was hollow enough for him to start screaming. its not like my father, the Michelle Marcellus never screamed, certainly, but he never yelled once at Celena Marcellus, my mother, whoever got it from dad, knew how sometimes wrath overrides his conscience, but never once my mother. my mother was my father's sanity once but soon enough in his late years, right before his death to be exact, he started yelling, picking on arguments which wasn't necessary. as if he thought by hurting another soul, he would find a person to drown in his own, the need and greed for money and stability needed a place to trash in. unfortunately that was my mother. Sometimes I heard them argue, but I thought eventually get better, but it didn't. My father wanted to put some of his humiliation and despair on my mother, so he hit right on her sensitive heart. bullseye.
Celena Marcellus still didn't leave Michelle, because Celena didn't know anything other than love, didn't know beyond or above it. known just one thing, like religion, because Michelle was her religion. To serve and devote, Michelle wasn't a bad lover, but Michelle was a mafia first, never let anyone hurt Celena until he did it himself. One day, my dad just raised his hand, intending to hit her. That was it, the devastation in Celena's eyes was picture worthy, like artists sketched about horror with nothing but some rough lines with a pencil. My father didn't hit her, but he saw the damage he did right that moment, and maybe my father died before he was stabbed right into his heart, in front of me. Maybe that's why I didn't cry. Not like I was a mother's devotee girl, but I saw Michelle die in guilt, but still couldn't forgive him in my heart for putting us into this death grip.
But I was too much like my father, too much of a woman who talked with wrath and acted on instinct only, hit without knowing the anger im storaging inside me wasn't supposed to be handed to them in words, or abuse. I used to think.
Am I my father's daughter? We both will look in the mirror and find a person we don't really know what to do with. We are both clueless, the failures gripping us so hard that we can't untangle ourselves from them. We both look at our bodies in the mirror and don't know how to give them life, but we are full of love, as people call us. We both are rotting, disappearing to places we don't want mom to know. Sometimes my father and I think we might be opposites, but no, we are both equally the same, can't grasp leisure, can't grasp big dreams, can't stomach unpredictable materials. Can't accept there's nothing to do about our fate. Sometimes he and I curse fate, but then beg the same fate God gave us to change the prophecy. People always saw us as beneath them. Grief clung to dad like a second skin, and he clings to me, thinking I would bring him a scissor to cut the skin. I would bring him salvation. But what if I'm his age and still like him? What if we are what we shouldn't be, what if we are what we didn't deserve, worse than worthy? What if we are always on the same side of coins, and nobody can change each other's fate, so we just look at each other through a mirror, through each other's eyes. Thinking what if this is it. What if there's nothing beyond this helplessness until we give up?
I had found Celena in a man's body much later, Lucien Voss, the strongest man to ever exist on the continent, had so much love in his body that he didn't see beyond it, until I had to show him. Doesn't mean Lucien didn't cheat. He did. with my best friend, Lily.
I caressed Lucien's hair lightly, the dried blood still on his scalp. I had stopped screaming at one point. Maybe Marco had seen my father in me and didn't hesitate to point a gun at my head to finally stop screaming. I kissed Lucien's hair, soft, too softly, so that maybe I would cringe from it afterwards. I am a woman, but I have always felt like a member of the gang, my father's right-hand lieutenant and now his successor. Lucien was on sedatives and anesthesia. which might be wearing off now, it was almost noon, and too silent in this room. Lucien's heavy body, almost half, snuggled into me. He did it in his senses or no senses at all. He knows his place, sometimes too well.
How have you been? I murmured as I looked at him. I didn't realise, but Victor said there was a storm outside, while I was screaming at the heavens. Too dramatic, Victor's answers. Sleeping amidst a storm behind an ocean. Like a blurry bluish cast, a canvas. The midnight dark waves glide through waves and waves surrounding him. Now, as I look at him, he almost looks like a storm. It was over the first hours of dawn, he was here, breathing air as if it had debt in him. Moles everywhere, like whales, like rivers, like lakes. I have loved water until it could drown me in it. And I have loved him just as, if more so. I have a storm raging inside me, thinking he found someone. Isn't it natural for me to feel jealousy? Why couldn't I love selflessly, in an immortal way, in a soulless way? Why couldn't I love without making my layers peel, without making my bones break under the weight of it? Why do I react humanely? Why couldn't I have loved him metaphorically? In grief? Why do I love him in hope, in dread of it coming true? In a hauntingly realistic way? Why couldn't I have loved him in myths? In stories, in drama? In narrations? Why am I unhinged, unravelling, and chaotic, absolutely war incarnate when it comes to love him? Why did I have to love him, as if walking into the war knowing I am a woman who has always held a weapon in my entire life? Why do I love him like I'm prepared for death, even if death naturally happens in most cases? Why don't I love poetically? Or just like in my novels. Why do my letters bleed in dirt and scrapes of flesh? Raw wounds and cuts. As if it's everywhere. Smearing my entire face in red. I love him like a woman loves a man in every generation. I have loved him in generations that aren't created in human lanes, even. I have loved him for decades; he is an old bone in my body that doesn't move, doesn't budge. It is rotten, though, but it won't move. I have tried it as well. Why can't I love in a more selfless way when I could tell that I don't care if I did find a partner? I feel anger, I feel betrayed, I feel unrealistically heartbroken. I don't claim that I have the right. But with the same right, I do feel all these. As if these feelings were sunken into my blood. Now, everyone says they want him to move on. I do too. But at what cost? Is it worth breaking my heart myself by being fake in love and selfless? I want him to find someone for himself, and when I find out somehow, here and there, I feel jealous, not really. I feel a certain amount of emptiness, because I think now whenever I talk about you, I would inevitably find a woman in your life whom I have to include as well.
Hours passed by, and I murmured at the end,
"I am scared of loneliness. You have given me unconditional humanness, togetherness, less loneliness, you have given me laughter, pride, fondness, lust. You have given me human nature. And suddenly, all of these will divert their mouths and be forced to find someone else. You have given me purpose, want, choices, excitement, energy, anticipation, and all these adjectives. You have given me a life to grow with. A survival. And suddenly survival will hinder? I'm selfish. I want to keep the entire feeling to myself and not include the sudden grief of parting. In my eyes, we haven't parted yet; we are just flying everywhere in the world, only to glide across each other, never touching, never meeting, never breathing each other. But we are here, layer and layer of wings finding us, and we are just circling the world, like Death Eaters."
Then I felt him stir, and I knew exactly who to kill. wiping my eyes, which had bits of tear stains or maybe blood. I got up and walked out of the room before he woke up fully.