Damn that witch of a sister of mine. It took a couple of years but the bond with my sisters and father was one built on tragedy, guilt and lost time made up tenfold by unconditional acceptance and love.
“The boys? Nooooo please not the boys.”
The boys are my nephews and they, unlike my little angel, wouldn’t just trample my calves, they would dive bomb me until I fell from the bed.
Her giggles sound through the room, igniting light in me I never knew I could harbor. When Melody fell into my arms at her apartment, she never left them. I put a ring on her finger a month later and this little cherub now tracing the ink of her name, Cereus, over my shoulder came a year later.
We grew and learned, coped and breathed together. Ryan changed us both for the worst but we changed each other for the better. Fate entwined us and although the devil led me down many sinful paths, God could be the only reason I met Melody. She was a saint sent to save me and she did. We survived, I awoke. I feel. I love. I have empathy.
EIGHTEEN YEARS OF BEING TRAPPED inside a place full of people so broken, manipulation is like child’s play. Nurses working long hours on poor money with husbands not showing them interest ate me up when I arrived. The funny thing is, we’re called the insane ones yet how crazy do you have to be to yearn for someone like me? But they do. This face can melt the panties off a nun. Who’s the broken one, people?
Melody played roles in here she didn’t know about. I’m still a little bitter how things played out in the end. See, when I claim someone they stay in me forever, an obsession if you like. They live in my skin, in the blood that pumps through my veins. I don’t like losing and that was exactly what it felt like when she plunged that knife in me.
My mind relives everything that happened; killing her parents, bashing that cunting vermin’s head in who called me a punk ass faggot when I passed him in the alley behind Club Blue. Clive and the filthy whores from Club Nine, the blood flowing from them in rivers of wine. Mmmm, breaking Sean. He was in love with me and dreamed about me taking him. I watched his elation when I told him I wanted him too, then took him so brutally with my fist he cried and squealed like a baby pig being strangled. I offered to walk him home afterwards because he was too sore to sit in the seat of my car. He was so upset with himself for not being able to handle my type of sexual needs, repeatedly apologising to me. How pathetic. It was almost no fun playing with him; I prefer a stronger mind. The disbelief and fear that flitted across his face when I shoved him into the oncoming traffic is a memory I savor though. I let those memories get me through this pit stop in my life.
They think they cure you but this is me, no matter how many doctors, how much medication, they can’t cure someone who isn’t ill. I’m not ill. I didn’t break. I was never whole to begin with.
“Are you ready to start your new life, Ryan? You’re about to become a part of the world again, be an upstanding civilian and then in a year you won’t even have to come to visit me.” My psychiatrist beams.
“Live amongst the normal people?” I quipped.
“You’re normal Ryan.” God how wrong he is.
I slip on my jacket and tug down the picture that plays host to dissolute dreams. Something they tried to hide from me but only goaded me to play the recovered patient.
My lovely niece, a perfect mix of Melody and Blake.
My voice replies, “I’m ready.” My mind is saying, “I’m not normal. I don’t feel. I don’t love.”
I don’t have empathy."