Page 52 of Equilibrium
She waited for me to elaborate further and I didn’t know if I could.
Trust, honesty, ring a bell?
Yes, it did fucking ring a bell, but I didn’t want to rehash history with my dick still inside of her. Not that I ever wanted to talk about that part of my life, but in order for us to move forward, I knew I would have to. One day, I would have to.
Taking a deep breath, I told her what almost nobody else knew. A secret I held close to my heart. A secret too filthy to tarnish this world with, but I had to. If I wanted her to trust me, I needed to start trusting her.
“I was born in Winworth.” Her eyes clouded because we both knew who did business there. “I was born to a junkie mother and a father with a terrible temper. I was born there, lived there, until they sold me.”
“They what?”
I almost wanted to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. If only she knew.
“They sold me, Ophelia. They exchanged me for their next fix and if I ever saw my mother again, she would beg me to send her to hell.”
His words bouncedaround my head as I tried to comprehend what he was trying to tell me.
They sold me.
My heart clenched painfully for the boy he must have been and for the man he is now.
They sold me.
The way he said those three words, the way his voice trembled as if he hated sharing it with me, as if it pained him even thinking about it, it fucking killed me from the inside. I wanted to cry for the little Storm that wasn’t granted the love other kids had. I wanted to cry for both of us and this fucked-up destiny that was made for us. I wasn’t sold, not really, because the devil had a claim on my soul long before I even knew what the true evil looked like.
The only difference between the two of us was that I realized who the real monster is when I was a little bit older.
“I met true evil when I was just a child, Sunshine.” His fingers played with the strand of hair that fell over my face. “Other kids were terrified of the boogeyman that could crawl out of their wardrobe, but my boogeyman was the one that gave birth to me. They both made sure that I never had any visible bruises, but I can still remember it as clear as a day. The disgusting smell of our apartment, the tiny little pantry they used to lock me in if I dared to eat when they were too high to even care. I remember it all.”
I bit down on my lip, trying to suppress the whimper that was threatening to erupt from my chest. He was a proud man, and the last thing I wanted him to think was that I pitied him. Because I didn’t. This tall behemoth in front of me was one of the strongest people I knew. I complained about the lack of love, lack of affection, but I had everything I ever wanted to have. What did he have? Two parents that didn’t give a shit about him.
Two monsters that sold a child, and for what?
“How old were you?” I asked carefully as he lowered me down on my feet. Now that the adrenaline, the high of having him in me again trailed off, my legs were shaky, barely holding me up. Noticing it, he draped an arm around my waist, holding me up.
“Four.”
One word. One fucking word was enough to make me want to hunt them down and claw their eyes out for what they did to him.
“The scar—”
“It was a gift from daddy dearest when I wasn’t able to carry four of his beers. He got a little mad.”
“Jesus Christ, Storm.”
“No, hey.” He palmed my face, drawing me closer to him. “I don’t want to see that pity on your face.”
“It’s not a pity. I’m angry.” I huffed. “I am so fucking angry.”
How could they do this? Not that my own family ranked higher than that, but I had other people that took care of me. Other people that fed us, clothed us, and made sure we did our homework. Even in her most fucked-up state, my mother never wanted me gone. I just thought that she was never supposed to be a mother. She was never supposed to have three kids in the first place.
But this, this revelation... My hands itched to kill them. My soul wanted to seek revenge for him, even though it was probably the last thing he wanted. He was proud, stubborn, probably as violent as I was, but he was also broken. Knowing that you weren’t wanted by those that were supposed to protect you killed your soul in a different way.
There were different types of love, different types of care, and while you could survive a broken heart from a lover, you could never survive a broken heart from your family. I fucking hated Theo with all my soul, but it also ate at my insides for years that the only brother I had only wanted to see me dead or gone.
It ate at me that the mother I so desperately wanted to love would rather snort another line of cocaine than hug me. But I still had them in my life. I at least had moments where my world wasn’t pitch black, where the colors invaded and everything was fine for a few moments.
And what did he have? A lifetime of “what-ifs” and fucking assholes for parents.
