Prologue
The cracks came long before the house fell.
Unnoticed and unseen , quietly spreading within the rock , into a network of irreversible damage we’d never be able to undo . Slowly eroding into the place I called home .
We’d heard them last .
They’d first started as little cracks within the walls , a tile shifting out of place when we weren’t looking .
We thought we knew them.
Thought we knew the depth at which they’d burrowed themselves into our home , but we’d only later realise the estimated damaged we came up with would greatly differ from the outcome .
Because they heard us first .
They’d heard us for longer , seen us naked and knew what to break that wouldn’t matter , the places to hide that we never looked for them in .
They knew and we simply didn’t know enough.
" You damn bitch ! ”
My father’s voice thundered from downstairs.
Sudden and unexpected considering his usual stoicism.
A body crashing to the floor with a loud THUMP!
The weight it fell with familiar enough for me to guess it was my mother’s lithe frame that hit the floor making the sound , not from her weight .
She was much too small. Rather the force at which she was thrown down .
I knew by now she’d probably lost consciousness by now , unable to bear the effects of the force used when she was thrown .
Bleeding out on the floor , heart still and patient .
Waiting for her husband to come back and realise who he’d hurt .
And that’s where she went awry every time , making excuses for a men who knew what he was doing , who knew who he was hurting .
She’d long died in his eyes , whilst he held her heart in standstill , leaving it to wait for a man long gone .
Another one of my father’s violent acts of love that was abuse poorly covered up .
Love.
It’s all their household was built upon.
Yet it seemed their household would crumble on it’s very foundations . The once great pillars that held them high , began to crack under all their violence , eventually collapsing from hate .
The rot ripping it’s way into their home , rendering all love worthless and empowering the greed in their hearts wether it be for violence or lost love .
In their house , love and pain met square in the middle .
Practically best friends.
One incomplete without the other .
Pain met love and eventually they’d learned to mix together , somehow keeping the fragile balance in this house .
But under all that white pristine paint were grudges weighing heavy . Planted deep within the walls , painting them a dark colour , each one born from a lost love , control that’d crossed the line , a life taken with no return , a child’s desperate cries for love , words that were never heard nor said , actions that betrayed their wedding vows , blows exchanged that cut deeper than the physical.
It would be because of these grudges he’d never known love .
Real love .
Unconditional , without the pricetag labelled pain .
Love that didn’t request something in exchange .
Love that wouldn’t take more than it had to offer on the table .
Love that wasn’t a gamble one ought to keep winning in worry they’d’ lose more than they came with .
Love...that wouldn’t leave him battered and bruised , with the fragments of his heart so sharp they cut flesh open .
He was a dreamer .
Always was and would be till his end .
He’d learnt to find comfort within the imaginary walls and world he controlled , everything from the strands of hair on his head to how the wind felt .
He could create his ideal parents .
The perfect ones...for him.
Because his perfect wasn’t like others .
It was all their flaws covered up by dollar store paint , that would slowly chip away and him being their loving son would cover it up , paint a new layer on the hurt .
It wouldn’t heal , never could .
Just fester and spread the rot .
And him , he’d paint everytime, with no mistakes because that was what he was used too .
In his world of love and pain .
