Chapter 1 – Lawless Games
“YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO TALK BACK TO ME, YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!” I wake up to my mother screaming at me, words I’ve heard before, years ago. They land on me, but not as sharp as they once were.
This is not real, why would this be where my brain takes me at the end of my life, the one age I swore I would never be again. I check my hands, gripping my arms, I even pinch myself. Still real. Shit.
I bet you have all read the stories about the heroines who come back for a second chance at life, they wake up at the main turning point of promised ruin or the unknown “better” choice.
But the twist is they now know the hand of cards each player is bluffing with; and they make the best decisions to exact their revenge by living the better life. Like that old cliché saying, the best revenge is a life well lived.
I don’t buy into the shit one bit. I’m on my fourth life now and I don’t know what kind of game death is playing with me, but I’m about to pull a page from his book.
In my first 17 years of life, I was mistreated by just about everyone, abusive stepfather, mother who had no business having children, absent biological dad, a grandma who didn’t want to be stuck with me, mental illness running rampant through the generations.
Alcohol, drugs, my childhood home being ripped apart over whatever argument was ensuing.
What did that create? A hyper independent, people pleasing, depressed, heartbroken mess. I had every parental wound you can think of just stopping short of the evil stepmother cliché.
I was a goody-two-shoes, no nonsense straight forward type, my downfall you ask? I thought most people would think like me, because why on Earth would anyone like playing games that hurt other people…
But I learned the hard way in my first life, after becoming a single mom, having my heart ripped out and stomped on by my children’s father, who cheated on me while I was pregnant.
I went to therapy, tried to fix what was broken, change what I was attracted to. None of it worked, the fucked-up people just found me in more evolved forms.
They would prey on my kindness to live an easy life. I paid for everything. They offered crumbs which I gladly accepted because it was more than I had ever been given. Just to toss me aside when they found their footing, or got tired of me asking to be loved a crumb more.
I had thought about death since I was a child, dancing around the idea. As an adult I became heavily tattooed, an addict for the rush of endorphins that came with the buzz and the scraping of my flesh. I loved it.
But all the anchors I held onto in life slowly detached and disappeared. My children being my last one. I adored their beautiful faces, I really did.
The thing about not being loved, is after a certain point you stop believing you are loveable. It’s etched into your bones, seared into your mind. No words, no philosophy can erase it.
So eventually I lost my ability to hold onto my last anchor. Convinced myself they were better off without me, they had a stepmom who was wonderful, I even liked her.
They had grandparents who could give them everything they could ever want, and they had a dad who loved them more than any dad I knew.
So, I said my goodbyes subtly, I wrote my letter for my children and I made myself disappear.
At first, I felt my hands get shaky, then I got extremely sleepy and next thing I knew, I knew nothing, there was nothing.
Only to be slammed back into reality, except this reality is seventeen-year-old me. It is the day my mother kicked me out for arguing back about my abusive step dad.
You know how it goes, you cause too many waves in the perfect order of dysfunction and it’s time for you to get thrown overboard. It’s like being tossed out of Wonderland, but I didn’t chase a silly rabbit down a hole to get here, I was born to the evil queen, a pawn in her lawless game of chess.
My father the Mad Hatter, running around having imaginary tea parties with homeless tweakers, because well the shoe fit. Then the monster who hid under my bed, stalking into my room at night, but during the day he was off to work to pay the rent. Fuck all the fairytales.
“YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO TALK BACK TO ME, YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!” She walks off to get the phone to call my boyfriend, letting him know she is kicking me out and he could come save me if he wanted to.
In my second life I followed my steps carefully. Making sure I got my children first knowing I’d end up a single mother still. But this time, I became a doctor, thinking if I changed my job, was more prepared things would be different.
It wasn’t, it was like I leveled up in people’s fucked-upness. The cues and behaviors became almost unpredictable after a certain point. The last one I fell in love with ripped open every wound I thought I had sealed over.
He treated me like a queen, showed me endless love, I thought he was my soulmate, I thought I picked the better route in life. After 7 years of marriage, he told me he didn’t believe he could love anyone, he thought if he gave it more time he would, but it felt impossible for him. He still claimed I was so important to him; he just didn’t have the ability to love me.
The following day I saw him out with another woman, looking at her with the love in his eyes he once looked at me with. He saw me watching and looked at me like I was a typical stranger on the street, not someone he spent the last 7 years sleeping next to, smiling at and whispering I love you to.
My heart already a war torn home, stitched back together more times than I could count, but him, he caused something deeper, my soul fractured.
I was overworked, unloved and despite all the money and things I had, I still felt empty. The scars I carried from my first life still embedded in me, the deep rift was getting wider.
My children ended up in the same loving situation, nothing had changed on that end, same loving stepmom and everything. I gave up once more, so sure this was my last life.
It was not.
I wake up to my mother screaming at me once more, “YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO TALK BACK TO ME, YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!”
My third life, I will get my children, find a job I love, and not just for money. I’ve had two lives with jobs I wasn’t happy with, one paid well the other paid much better both only made me feel over worked and underappreciated.
This time I dabbled in art, tried my hand in business, neither worked, I was struggling and unhappy or overworked and unhappy, I pushed to last longer this time.
I never dated again after my children’s father to keep from being hurt, but the hole in my chest stayed painfully empty.
Love only lingered on my skin, I couldn’t feel it outside of the superficial meaning. It was easier that time, like nothing was truly real anyways. So, I wrote my letter once again, hoping it was my final time doing so.
No.
I see my mother’s angry face mid yell once more. Only this time she is frozen, I look around to spot a smoky dark cloaked figure standing nearby. I can’t see his face, but I can feel the ugly smile he holds as he speaks, “You keep giving up so easily, you must be insane if you keep trying to go down almost the same path each time, silly girl.”
Then he is gone before I can even process his words. My mother’s spit landing on my face as she unfreezes. “YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO TALK BACK TO ME, YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!”
My only reply, “You know what, fuck all this shit.”
As she goes to grab the phone, I throw on my hoodie, I grab my school backpack and dump it on the floor because fuck it. I grab a couple changes of clothes, head to the bathroom grab my toothbrush and the family’s tube of toothpaste; then into the kitchen for a couple bottles of water an orange and two granola bars, and I walk towards the front door.
My mother screaming again, “WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” I don’t bother there’s no point. I open the door and leave, she follows behind me yelling, it is already close to midnight.
She walks fast trying to catch up and is gaining ground as she is tall for a woman. But the thing about 17-year-old me, I can run, I am built for it and I am quick.
So, I put my endurance and speed to the test, and I take off. Her voice fading into the distance, I keep going, I know she called my boyfriend and there is no way I’m tolerating that man again in any lifetime. A bipolar, controlling, obsessive weirdo, I refuse.
