Seven days- Prologue
" No!"
" What!?"
"No, I will not go anywhere"
" It's not up to you child, you live under my roof and until you are independent, you will abide under my rules"
My mom -or as I call her- Cecile yelled trying to exert her authority over me. Keyword, trying.
She wanted me to go to some Christian camp for seven days as punishment for my most recent ' stunt ', and she knew I hated church - don't ask why - I also don't want to talk about the stunt.
Okay, just kidding, I do, I had for a very good reason loosened all the nuts and bolts on my english lecturers run down minivan.
The reason they teach us a language we already speak is beyond me. Anyways, the guy was an overly egoistic, jerk faced bastard who threatened girls into sleeping with him if they ever wished to pass his course. The man was borderline creepy, like which normal bachelor drives a minivan?
Long story short, he's currently in coma after a nasty accident which if I'm being honest was totally deserving. Hopefully his make appendage gets destroyed so he won't be able to use it ever again. My Cecile being Cecile saw the things no one else did and figured it was me but she didn't turn me in or ground me like any other normal parent and instead, she decides this.
Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against religion just Christianity in particular. Like what do you call a type of person who condemns you to eternal damnation for not believing and loving him? Borderline obsessive that's what. Although I think the Jesus dude is cool , I have a lot of questions for God if I see him even though I've heard he doesn't like questions.
" Yes Cecile."
I might've sounded rebellious but I and Cecile knew she had won, she always did. She clicked her tongue,
" You've been a bad girl Erico, a very bad girl and we know what happens to bad girls, don't we?"
She asked
" They get punished "
I sighed in resignation knowing what was coming.
" I and t love you so much that's why I'm doing this, okay the Bible says in Ephesians 6, 1' Children obey your parents, honour your parents for this is the first commandment with a promise' -and to parents- ' Spare the rod and spoil the child ', I know you might not agree now but Erico, I'm doing this only because I love you okay?"
" Yes Cecile "
" Good, now strip."
For seventeen years since I could talk my mother and I have been fighting a battle.
I take off my shirt
A battle of pain and endurance with her on the giving end and I on the receiving.
I take off my pants
Time and again I give her a reason to hit me, to hurt me, to try and break me.
I knelt down beside her study table.
" I'm in a good mood so, I'll let you choose, whip, suspension, fire or blood."
She says running a hand through my hair, I hum enjoying the feeling but I take too long to answer so she grips tighter and pulls, hard. I could only grit my teeth and groan out
" The whip"
" Good girl, I love you so much"
I cooed, my mother loved me, yes I wasn't allowed to call her that but she loved me, that was all that mattered, yes she loved me, similar to the way God did they wanted me but only if did certain things, acted a certain way and become a certain person but i didn't care , love was love and I would take all I could get.
"Count"
Stroke by stroke descended as I counted feeling my skin peel away as she loved me.
I wasn't dumb, back in high school my class mates didn't flinch when their friends clapped their backs or miss school for days in order to ' reflect on their actions ' which was code for recovering from a massive, generous, heavy punishment. I knew a type of love that didn't hurt or cause scars and scabs existed, it just wasn't for me and I could envy them all I wanted but I would never have what they did so I took what I got as the best cause it was all I deserved, nothing more.
Crack
" Thirty"
I counted gritting my teeth as the loud pitiful sounds I made in the place of crying tore through me, I don't cry, I can't cry, there was no scientific explanation for it so I counted it as one of my many psychological flaws.
" Look at you, I and God are the only ones that can ever love you, I, because I gave birth to you and him because he created you. He is so perfect yet you managed to come out so broken. You can't even cry, and those noises sound like a demon dying. How could I have given birth to such a freak? You're the reason your father left, he couldn't have a child like you, I can't even blame him, I've told you before and I'll do it again, NO ONE will ever want you"
She spat crying and sobbing because of me.
"I'm sorry, I'm so stupid and horrible, I'm really really sorry"
I cried tearlessly, I knew my mum, she wanted me like this, broken, sorry and self depreciating,
" No, no you're not, that's why you're going to see Dr. Compton Simon at the camp, it's like killing two birds with one stone, he'll have sessions with you and you get to be around children who love God back, unlike you, maybe that will help you, not like twelve days are enough to fix you but, I'm running out of options."
All my life it's been one therapist to another and Cecile has taken it upon herself to ' fix ' me since she found out my problems upstairs, I am not apathetic but I have difficulties discerning and understanding my feelings and those of others, I am sociopathic and have a chronic Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder ( ADHD ), this sentence were the exact same words I read on my first therapist's notebook. Simply put, I can't really feel emotionally the way others do, I'm destructive and love fun laced with a not so subtle amount of dark humour.
" Now go take a bath or shower"
Cecile ordered, I slipped into the bathroom careful not to strain my bloody injured back and buttocks.
One of my favourite pastimes is to stare at the girl in the mirror, pointing out her physical flaws and numerous imperfections, I have never accepted her as my reflection because she is a strong, happy and perfectly normal girl, just the opposite of me. She had dark shinny black hair and thick eyebrows, a perfect nose and small pouty pink lips, she's gorgeous but she wasn't me, I was simply ugly and broken, like a porcelain doll, and like every broken toy, I needed fixing.
I curled up in my tiny bed and cuddled my favourite and only pillow. Cecile said my sleeping conditions were put in place to discourage my 'little' problem. No comfy beds or stuffies, no paci's or toys, I hated myself, my life and every one in it. More than once have I thought of just letting go of it all but I'm too much of a coward to actually really try and I know that if I did, I wouldn't fail.
