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Pretty Fake Fantasies

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This story is about reality. Not those silly romance novels, not those unbelievable "meeting a prince accidently" shite. This is the story of Ava, who like every other person on this planet has a shit tons of worries. A disfunctional father, a brother and mother to support and her own fucking personal demons. She feels alone, she has always been alone. Dealing with things on her own, never in the slightest complaining out loud about her worries. She fakes being okay everyday. Thankfully she is discovered by a classmate at her worst one day and boy is this classmate hell bent on helping Ava. This is the story of an average everyday Betty, who tries to tackle every problem life throws at her and finds solace and love along the way. *TRIGGER WARNING* DO NOT READ THIS IF U GET TRIGGERED EASILY, I DO NOT WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR SOMEONE'S DEATH! Oh and just a side note, if you're thinking this is gonna be just another romance story, It can be true or it can't be. I've not decided yet, the ending can change depending on my mood. So don't read it with a pre-assumed ending or even a pre-assumed storyline in your mind.

Romance / Drama
Age Rating:

My Life


This is kind of an intro to Ava's life but it's not complete. The next chapters will be more elaborate and will tell yall more about the reason why Ava wants to commit suicide.

My name is Ava Piers and I am suicidal. I've never tried to take my life till now even though I really want to. I'm too scared to do something like that but it's not the dying part that scares me, it's what will happen to the ones around me after I'm gone.

I have an older sister, Madeline Piers or Maddie, as I call her and a younger brother, Ray Piers. Both my parents are alive and around but only one of them is really there for us.

My father, James Piers is always physically and financially around but never mentally. If somebody asked me "what's the one thing you'd want to change in your life" I'd say my dad. My dad isn't abusive, not physically atleast, he's actually quite a good dad compared to the ones who hit their kids or aren't around at all.

He worked hard all his life to get his kids the best things, stood in long lines to get his kids into the best schools, gave us the best food, clothes and everything. But that doesn't make him a good dad, I'd rather have a mentally stable father than him. I don't really know my dad, not like a child is supposed to know their father, not even in the slightest. We were never able to build a connection because of the kind of person he is.

But the one thing I do know about my dad for sure is that he's selfish, not like other parents who do things for their kids because they love them. My dad does things for us so he can use them against us, he expects us to act like servants around him, to treat him like a king because he's keeping us alive.

What kind of father treats his children like servents?

He screams at us when things don't go his way, he throws things at us, curses at us and sometimes so violently that you'd think he's about to kill us.

But the worst thing about him is the way he treats my mum. My mother, Helen Piers, is probably the most unfortunate woman on earth. You'd argue that there are women who have worse things than a screaming husband, but I'd beg to differ.

My father is a smart man, he just doesn't throw tantrums, he's broken all of us down mentally, especially my mum over the years. She's been suffering through mental and physical torture for more than 24 years now.

When my mother first came here, to my father's house after their wedding, it was nothing like she's ever seen before. Given she'd also been born in a very conservative family which didn't really liked having girls but my father's family, his house was way worse.

They forced her to quit her job, a job she loved, a job that meant independence for her. Then they turned her into their personal maid. Making her clean a four story high building all by herself, making her cook three meals for a family of five, wash the dishes, wash the clothes and then screaming at her, calling her names, threatening to send her back to her parents on the slightest of mistakes she made.

She worked like an ox all through her three pregnancies and not once anyone volunteered to help, not even a bit. When my older sister was born, my father's family was happy but not estatic cause it was a girl and a girl was not acceptable in our family but still it was the first child in our family, so no one said anything.

My father forced my mother to get pregnant again, even though she didn't want to, after what she'd gone through during her first pregnancy, she was reluctant but her wishes weren't heard. My father got my mum pregnant again, this time with me.

The hell my mother had to go through just because she gave birth to another girl. This time was different, I was a second girl which was like a curse. My grandma cried, nobody held me in their arms, didn't even help my mother after she delivered. Everyone, including my father left the hospital mourning. Only my nana and poppops,my maternal grandma and grandpa stayed, took me to their house and helped raise me for the first few months.

After some time, my dad came to pick up my mother and me, to save face. We lived with him now, with a bitter father, who had to act like he loved us so people didn't question his morals but deep down he hated his own kids. After 5 years, he once again forced my mother to get pregnant. This time my grandma threatened her, if my mum gave birth to another girl, my father would divorce her and throw us all out on the streets. They wouldn't care if she was still bleeding after child birth.

On the night my mother's water broke, she was rushed to the hospital, my grandma made me and my sister pray to god that my mum gives birth to a boy. And even as an 8 year old I knew, that if it wasn't a boy, we were all royally fucked.

Thankfully, to my father's family's delight, my mother gave birth to my brother, my father and grandparents were finally truely happy. But my dad still had to pay for two girls till they grew up and he couldn't differentiate between my brother and us because that would raise suspicion amongst other people.They would judge my father for being a sexists, and the one thing my father dearly cares about is the opinions of others. So he tried his hardest but failed miserably to treat all of his kids equally.

So we grew up, in a place that never wanted us, however much they told us they did. In a bitter home, where we weren't needed. My sister and I are probably this well today because of my mum. She knew how my dad was and she knew that she'd have to be both a mother and a father for her girls. So for the past 24 years, she quietly took every bit of injustice, never raising her voice, waiting for her daughters to grow up enough to stand up for themselves.

My sister was very loved as child, since she was the first child in our family but me, I could see the hatred behind the fake love in everyone's eyes.
I could see that they'd be happy with me gone and I grew up knowing that. They jokingly call me the "extra Piers" cause nobody wanted me..

Me and my sister became independent in our house at a very younge age, we'd cook our own meals sometimes, made food for our dad as well and help around in house chores while studying on our own. My brother though wasn't expected to do any of this, he was just supposed study but I don't blame him for this because he's always ready to help when we ask, we just have teach him and he learns.

Now that my sister is 21 and I'm 17, the real challenges began. My father started showing his true nature. His girls are just another set of hands meant to serve him. We were supposed to do every little thing around the house, whatever our father told us to, without making a sound. My mother tried so hard to do everything in our place, told us to just focus on our studies and she'll take care of the rest but my father saw what my mum was trying to do and started making an issue about it.

Calling us names, cursing at us and my mum for not making us work around the house, for "spoiling" us.

I was 14 when I decided that I would not live for very long, that I didn't want to. I was tired of all the torture and the pain and the only way to end it was, still is death.

I can't move away because that would be too shameless on my part, to leave them with my father. I won't be happy that way. But by dying, I won't have to think about them anymore, I'd just be gone and the memories of my house and my family will just turn to dust and I'd be at peace.

I know it's selfish to hurt them this way but I just can't breathe anymore. I'm tired of feeling horrible all the time. I'm just so tired.

At first I didn't know how to do it, I was scared that if I split my wrists it'll hurt, if I hanged myself it'll hurt. I was scared of the pain. But soon I realised that the pain I'm going through while living is much worse than what'll I'll go through while dying. But another problem arose, my mother and my little brother.

I knew if I died, my father would be relieved, my sister would cry for months but understand why I did what I did but my mother and my little brother.. they'd be broken beyond repair. My mother would curse herself and blame herself and won't see any reason. All she will see is her dead child, I wasn't strong enough to put her through more pain, not when she was already going through so much and my brother is too little to understand, all he'd do is miss me and I can't put him through such trauma.

So I waited, hoping that my father would change, hoping that some God would see our misery and help us. I just waited for a miracle but nothing happened. People kept moving on and we were stuck here.

So I stoped wishing for a miracle and started wishing for strength. I needed to be strong and just end it all one day.

You'd think killing youself won't be this complicated, I used to too but now that I think about it, it's not only me I'll be killing which hurts even more.

My only joy is in thinking that someday I'll leave this world and be at peace, death is my happiness now. I can't wait to be away from my father, to be away from myself and just be okay.

Auther's note

I'm always open to suggestions and I would really love feedback since I'm not a writer, I'd really love some help.

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