I was sitting over my notebook again, but this time in my room on my bed. I put my mother to bed just a moment ago. She is a strong woman, but no mother does not break down upon hearing about the death of their child. Or maybe there is, but mine wasn't among them.
After accepting the facts, she will help the police to arrest the criminal. She will search for the killer, without knowing it's her own daughter. What a sick joke. I don't even know whether to cry or laugh. My mother... Would she forgive me if she knew what I had done?
Forgiveness is the hardest thing in this world, or so I think. We can say it's no problem or we are not angry anymore, but if we feel differently in our hearts then it's in vain. Words are worthless without substance.
But I am her daughter. It is impossible for her not to forgive me. Even if I killed the man who was his son. She loves me more, right? Or not? She wouldn't want to see me behind bars.
If I told her what Seth did, maybe she would understand. If I tell her... But I won't. I will never be able to put it into words in front of her. That's why I am staring at this stupid notebook.
Seth and I didn't share the same blood, thankfully. My father was an Irish man who died shortly after I was born. Then one day Seth's father came into our lives and swept my mother off her feet. He got my mother pregnant but disappeared before Ailish was born. But he left his son with us.
Mother could not abandon the boy so she adopted him. He became part of our family. I didn't mind, I was almost happy. At first.
Mother felt guilty about that bastard's disappearance, so she showered him with love. She didn't want him to feel his absence. I was never jealous. I never had a father so I could not understand his feelings. I even felt sorry that he had such an irresponsible and selfish father like him. And my mother loved me no less. Nothing has changed, except there was one more person in our family. As they say: Where there is love, it is easy to share the potatoes. I treated him like a sibling until he broke my trust.
This is the most devastating. When a child was taken advantage of by someone they trusted, unconditionally loved, believed, and almost admired.
I was broken, but I got back up and I will never be on the floor again. I swore. But now I am afraid. If my mother loved him more than me... Then she would never forgive me. It's not like I plan to stand before her and admit everything. But still... It would be nice if I could believe that she would not hate me. That she loves me enough not to hate or feel disgusted by me.
I want hope. And light. But my world has been nothing but relentless darkness for a long time now. Maybe there will be no sunrise in this life. I almost accepted this. But if there is one thing that has never died from the hearts of men it is hope. People can't shake it off like a dog can shake off water. They can't just ignore it. There will be hope even if one decides not to hope for anything.
It's not like there haven't been times in my life when I wanted to give up and throw everything away. Sometimes death really is tempting.
I tapped my pen against my notebook. My uncertainty and doubts have not diminished since morning but it's time to do something. I can't sit here forever arguing with myself. I have to decide. Shall I write down the story of the day when I began to fall into a bottomless, dark abyss?
I shrugged my shoulders. Why not? No one will ever read it and I promised myself that I would never be a coward again.
I put my pen to the first line. But where should I start? And how? Or should I just write what comes to mind? I guess.
Actually, I don't remember much. I don't know what year it was or how old I was. But I couldn't have been more than ten maybe even less. I was on my way home by bicycle. With my new, red bicycle. There was a car not far from our house but it couldn't be seen from our windows because of the trees. I wondered what it was doing in the middle of nowhere. But I didn't care much for it. I wanted to go past it but I was stupid enough to stop when he said something to me. He asked if I knew of any houses for sale in the area. Or not. This part is really vague and confusing. I didn't understand why he was asking me. Doesn't matter. He asked and I answered.
Then I have no idea how but his dick was out in the open the next moment. He was sitting in his car and he was stroking his little guy. As a naive, clueless kid I didn't know what it was or what he was doing.
I smiled a little as I thought about how much better everything was before I gained this kind of knowledge.
I don't know what kind of car it was or what colour. I only can remember that I thought it was an expensive one. I don't remember that man's face. Not really. I think he was short and fat. He was almost bald and he wore glasses. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Maybe. But I am uncertain about everything. The things he said were more memorable than his appearance. I will try to quote what he said: „It's usually bigger." Of course, he meant his dick. Then he offered me to touch it.
I grimace in disgust even now when I think back on it.
Naturally, I declined his kind offer. I felt that something was wrong so I lied that I had to be home at a certain time. I definitely remember that part. I passed him and luckily he didn't try to stop me. Maybe he was afraid someone would show up soon.
I got home safely but I did not talk about it. Why? I don't know. Maybe I got a shock or something. But I remember my uncle visiting us and having dinner together. Such useless information.
Memory really is a weird thing. I remember the dinner but I can't recall that man's face.
In the past, I hated remembering it and I did my best to think about anything else. But it doesn't matter anymore. I realized that this would be a futile attempt. People can get rid of anything but their memories. They can change their house, clothes, cars, friends and they can leave their families. In this day and age, even their faces can be changed, but the memories are different. You can not forget what you want. I mean you can run into a wall or hit your head really hard but there is no guarantee you will forget what you want and that those memories won't come back to haunt you later.
I still feel nauseous thinking about what else could have happened. What exactly did he want? What would he have done if I hadn't left him as soon as possible? Or if he had not let me leave? If he had kidnapped me where would I be now? Alive or dead?
I shook my head. There is no point in thinking about it. It's no use racking my brain over what else could have happened. It did not happen and that is the point.
I thought I could get over it and move on with my life. Maybe with time, I could have forgotten and it would have disappeared from my mind. I was hopeful until something else happened. Until Seth started to harass me. His actions did not let me forget and just made the situation worse. He filled my head with fears and nightmares.
The years that follow are like a distant dream that you don't want to forget, but no matter how hard you try they just keep drifting away. They are vague, malleable, and somehow unreal. I barely remember anything and it's all uncertain. As if it wasn't even me. My body was there but I wasn't. Like a puppet that moves at someone else's orders. I had no feelings, I just did what I had to do and I pretended that everything was fine. Like a robot, that can think independently, act on them, and understand what is happening around it. I turned completely inward, I felt depressed, and every day was painful. My heart and soul were bleeding.
For a while, I hated all people and wished them dead. It was as if every human being had hurt me, not just a few people.
I existed but I wasn't a part of anything. I kept my distance from everyone as if I could protect myself from more pain if I just stayed away. Although my suffering was constant and dense.
I don't know how but I slowly started to come back to life. There were colors, flavours, and shapes again. There were some positive emotions, but not much. My friends helped me a lot. Even though I have lost some of them over time I am still really grateful for their support.
I realized it's not over yet. There was a time when I thought about suicide. It was around this time that I began to appreciate knives. I loved running my hand along their edges without hurting myself. I thought about cutting my veins but I was too afraid of the pain. Both physically and emotionally.
A medication overdose would have been the simplest way but I never thought of it for some reason. I could only imagine that I would die by a knife. What an unimaginative kid I was.
But in the end, I survived to suffer more. And now I don't plan to throw my life away. I would rather kill someone else to protect myself. As I did.
I vowed not to be a victim anymore and I plan to keep it.
But the biggest help was the books I read. The fight of the protagonist motivated me as well. They did their best even in hopeless situations. Sometimes they faltered but they never gave up. And if they can do it, why can't I?
Books gave me strength, set an example, and taught me many things. No matter how crappy your life is, you have to keep going. Your last breath, while blood flows in your veins, until your heart beats and you cease to exist. As long as you have cards in your hand you cannot surrender. I want to live like this but it is easier said than done. I have a not-so-remarkable personality with questionable qualities. And now I am a killer. Can I live a normal life at all?
But at least no one is going to trample all over me again or make me a victim. I won't let it happen again. I won't fall back into that abyss. I started to climb up and even if I hold it with one finger I won't let go. It's easy to give up. It's the fight that is fricking hard.
It is quite easy to promise on paper. Making it a reality... Maybe impossible. Perhaps I am in so deep that I can never reach the surface. And what if there is no sun even up there? What if the bottom is as dark as the ground? Would all my efforts be in vain? Or is there any difference between darkness and darkness? Even if not I won't change my mind. I have started to walk this path and I will continue until I reach the end.
I put down my pen and notebook, then I massaged my wrist. Damn! Maybe I shouldn't write so much at once. But whatever. Part of my miserable life is now on paper, not just in my head.