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narrative: september 1, 2016
Well, everything is fucked up, and you're well aware of this, but at least you know the reasoning behind it. CNN is still reporting about your mother being held by Federal agents as more is uncovered about her unethical practices. You haven't sent them anything since that first day, as you know the FBI is more than capable of getting what they need, they just needed a little push to get there. You're protected as a source, and no one is none the wiser. Because for some reason, Cynthyia doesn't even think you could be behind this, because she's always viewed you as the son who will never amount to anything. Well now you're only one of two sons she has left, but since she's disowned both of you and refuses to admit that you both exist? Well that's her own grave she's dug. You've wiped your hands clean of it, and it's all on her now. She'll spend the rest of her days in jail, and that is just what she deserves. Of course, she had already kinda built her own prison to begin with, but she was the warden of it. She controlled every single person that was in her life, including you. But, not anymore. The weight that lifts off your shoulders following this should be enough to make you happier. Of course, it's not. Because you're nothing if not a constant state of unhappy, but you're making choices that are good for you now. You're trying to finally put yourself first, because it's been years of people walking all over you and pushing you around. You used to go for it, each and every time. If it made someone happy, well you'd do it. If they didn't like something you were doing, well you'd stop. Your undying need to be liked drove you to a lot of bad situations, but you're aware of them now. You can see everything that happened with clear eyes, and there is an overwhelming pain there. You won't give forgiveness. Not yet. Not until the sharp pain goes into a dull one that you can't notice anymore. But now, the wound, like your stab wound on your side, is too fresh. Everything is just too fresh. The news is still playing, every now and then, the reporting turns away from the fiasco that is another politician scorned, and it goes to the scorned politician's beloved son, who was so viciously murdered and you clench your hands up in fists as you watch, your knuckles going white. Beloved son. Because even in death, he's still lording over you, and you can't get away. It's as if you feel the knife on your throat again, and you're scared to breathe, but yet you want to scream. It's not anything that you're comfortable with. Nothing these days has anything you're comfortable with. Finally after hours of torturing yourself (because that's what this is, torture by watching this, reading old emails, old text messages, before deleting everything permanently), you finally turn the TV off and turn on your XBOX One, starting up a game. Because you might as well run around and shoot things and get lost in a fantasy world for a while, right? Only, you can't even do that, because it reminds you to much of what happened, even if the setting isn't completely the same. There is still violence though, there is still murder, there is still pain and suffering. And well, you're not sure how much more you can take. So, you decide to fall back on old routines, as you get up slowly from the couch. There's a Growler or two of beer in your fridge, and now seems as good as time as any to drink it. Because you're going to be hiding out here alone for the foreseeable future, your own little makeshift vault. |