Tethered By Lust

I am good but not an angel

Cordelia

I'm not sure the exact second, I realized it. Freedom. The feeling of every door being open and any dream becoming a possibility made my stomach squirm with excitement. The idea that I used to walk to shops and waste time looking at the different scents of candles and pretending to be fascinated and infatuated by the selections of scents when in fact all I cared for was time away from Marcus, and I knew I was safe in the corner shop or in that supermarket or in that bar for mere minutes, but it is what saved me from drowning until Axel. He was my out. I didn't see it the first time we met. I think I knew deep down he was my person, but the possibility seemed out of reach.

Now with Marcus dead I separated the reminder of 7.49 pm to the time he hurt me or the red wine that prompted him to his actions or the smell of the cut grass. The silly things that correlate with your traumas. But they do, nevertheless. When I was younger, I hated spaghetti bolognese because my fucking stepdad ate it every day and the smell brought me back to him. It's stupid I know but I can feel the bile rise in my throat when the smell hits my senses, and I can feel my glans swell with the horrible reminder. I choose to forget everything relating to him - my stepdad and Marcus's existence in every way purely because I've wasted enough of my life suffering, and I don't want to waste one more single thought.

I am grateful Axel killed Marcus, but I do wonder if it will haunt him as it would if I had pulled that trigger. Will his conscience keep him awake at night – reminding him he was the one who took away another life – but with all due respect, God all might father he did just put down a serial killer who I can say with surety and certainty he would've killed again so technically he done us all a favor in a sinister way.

I just can't help but let my thoughts drift if it wasn't Marcus who died it could've been Val or Aiden or Axel and that thought terrifies me because I believe that would've been my final straw. I wouldn't be coming back for redemption. I would rather condemn myself to hell and choke on my own blood before pretending to go back to our beautiful, picturesque life of roses and rainbows with Marcus. Because roses are a disguise for the darkness. You see them at funerals, they appear on birthdays, and they are presented as apologies. They cover the true depths of evil with a splash of color presented with a little card that says lots of love or at graves where no card is needed. Rainbows appear after rainfalls. After turmoil sheds onto us. Then a rainbow disguises the darkness and the evils once uncovered but in a costume for everyone to see what they are meant to.

I like to think that I'm an optimistic person considering the odds. But now I just see everything as it is. Black and white. Plain as day. It's as simple as buying a coffee for someone. You buy the first or another does. Then you return it, or they do. But neither of yous want to buy the coffee it's just a sign of gratitude yous both would rather not give but it's a way of covering up how you truly feel. Why appear sour when you can appear sweet.

Sweetness is a killer. People expect you to continue this ray of kindness. You get a scam in your inbox folder saying act now or all your personal information will be leaked. So, someone kind enough if offering their assistance but in actuality they are scamming you. So why not just be sour and true instead of false promises.

I think that is what I regret about my mother. She showed kindness once and a while and I clung to it. She should've just showed me I was all alone because it would've been easier in the long run. She made me feel I had hope and chances and actually had it pretty easy life since I had a roof over my head and a mother still present. But she got bored of pretending to be a mother and decided to just fuck it and get drunk every day and resign from her role as a mother. Her abuser became her husband and then my stepdad became my abuser. I do think she cared about me, but she became so absorbed in the alcohol in the drugs in her mind fucks that any little care for me was disregarded. Why not become obliterated and forget about any cares that stir in your mind instead of becoming a mother and protecting their child? The sad thing is I get it. But it doesn't make it right it doesn't make it excusable, and it certainly doesn't make it forgivable. I know people say and I probably do to others 'Don't hold onto anger and fury. Forgive. Be the bigger person.' But this isn't up for discussion. This was neglect and I was a child. I didn't get the chance to play with dolls instead I became an expert at being quiet and not talking back and finding new ways to lock my door. I also became accustomed to not eating for a few days just like fasting – except this wasn't my religion and I wouldn't always get the reward of food at the end.