The Insanity of a Wallflower

The Mark of Our Sins- XXVI

"He beat me," I whispered, never giving Hayden a chance to speak beyond that poem. "He beat us. Day in and day out. But the worst part about it all..." my eyes shifted to the bloody and destroyed wall, "People knew, subconsciously knew, and no one would help."

His face was rigid as he stared down at me. It was something in the way those grey eyes burned that told me I was right; he had suspected this all along. But my words still affected him harshly. The heat that came off of them in no way matched the cold etched lines of his face. I could hear the slight adjustment of the fist he gripped as he stared at me in anger, fear, and disgust.

But still I wasn't scared of him. Even with those aggressive features, I felt safe next to him... and I hadn't felt safe in a long time. No one could manipulate the man before me; no one would sway him without his consent. I wondered why I had never seen it before, even though he learned the same method of manipulation as my father- he was truly in no way like him.

And so the words wouldn't stop, my tongue wouldn't relent; I forced the cursed memories to fall away from my lips. "Everyone loved my father, he was a standard practiced family physician, he made just enough money for our family to get by comfortably but he was in no way remarkable in his work. The only thing that ever set him apart from others was his medical illustrations. His skill and ability to depict the surgical procedures and the human anatomy allowed him many opportunities to intern with hospitals while he studied. But as the years went by, there was slowly less need for medical illustrations. And so with modern technology advancing he found himself with just a basic doctorate degree, and a slowly approaching useless talent." I paused for a moment before continuing on.

"Every memory of him at his office was him scolding neighbors and friends about better health choices. But I suppose that career was also my undoing. Everyone knew him. And everyone loved him."

I looked down towards my hands, studying the bruised knuckles and joints; the ragged and raw nails. Disgust for them ran through my veins. I glanced towards Hayden's hand, noting their grace in comparison to mine, despite the whiteness of his clenched knuckles. He loosened them forcefully under my gaze.

"For how long?" that rough voice asked. It was strained and short, holding back any true emotion. I knew how close this ran to his own history, but still some greedy person inside of me didn't relent or sugarcoat her words. I wanted to say it, to truly speak it without the fear the person in front of me was on my father's side. They had all been on his side, even till the very end. But not this one before me...

"For almost as long as I can remember." I said back. "Before I was born he was compassionate and devoted to my mother. But he was also.... off. Perhaps bi-polar at the time? Unstable is the best way to describe it. There were signs of a darker mental illness but no one recognized them yet. After a while of living with his ups and downs, she fell in love with somebody else and tried to leave him. He snapped and forced her to come back. But he resented her; he could never forgive her for such a betrayal. She found out she was pregnant soon after, and neither of them were sure if I was his or not. After I was born though, there was no denying he was my father- I had his eyes and hair. Yet the thing was, it didn't comfort him in the least... because I was conceived without her consent, the night he brought her home. So every time he looked at me, he saw her betrayal and her consequence. I was born because of her punishment. He once said I was the mark of her sin, as much as she was mine."

"Jesus." Hayden growled as he moved closer towards me. My eyes began to water slightly but I shook them away quickly. I glanced upwards to the conflicted gaze above me. "You don't have to continue," he whispered, "This is fine. I get it."

But I shook my head again. "No, I want you to know." Because you're one of the few people in the world who wouldn't fall for my father's deceptions.

"He was gifted." I whispered, as my gaze ran down Hayden's face, "Very much like you. He had a technique so similar; he had this ability to be lovable and amiable. Whenever he walked into a room, people would light up with smiles and laughter. And I think that's why even when they began to suspect what was happening, they didn't want to believe it. They purposely, knowingly, chose to focus on how good of a friend he was to them... and they would never give those darker doubts any light of day."