Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-18- Bad News

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Chapter 18: Bad News

~Jemma~

I came home hoping for good news. I didn’t care what it was. I just wanted something nice to enter my ears.

So when I walked into the kitchen and Michael had his arms around Aunt Clara and Aunt Clara was crying, I knew my streak of bad news was not over yet.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly, scared. I didn’t want to know. I honestly didn’t.

Michael turned sadly to me. “Have a seat, Jemma. You . . . you need to hear this.”

Oh, god. I sat down across from them and Aunt Clara grabbed my hand with shaky fingers, too shaken up for words.

I looked from her to Michael. “Would someone please tell me what is going on?”

Michael licked his lips. “I paid for some people to track down your father a couple weeks ago.”

I brightened. “That’s great.”

Michael nodded slightly, reluctantly. “And they found him,” he said quietly.

“That’s awesome!” I cried.

It was awesome, right? Was it just me or were their down faces not fitting the situation? They had the wrong occasion. This wasn’t a funeral . . .

“Does he want me back? Can he handle me now? Has he forgotten about Mom?” I was eager to find out. If he wanted me back . . . maybe my life could finally be set back in order. I needed to see him, to talk to him.

“It’s not that simple, Jemma,” Michael exhaled, pulling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but . . .”

No. Oh, no. What else could possible go wrong?

“Just tell me,” I pressed. “Please. I can handle it.”

Michael looked at me, and then nodded. “Alright. We found your father, that part is true. But he wasn’t alive. He was . . . he was dead.”

My eyes widened. I thought I stopped breathing.

“Apparently he overdosed on anti-depressants. We’re not completely sure if it was on accident or on purpose, but, we’re pretty sure it’s the latter. I’m really sorry, Jemma.”

I stared at a hole in the table. My blood turned to ice and my body froze. I asked him one more thing, my mouth mumbling the words. “Did he leave anything for me? A note, or---or something?”

Michael shifted uncomfortable. “He did leave a tape recording. A message, for you.”

A little hope came but not much. “What did it say?”

“I don’t think you want to---”

“What did it say?”

Michael closed his eyes. “His last words were that his daughter could rot in hell for all he cared. He didn’t want her and he never did.”

I remember the blood rushing so fast from my head I started swaying. And then I think I blacked out.

After ice to the knot on my head after hitting the floor hard when I passed out, and soothing but hollow words from Michael and Aunt Clara, they laid me down in bed upstairs.

They left me alone. Alone in my anger, my hate, my fury. My mother didn’t want me. My father didn’t want me. Jacob didn’t even want me anymore as a partner. How long was it before Aunt Clara didn’t want me? Who else would I turn to? Would everybody close to me start killing themselves off just so they wouldn’t have to handle me? Was I that much of a monster?

I could feel the demons inside me again, stirring and growling and trying to take over. The only way this time was different than the other time they threatened was that I wanted them to. I wanted them to make me numb and only feel what they wanted to feel. Only know pain. Along with the little demons came a sadistic, twisted version of bliss, but it was bliss all the same.

I threw the ice to the floor and scrambled around my room, breathing heavy. Aunt Clara had relieved me from all things sharp a long time ago, but people do make mistakes. They forget. They do things on accident . . .

I walked toward the ice pack and crouched down, pulling out the safety pin keeping some of the paper towel together. I looked at the sharp tip and contemplated for a moment, and then I clutched it tightly and plunged it into my arm. I winced at the pain but it was like an old friend. I stared, mesmerized, at the little beads of blood that appeared in a thin line on my right forearm. I couldn’t risk reopening any of the old ones. My right arm was fresh, smooth, and now bleeding.

I began crying again. God, I'd been crying a lot lately. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop? There could only be so much pressure building inside of me. When would it all just lighten and leave me be?

You’re not in control. Something inside me informed me of the reason. I cried and I hurt myself because I wasn’t in control of my actions.

I wasn’t afraid so much of the cutting itself, but of the demon it was turning me into.

Because then I would be just how everybody already figured I was.

And I wasn’t.

I had to prove them wrong, but I couldn’t when there were dark little monsters always taking over.