Polite//l.s

Thirty Five

I've had the absolute worst day so I'm sorry if this is terrible.

I cried.

I cried for days it seems.

It shouldn't even effect me this much, but it does.

It just feels like I've been living my life wrong. Makes my whole life a lie.

The first doctor Louis took me to suggested a neurologist, so we went to see whoever was available (the doctor we had first seen had seemed very concerned).

Turn out my father is completely and utterly a disgusting person.

He had privately operated practitioners remove parts of my brain that typically develop into sexual interest and defiance.

He let strangers manipulate the mind of his two year old son.

They told me it was amazing I could even speak with what my brain looked like now, let alone be so intelligent.

There were two small gaps in the scans they showed me, then two areas that shouldn't be there.

The pieces of my brain that I had lost had developed into small clumps somewhere else.

The doctors thought they were tumors at first.

It's fine, but I just can't believe that this is something my own father has done to me. 

I don't think I've let go of Louis' shirt since we left the hospital. That was three days ago.

"Baby," he ran his hand through my hair, "You have to get up,"

I looked up at him from where I had tucked my head into his chest and waited for him to tell me why exactly I would remove myself from the only source of comfort I have.

"I have to piss," he smiled at my reluctance to remove myself from his lap.

I got up after he explained, throwing myself onto the couch after he left.

This is ridiculous.

I've been living the past sixteen years of my life as a total illusion; a twisted sense of reality.

That's a little bit over dramatic, but the man who I was supposed to be able to trust has been my greatest enemy this whole time.

Sixteen years wasted. Completely a mess. I could have been having fun, going to parties like the one Louis took me to, meeting people like Louis, understanding all the stupid jokes Louis makes about 'deez nutz' or whatever.

Now, I'm eighteen and I have no clue how to be a normal human being. Great. Eighteen and-

Oh my god.

I'm eighteen.

"Louis!" I shouted through the cabin, hoping he wasn't upstairs.

"What?" He stumbled  into the room, panicked. He was probably on his way back from the restroom.

"I'm eighteen!" This information seemed to be the most stressful out of all the things I'd found out all week. "I'm eighteen," I repeated, hoping he would pick up on my distress.

"You're eighteen," he echoed, not understanding. Of course he wouldn't understand.

"Louis!" I threw a pillow at him, "I just inherited 40 million dollars!"

"Oh my god." He sat down next to me, "That's great baby," he kissed the top of my head.

"No!" I pushed him away, "I don't want it!"