By My Side

The Attack

The next morning, well, I sleep in a bit, not gonna lie. It's around eleven, and I go to write, calming myself from the delusion fantasy and desire to enact it. Someday...

As I walk inside, and continue writing, Isaiah tells me to get off my phone.

What happens next is a haze of repressed rage. Here's the short version.

He tells me not to write today and says he's been "nice" to me so far?

Nice? Nice? Mother fucker if given the choice to pull the plug on your death bed I'd do it myself! Don't even get me started, with Bitchy you wouldn't even have to finish! Maybe I'd hesitate with you Isaiah, but maybe not. Maybe I wouldn't. I mean, you do at least seem to care, but you care about what you want me to be. Not what I want to be.

...

Next he says that he's gonna go "1800s" with his parenting.

Bitch, the modern cops wouldn't allow that shit. If you strike me, you die.

I take a deep breath as he finishes, my fist hurts from clenching. He tells me to tell him how I feel.

...

I just keep it all in, waiting for the day, and lie. I say it's fine. It's not fine, and soon, you'll play for this Isaiah. It's not much longer now.

After some thinking, I come up with a back up plan, and change my fantasy to fit it.

I've been working retail, after applying for a job to get Isaiah to shut his GOD DAMN MOUTH for quite some time. I have a scholarship elsewhere, and I've been saving half of every cent from my job.

The rest of the fantasy plays out, but I'm ruder to Isaiah. I still call him old bastard, and it feels great! I head to the airport, get to the college, change my name, and dissapear.

Even if I do get a book published, I am going to college. I need a back up. I'm not an idiot who goes all in with this shit. I plan to become a chemist of some kind if all else fails, and I can be happy, writing my books on the side. That's my back up, and tbh, I prioritize having it ready, just in case. When anything related to it is taken care of, then I start the books. I just wish that I didn't have to write to feel good. I just...

I just wanna be happy. I have my books, and I do good enough in school. I can get into a pretty good college if my book fails and work as a chemist. I will be fine if that happens but...

I won't be fine, if these attacks on my writing continue.

Edgar is growing. I can't beat him. Whenever they're near, those with genetic relations, he flares up. He just goes haywire and starts screaming at me to write. He's growing...

And I'm breaking.