Happy Ever After

※ Chapter One

Fairy tales - in which the 'damsel in distress' is usually a princess and the knight in shining armour is a handsome prince with great hair and a great personality. Sir handsome prince rescues distressed princess, they kiss, this happens and then that happens and boom, happy ending.

I wish I lived in a real life fairy tale.

When I was a little girl, I'd often sit by my bedroom window, wishing and wishing that my prince would come and rescue me from the confinements of the four walls in my bedroom. Then again, I probably only wanted to be 'rescued' because I more than likely caused trouble for my parents, leading them to banish me to my room.

Okay, so maybe 'banish' is a bit of too strong a word.

They pretty much just asked me very tiredly to go to my room while I acted like a massive drama queen about the whole ordeal. Probably mouthed them off, too. I was a bit too sassy for their liking. Little-me kind of reminds present-me of Josh Franceschi. Really proper sassy, that bloke.

But despite having grown past the stage of being unhappy with my parents because they sent me to my room without giving me pudding, or letting me watch my entitled two hours of television per night, I still wish that my life was a fairy tale.

See, in fairy tales, there'd merely be cool dragons and hilariously horrendous looking witches that tried to ruin the said princess' life by kidnapping her and locking her away in God knows where (but of course the prince will find her). Following which, the prince suddenly fucking materialises out of thin air and then he fights these witches and/or dragons off and he saves her. Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom, done. And they lived happily ever after. The end. Happy ending.

My life?

My life was beyond messed up. It is beyond messed up. I mean, I reckon other people are trapped in far more worse situations but I'm allowed to feel sorry for myself so just let me stand here and wallow in self pity for a bit, yeah?

Firstly, let's start off with the fact that I lost my mum a couple of years back.

No, no, no. She didn't die.

I literally lost her. She lost her mind. She's not my mum anymore. Right now, in this exact moment, she's more than likely securely tucked into a strap jacket in a mental institution back in Los Angeles.

And maybe it's sort of my fault that she's in there, but we'll get back to that.

Secondly, my dad decided that for a 'fresh start', we'd move. And I understood why he wanted to move, and since I didn't have any siblings, I decided not to be a whiny little bitch about it. I had friends I would miss, of course I did, but I sucked it up and said goodbye before letting my dad bring me to wherever he decided he wanted us to move to. He picked Baltimore, in Maryland. At the time, I didn't have anything against the place (and I actually still don't) but it was quite a distance away from where Mum was and even though she probably didn't even know who I was anymore, I still wanted to be able to visit the woman who gave birth to me. But when I mentioned this to Dad, I got the look - the one that only a parent can give to their child, that basically translated to 'shut the fuck up or you'll probably be grounded, or something'.

I did as the look told me to.

Last, and certainly not least, I'm not human.

Well, I mean. I guess I'm part human and part... whatever the hell the other part was. I didn't know what I was until very, very recently.

I was confused, and alone, and thinking that I was possessed by a demon. But when Dad found out about the things I could do, he didn't freak out the smallest bit. He even looked excited sometimes. He was probably the only person who would be able to ever give me answers but whenever I asked him about it - about what I was and what I could do - he kept patiently insisting that I wait. Then one day, he finally threw the towel on trying to get me to be patient.