The Life Game

1

       It is difficult to explain the game Father and I played. I don't know if I could even call it a game. On the simplest terms, he was excessively controlling. He had complete control over my life; what I ate, said, even my thoughts were his call. I had to do whatever he told me or I got consequences. When Father told me to not say a word for the entire month of November a few years ago, I stayed silent and got to speak to my brothers that Christmas. Other times, when I couldn't do what he told me, he would take a belt, push me down, and make me bleed. Eventually, he broke me, and I know I will probably never be normal, but going through all that pain will be worth it.

        As soon as I turn 18, I will receive all of Father's money that he inherited from his family. Then I can take care of my brothers; I can set them up with enough money for them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Then I can live by myself for the rest of my life; I'm not made to live with people.

       Just because father was going to prison does not mean it's over. I am still going to get everything when I turn 18; this changes nothing. 5 more months... That being said the closest family member I had was going to become my guardian for 5 months. That would be- My Brothers. 

       Out of everyone in the world, I don't want them to know. I pleaded and begged the government employee in charge of me to not alert them about my situation. It was only for 5 months. They couldn't know how broken I was; they had to focus on Amari. The last time I spoke to them was last year, and they said he was getting better with the treatment they were giving him. He was the only thing they should be focused on; they didn't have time to deal with my troubles. So, I begged the social worker to conceal the situation and just let me go to them and say I'm visiting until I'm 18. When I started to cry, she agreed. I have practiced concealing and acting with emotions for the last 6 years.

      That is how I ended up all alone in this taxi. On the other side of the world. On my way to see the only people I consider family for the first time in 6 years. Father never let me see them. I wonder if they will recognize me? Will they be beautiful? Do they still love me? Did they ever love me?

      I cannot lie. I resent them just a little bit. They have had each other for so long; they must be so close now. I have had no one in Father and I's house. I have had such a hard life, yet they don't care about me. Why haven't they called? visited? I'm doing this all for them. I have let father slowly break me just for them. How should I act in front of them? Will they turn me away? Will they recognize me? 

       I'm slowly freaking out in the back of this taxi. But I'm also so excited. This is the first time I've been excited in a long time. I cannot wait. I want to see them. 

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        I had never seen their house before. Father didn't let me face time them. The address was correct, but what if I was somehow in the wrong place? I would hate to trouble strangers by knocking on their doors. The large white house sat in the middle of the property, and although the columns out front didn't suit my taste, the home was beautiful.

        It was the late afternoon when the taxi pulled up to the house. My brothers were not warned that I would be staying with them. I had assured the government employee in charge of me that they would be fine with me staying over until I was 18. It was honestly really irresponsible of her to trust me. I was a seventeen-year-old boy that had just escaped my abusive household. She should not have trusted my judgment even I knew that. But there must be something about seeing broken kids all day that got to her and made her trust me.

     I paid the cabby for the lift and hopped out of the car. Grabbing my baggage was difficult for me even though it was only a few bags. Father did not allow me to exercise, and it seemed like whenever I started to gain weight he would starve me. That meant I was definitely not as strong as a boy my age should be.

        Eventually, I got all the luggage to the porch. If this wasn't their house, I would be so embarrassed.

        I took a deep breath. I didn't know my heart would beat so fast. I just had to do it. I just had to knock. The longer I waited the more I didn't want to. My body moved on its own.

         I gave the door a few quick but loud knocks. I could hear some talking and then some loud footsteps coming my way. I had to stop myself from running away. It felt like a whole lifetime since I had seen their faces, but I wasn't worried about that, I was nervous about them seeing mine. What if I looked ugly? What if they didn't recognize the innocent boy I was as a child?

        Then the feet stopped, the handle turned, and -god- I felt like dying.