1 Chapter One : meeting the goddess of Love

CHAPTER ONE: MEETING THE GODDESS OF LOVE

The room was warm and large. Like the bed, I was currently chained to. The view was amazing, and I was clearly in a hotel suite. My body was bare, save for the bedsheet wrapped around my middle. My chest and thighs were covered in bruises, from where I struggled.

My face was stained with tears and my throat hurt from screaming. There was a small tray in front of me. On it was what someone could consider a healthy breakfast; Toast with jam on it, two sunny side up eggs, and three sausage links. I couldn't tell you the last time I ate, let alone remember it. I've forgotten what it felt to feel full, having gone hungry for the longest time.

They gave me silverware. A fork, and a knife. How foolish. Had I been a weaker person, or maybe stronger, I'd have waited until that pig came back, and killed him with this fork and knife. I could get pretty creative. The fork in one eye, the knife through the neck, hopefully severing something; a nerve, a vein, anything that would lead to a painful and hopefully fast death. Or maybe, if I was stronger, I could free myself and call the police.

But I wasn't that strong, Or that weak. I just wanted release. To be free from this horrible and burdensome life. So I grabbed the knife, and like my weak but resolved brain commanded of my limbs, I slowly but firmly slid the knife, bluntness and all, across my throat.

I might have hated pain, but somehow, I had the strength and willfulness to continue until finally, after minutes of blinding pain, I cut skin. There was blood everywhere, but I couldn't care less. Better for the crime scene, I suppose. Does one get life from rape and imprisonment of a minor, leading said minor to suicide? I surely hope so.

I could tell this wasn't going to work, just slitting my throat. It wasn't deep enough, and even though I was bleeding a lot, I didn't have the hours my body wanted to slowly bleed to death.

I slowly made my way towards the bathroom, slipping slightly on my blood. The chains allowed me to reach the toilet and get in the bath, but no further than that. I couldn't leave or get help.

Not that I wanted it.

Or maybe I did. Once. But it's too late now. I turned the dial, allowing cold water to fill up the bathtub before I settled down in the tub, this time slipping in. I banged my hip on the side, bones always protruding. It hurt, but not enough to stop what I had decided to do next. I took my butterknife, and I slowly slit my wrists. The knife was too blunt so It took forever, but eventually, finally, it worked.

I don't when he'll be back, but I hope it's not soon.

It didn't take long for my brain to lull, and my thoughts to slow to a stop.

I'm so tired, was the last thought I had in this life, as I breathed my last breath.

***

My life wasn't one I wanted, nor one I was glad to have. My birth mother had a one-night stand that led to her getting pregnant. My father didn't want to be in my life, and even more so didn't want my mother in his life. She was proof of his infidelity, something he never told his wife about.

I was a blip to him, a slight in his perfect life, and he wanted no part in it. He didn't want me. Sadly, after enduring nine months of a harrowing pregnancy, my mother died of blood loss moments after I was born. I stay in the ICU until they couldn't keep me there anymore, the doctors hoping someone would come to claim me, as their own. A relative.

No one came forward. So I was put in the foster system; living two months in an orphanage, Until a couple adopted me.

That couple was Sheri and Irene Von Graves, a lesbian couple. Back then, there weren't many, and even fewer were married. They adopted me and gave me the name, Antonio Serenia Von Graves, Serenia after my birth mother.

Sheri was a music teacher, and Irene was a retired marine, having been injured overseas. That's where they met. Irene was taking a vacation in Austria, after her accident, and Sheri lived there, studying music. I don't know much about their "story", but I do know it wasn't all sunshine and daisies. But it worked, and they fell in love.

Sheri got me into music. Mainly the piano and violin, but I also tried my hand at the piccolo. I...wasn't good. But I was good at piano, won a few awards. And every time I won, Sheri and Irene would take me out for ice cream, at this amazing Italian creamery, in our small town.

We were on our way to get ice cream when I lost them.

I had just won first place for the first time, and we were driving. It was late at night, and the roads were icy. We were used to that, our tires prepared. But the incoming eighteen-wheeler wasn't. We suspected it was from a warmer region, and that the driver probably wasn't prepared to drive in ice.

One moment I was gushing over my trophy, how they engraved my name, how it shined even in the darkness, and the next moment, we crashed. I learned later, that Sheri died on impact, but that Irene didn't. She protected me and stayed alive long enough to call an ambulance.

I remember waking up in the hospital, worried out of my mind. I worried for my mothers, who weren't next to me, and Worried because I couldn't feel my legs. Shattered, was the word the doctor used to describe the state of my legs. You could walk again, he'd stated, so unnecessarily sure, But it would take nothing short of a miracle.

Well, you useless doctor, I did walk again, not for a very, very long time, but I walked again. Just not in this life.

***

For some reason, my grandmother wasn't here. We weren't related, but you'd think the woman I grew up calling nana would be here for me, in my time of need. I guess blood matters after all. She didn't show up, but someone else did.

A pale, tall, Asian version of myself. If I had to describe my birthmother with a color it would be chocolate. Chocolate skin, caramel hair, and toffee eyes. She was beautiful. My father, on the other hand, could be classified as roguishly handsome. He was obviously mixed, but his Asian features were also clear as day. He had sandy blonde hair, smoothed down with hair cream, green, green eyes, and a stubborn but clear jaw. He looked like me but didn't.

If I had to describe myself, I'd say that I looked like that hot Indian from Pocahontas. You know, the one who she married outside of that historically incorrect Disney movie, the one with the paw prints on his man...cheeks? Pecks? Flat boobs? Whatever. I would say I look like that man had a baby with the blonde dude. Caramel is the color I'd use to describe my skin. I have dark, thick curls, that frame my face, and a delicate nose, sharp cheekbones, and round almond-shaped eyes.

There was a time when I didn't get any visitors. Apparently, since my adopted moms were dead and no one came in to claim me, I was now a ward of the state. I don't know how but that's what my social worker told me.

I...met my father for the first time. It was strange. I don't know why he was there or how he knew, but I could tell we were related at least when I met him.

He walked in quietly, and I didn't notice him for a while. When I did, I found that he was observing me. Taking in everything about me. From my hair to my skin, to my pedigree and my speech.

"...Who are you?" I had asked him, after several minutes of awkward stillness.

"You don't know who I am?" He sounded surprised.

"If I knew who you were I wouldn't be asking you."

"Morgan. Morgan Aimes." He said, his voice deep but dripping with dislike. I could tell we weren't going to get along any time soon. "Is that name supposed to mean anything?"

"To a child, like yourself? No, no I suppose not. I am your father," He replied, looking uncomfortable.

"No, You're my sperm donor. I don't need a father," I stressed.

He looked amused. "Yes, well, for some reason, your social worker contacted me."

"Why?" I asked him, alarmed. Why would my social worker reach out to a stranger? A related stranger, sure, but a stranger nonetheless.

"She wanted me to take custody of you. Naturally, I refused, however, my wife found out about you." I didn't understand, and he seemed to pick up on that.

"Thirteen years ago, my wife was pregnant and I was on a business trip in Milan. Your mother was a flight attendant on my flight. She was beautiful and had an amazing laugh, and I was...starved for affection. One thing led to another and...I slept with her. Months later she contacted and told me of your existence and asked if I wanted to be in your life. I...rightfully panicked, and told her to never contact me again," He took a breath, and glanced at me before exhaling.

"She didn't contact me again, and I naturally forgot about it...about you, until about three years later, my wife had a miscarriage, and I wondered what happened to you. I learned that your mother died in childbirth and that you were adopted and I planned to leave it there until your social worker contacted me and my wife found out."

"Now, she is making me fight for your custody, on the ground that 'I never knew you existed.'" I raised my eyebrows.

"Clearly," I stated, sarcasm dripping.

"No, it's not true, but only you and I know this. So in six weeks, I will have custody of you, and you shall live with me until you are eighteen. After that, you are not my problem."

***

His words rang true, and after six weeks, I was carted off to an expensive care center where I lived and was treated for the next two years. I still couldn't walk, but I could play the piano again, after a while. I couldn't for a time, psychological problem. I couldn't make my hands press the keys.

Once the doctors couldn't do anything more for me, Morgan sent for me and I was taken away from that hospital to live with him and his family in his home country, China. They live in a lovely two-story Spanish villa, with a clearly new guest house in the back, by the pool.

I had a "caregiver" who was supposed to take care of me. She didn't. She didn't even restock the fridge, just took the money to go play poker in the park with her friends. I learned how to bathe myself, use the restroom, dress myself.

I went to school with Morgan's children, my half-brothers at their posh and expensive private school, but I was so behind that I felt like I was drowning in homework. No one bothered to help me, not even the teachers. I guess being the..what's the word, "Illigeitimate" child of a successful CEO is frowned upon. It's not my fault that he strayed from his wife.

There wasn't any bullying at first, and Gloria was...indifferent, but nice, in the beginning. I dare say my first year with them was pleasant. But then, Morgan let it slip that I was raised by two married women. Who were married to each other. I guess it's taboo in China. His children were horrified and Gloria was just...disgusted, having adopted the stereotypical Chinese stance, apparently. Morgan was raised in England so he didn't understand the gravity of that knowledge and neither did I.

But then the bullying started. It was mild at first. For China, at least. Dirty water thrown one me, clothes ruined, nails in shoes, writing on my desk. And then Beau, (Morgans youngest) decided that I, myself was a fag. His words, not mine. Using it as an excuse to put bleach in my lunch, glass on my wheelchair, even going so far as to put his cronies--sorry, his friends, up to harassing me.

There wasn't as much food on my plate these days, and I wasn't allowed to eat with them anymore, isolated to the guesthouse, and after a time, there was soon no food being delivered to me. I started losing weight, slowly, and then rapidly, to the point that my uniform was loose. Too loose. The kind of loose that the usually ignorant and elusive teachers couldn't ignore.

I know that they contact Morgan and something happened but I don't know what. The bullying stopped for a time. A few months, and then it started up again, with renewed vigor. I endured for the longest, but about three months away from my eighteenth birthday, one of my brother's followers, had a nasty, nasty idea.

He was handsome enough and well-liked, to the point that no one believed me when I told them he was harassing me. My rejections hurt the pride of a man who had never been rejected before. So, one Friday afternoon, he locked me in the sports shed until dark, when he and his buddies came and took turns raping me.

They obviously didn't know what they were doing. The pain was all-consuming and there was so much blood. I lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital. Morgan was there, next to me, in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, looking tired. Beyond tired, really. He looked like he hadn't slept.

He was quiet, so so quiet before he simply stood up and prepared to leave.

But I wasn't having it. I was angry, so angry.

"Wait," I had told him, my voice cracking from disuse.

He stopped.

"You're not even going to say anything to me?" I asked him.

"...What do you want me to say?" I grit my teeth.

"Do you know what happened to me? Do you know what transgressed for me to end up in this position, in the hospital? Do you know what your sick little derange son and his sick and deranged friends did to me?" He was still silent.

"Do you have any idea what I've had to endure? I said nothing when I was forced to go to Switzerland and stuck there for two years, I said nothing when you brought me to China and left me in a strange place, with strangers and a careless 'caretaker' who didn't even bring me food! I said nothing when Beau started rumors about his father's bastard child who was raised by 'disgusting lesbians' and that I was just like them. I said nothing to the severe bullying. I said nothing when you starved me. Why are you ignoring me? Why are you ignoring the problems you've caused? Is it because I was raped by a bunch of Beau's admirers? Is it because they left me locked in the gym shed and I was discovered by the janitor Monday morning?" I laughed.

It was a bitter laugh. I was gripping the sheets, my knuckles white, and my chest felt heavy but I didn't want to stop. It felt good. And I knew I wouldn't have another chance to unleash onto Morgan.

"Is it because you feel guilty every day you see me? Because you couldn't control yourself and accidentally created me? Do you think I wanted you? I was happy. I didn't feel like every day was a chore. Before you, I was loved. After I met you, my life has just become worse and worse. Why couldn't you have let me drown in the foster system? An abusive foster home is better than an abusive blood family that doesn't want you and actively tried to kill you multiple times. I can't remember the last time I ate. Honestly, I hate you. Why did you have to sleep with her, eighteen years ago? Why couldn't you have just resisted the urge? Maybe you'd have a mini-Gloria instead of whatever the hell I am. You might think you were doing me a godsend, as though your horrible family was better than living without one, but I would have rather died with my mothers than having met you, Morgan Aimes." I was breathing heavily, and I was in pain, but I didn't care.

There was a split second, where I thought I saw the pain on his face, maybe even a grimace, but I was wrong. He slowly walked over to me, a stared at me for a long, long time, before suddenly slapping me, hard.

My head whipped to the side, my teeth bit into my lip, causing blood to pool in my mouth and trail down my chin. I silently wiped my mouth before looking at him with dead eyes. He left shortly after that, and I never saw him again.

After my outburst, it was like I had lost my voice. I hadn't said a word since.

The warm welcome I never expected wasn't there. I think some part of me was disappointed. My life resumed like normal, the bullying never ceasing, my toxic life continued. Gloria still starved me. The scars on my body increasing.

My life came to a close one day when I was forced to come to a banquet with Morgan and his family. The butler, who I once thought would be as kind as his eyes, brought me a suit for the occasion. It was too big on me and made me look like a child because of the malnutrition. No one cared.

So there I was. Watching Beau and the twins talk and laugh with ease. Happy and full of life. Carmen even got to dance. Morgan was with his business partners and Gloria was with her friends.

Why did they bring me?

I soon found the answer when Morgan introduced to me to a large man in his late fifties. If I said he didn't resemble a pig I'd be lying. He was disgusting and he had this look in his eyes when he gazed at me. Like my rapists. I was right. Morgan "gifted" me to him. Because I was expendable.

"He's almost eighteen," Morgan said.

"It's legal." The man agreed.

They shook hands and Morgan left shortly after. Without even looking back. His children smirked and Beau said, "serves him right,". Gloria just glanced at me with a grimace on her face before hurriedly leaving.

I was stuck here with pigface, whose hand was rubbing suggestively on my lower back, making disgusted shivers rack my spine. I could guess how Morgan got the idea. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I committed suicide with a butter knife to the throat two days later.

I welcomed death with a breathtaking smile.

Sadly, I didn't die.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"...why?" I croaked as I sat up.

I was in a white room. My eyes swiveled around, taking in the appearance of the room.

"I'm sorry, child." A woman I didn't recognize said. Her voice was like honey. And it somehow soothed my frazzled nerves. Frazzled?

"I never meant for your life to be like that," she tells me.

"Who are you?" I ask the woman.

She's beautiful.

She has ebony skin and big yellow eyes. Her hair is shaved and she has a diamond-encrusted headpiece placed delicately on her head. She looks like a painting. A perfect painting.

"My name is Aphrite, I am the goddess of life and love." She introduces herself.

"Ah...I'm Antonio Von Graves." I tell her.

She nods. "I know. I am so sorry, goddess chosen. If I had known this world would be cruel I would have brought you to a different one."

I tilted my head.

"Goddess chosen?"

"Yes. You were chosen by me and blessed."

I just looked at her.

She was silent for a moment and then awkwardly offers, "I can fix it?"

How could she fix this?

"How about this? I'll take you to the world where your mothers are!" She said.

Sheri and Irene?

"Yes. They're together. Soulmates, as it is. I can make you their child and you can be with them again. And no birth parents or eighteen-wheelers will take them away from you." She said with conviction.

I could see my mothers again?

"Do it." I was surprised by the determination and excitement in my voice. I wanted to see my moms. So much. It's all I've ever wanted since the day I woke up from my coma. Since the day my happy dream ended.

Aphrite smiles.

"I will give you the happiest life yet. You will be blessed, goddess chosen." She says and kisses my forehead.

The last thing I see is her smile before my sight darkens once again, and I welcome the end.