A PART OF US.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥, I reflected, comparing the woman I considered my mother — for as long as I could literally remember — to the rest of my family. But there were times when…

As I reflected, the memory kaleidoscope was turning, revealing more colors…more sense.

Dominique with her wicked eyes, along with the room and all its scarce furniture, had already blurred into a haze when my thoughts transported me all the way back into that past I so strongly abhorred, into that place I thought I had buried earth-core deep and forever.

My past…

I did tell you about it, but I do not believe I had done a good job at describing to you that very abuse I had to endure, countless punishments that had made my bones ache and eyes turn to ceaselessly leaking faucets.

Here is one memory, for you to enjoy…

Harrisburg. 9 p.m. Another late, bland dinner. I'm thirteen, in my ugly black&white pajamas, sitting like a little skunk chewing on something small while the adults, parents and grandparents, are occupying the same table, talking about something big.

I'm listening to them but do not understand much of what they say, except that their names circulate a lot, Lucas's, mom's and dad's, and Boston, and moving, and something else exciting, but my name? Not once do I hear it. That makes me curious.

𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴. He is the first to leave the table. This idiot satisfies himself with playing his food more than eating it, so once he's had enough of retardation, the lunatic sprints upstairs like his ass is on fire.

I throw him an aversive glance, but no one else pays attention.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯, I think to myself as I languidly digest chunks of mother's cooking.

𝘖𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘮...𝘯𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘮...

I keep chewing; adults keep talking. 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯. 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴. 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭. 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘖𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦…and again, I'm still absent from that list. I pry out a stale baby carrot from the slime that I'm attempting to eat, bite it cautiously. It's soft, too soft for my liking. 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺, 𝘦𝘸. But I chew, for if I don't finish my serving — I don't get to leave the table. Another carrot? 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦. I poke at it, one ear focused on the fork clinking against the plate, the other ear listening to daddy's assertive voice.

"…I mean, to be a part of a very prestigious corporation? Do you know just what security I can gain? Huge. And that's 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 what I want for Lucas. High education. Prestige. Connections. Peace of mind. Future."

𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯...𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬'𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦?

I frown, throw another tiny carrot in my mouth and shred it angrily. My grandpa inserts something, but I'm too frustrated to hear him. Then mommy replies; she sounds disappointed. I half-listen, half-not.

"I do, but—time….move on…we….long term…Colton…said…potential…evolve…us. Plus, Genevieve—"

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺! I perk my head up like a curious dog that had just heard her favorite "snack" or "walk" or "pet", noticing that everyone stares at me baffled as if I had magically appeared out of nowhere and did not just sit there that whole damn time.

"Hey kiddo, you done there?"

I wince, goggle at daddy's gentle smile. It takes me a second to realize he is talking to me. "Huh?"

"Honey, can you put her to bed? We're not finished here."

Mommy rubs daddy's back. "I'll be quick." Waving at me. "Let' go, sweetie."

She escorts me upstairs, puts me to bed, reads a biblical verse and is about to leave.

"Goodnight, mommy. I love you." I tell her.

She'd never said those words to me, (food for thought) and now is no different. She only smiles, rather coolly, and stands up.

"Goodnight, sweetie." 𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘦…

"Mommy?"

"Hm?"

"When are we leaving for Boston?"

She looks at me puzzled, takes her time to respond. "We?"

I gawk at her stupidly, nod, blink. "Aren't we moving soon?"

Her gaze grows sad as she casts it to the floor. She sits back down on the bed and gives me a sadder look. "No, Eve, 'we' meaning your daddy, Lucas and I. You're staying here, with granny and grandpa." 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘺…

My chest tightens so much my breaths drop to gasps of panic. 𝘞𝘩𝘺? I hear myself exhale, scalp prickling over, and over, and over as if someone is using it as a pincushion.

Mommy wipes my rushing tears with her cool fingers. "It is needed, honey."

The kid that I am, I am oblivious of how absurd her 'it is needed, honey' sounds, so instead of questioning her, I snivel, "F-f-for…how long?"

"Not too long," she replies. "Only until you're through with school."

"But–but–that's almost five years!" I lament weakly.

"I know, sweetie, I know. But it is needed," she inserts again like a robot programmed to deliver a single response. Then she adds, "Then Mr. and Mrs. Grant will take you in."

My tears freeze momentarily when I gape at mommy with shocked, glossy eyes. "What?" And then another stream of bitter tears floods my whole face, choking my mounting complains.

I cry so loud I don't even feel mommy's comforting petting, or granny's stern voice as she storms into the room like she always does – like a fucking tsunami; no invitation, no warning. Just pure disaster.

"What is going on here?" She barks the question.

"I was just—"

"P-please don't give m-m-me away!" I scream past mommy's voice, nose red, eyes swollen, voice shaking. I look like a clown, a mess, a proboscis monkey. "I don't want to go to Grants! I don't want Peter! Why are you doing this—"

𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘱!

I feel it explicitly, as clear as daylight, the burning sensation right on my cheek where granny's steel hand lands wrathfully. I yelp, clutching at my face as I fall back on the bed on my stomach, wailing from the searing pain.

"Shut your filthy mouth, wretch!" Granny roars. "You do not dare question God's will in this house!"

"God's will?!! THAT'S YOUR FUCKING WILL AND NO ONE ELSE'S!" I roar back into my pillow, and instantly regret it.

[a very strong music recommendation: Bloodline by Secession Studios on a loop]

My face is stuffed into the cushion to try and hide myself somehow from the hell I'm living. To try and see nothing. And nothing happens…well, for several seconds, besides muffled sighs and mommy's distressed, "Mom, please. Not at this hour, I beg you."

And then I feel it, taste it, hear it, see it, even with my eyes shut, the cutting pain of the belt that strikes my back. Again and again.

"DON'T—" granny yells as she sends the first blow, heavy leather rapturing my delicate skin, "YOU DARE—" the second blow rings in my ears, "SPEAK—" the third blow seems to split my brain in half, "TO ME—" the fourth blow makes my legs numb, "LIKE THIS—" the fifth blow echoes in my organs.

"Mom."

"EVER—" the sixth blow tastes like blood sizzling in my throat.

"Mom! Enough!"

"𝘈𝘎𝘈𝘐𝘕!" The seventh blow feels like a razor-sharp nausea that is surely to erupt if another blow is to land on me.

But it doesn't.

There is the sound of the ominous belt dropping to a dull echo, the sound of granny's hissing, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵, addressing me, and, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴? 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘸𝘯, addressing mommy. The sound of retrieving footsteps, and the sound of the light-switch.

Then silence.

Deafening, dark, long, soundless, almost deafening silence. But it is a good silence, almost like eternal peace after eternal suffering. And floating in this silence, numb, I can't even feel how uncontrollably my body trembles, how much it hurts.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I shivered back to the present, to Dominique's unreadable eyes, to two black mirrors with my stunned reflection.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴? Granny's voice rang clear as I stared into those black mirrors. Back then I thought she meant subduing me to their fanatic catholic standards. But now…𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳…

"She simply watched my agony, Asmodeus…" I muttered, more to myself than to the nun sitting in front of me. "And did nothing to stop it. She did nothing. Absolutely nothing…she, she just walked off. Just like that. Left me hurt and crying."

Dominique listened, smiling enigmatically. And I went on. I vented. I was finally letting off steam that was built in my system for so damn long.

"All those years…oh…no…No. I see now…A good mother would never do that. She'd never let her child go through such misery. She'd never let this happen. She'd never be so indifferent, so–so–so cold-blooded."

"Mother…father…" Dominique mused. "What explicit words, what vague meaning. I had witness plenty of them in my time, countless men that birth offsprings and discard them like garbage only for strangers to grasp and nurture them with universal passion."

"But...for the love of everything, they are—parents! 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴!"

"'Parents' is just another word. And what 𝘢𝘳𝘦 words that bear no action? Just words. Many fall for parenthood, Genevieve, but only few are fit to carry this burden. 𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢."

I caught myself thinking of Val and of her own fucked up mother who'd let her suffer out of her selfish feelings, and her monster of a father, who'd let her suffer for his own heinous pleasure, and I thought: 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘈𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴. Whether they truly 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 Valeria's parents or not, they 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘵. And the woman I considered my mother did not fit either. And sister Rosalyn…Vivienne. If she was truly my mother, then…Where was she all those years? She, too, probably didn't fit.

"So, little rat." Dominique's untroubled voice broke my train of thought. "Delight me with revelations. Has epiphany struck you yet?" Grinned the nun.

I nodded, slowly, still stunned. "I…it did…yes. Past. Right...Now—I get it now…hah." I sniggered. "Haha…..ah…shi-i-i-it, mother. I believe I know what to do…how to go about this messed up situation."

"What a thrill," Dominique uttered wryly. "You have gotten what you wanted."

"All because of you, Asmodeus. You helped me a lot. Thank you."

The nun arched her light brow, cryptic smile glistening on her lips.

"Seriously," I added, "𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

"My currency never changes." She instigated.

"Yes, yes…flagged it."

She leaned forward, elbows sliding closer to me, so are her hands, palms down. She stared at me piercingly for an instant, or two, and added, "Then flag one more thing, 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘦," emphasizing exactly 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 made me feel inferior. "I don't do well on diets. Much less do I aid. In fact, uplifting men starves me to death." Her voice mellowed to sleepiness.

Her body leaned a fraction closer to mine. Another piercing stare, another moment of silence, and those demonic eyes tracing the lines of my face.

"Sugar, those scarce droplets of blood you have teased me with tasted nauseatingly sweet, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 the way I like it."

I watched her tongue slide greedily against her upper teeth as she ogled me.

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥. 𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥. 𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥.

I looked down at the table and saw fresh blood stains. My nose. It bled. I glared at Dominique, bewildered, clutching and pinching my nostrils.

"Now, angel, try remembering my next words. They are 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 important. For you, that is." She swallowed slowly, hungrily, watching red juice sip through my fingers. "If one more time you are to summon me for nothing, 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 on an empty stomach…" her voice lowered to a husky murmur.

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥. 𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥-𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙥-𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙥-𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙥!

"I will drain you of every bloody drop that rushes through those flimsy veins of yours and wipe you out 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 before it is your time to go. Flagged it?"

"I did." I squeezed through fingers that were still clutching at my face.

She snorted. "Truly, Eve, what a fortunate bitch you are, always catching me in high spirits. Well, rejoice. I shall let this one 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦. But after 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 — no more lucky draws for you. 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘨 𝘪𝘵."

At that, Dominique's speech came to a halt and her eyes rolled, it seemed, to the very back of her head. Then it seriously looked like her soul left her body; her torso drooped, as if no spine was present to support her weight, and she collapsed on the table, forehead banging loudly against the hard wood.