2 My Dark Past

"Going to school is such a pain, I have to wake up early in the morning, prepare my lunch, get dressed, and maybe do homework if I'm up to it but due to procrastination, I never do it. Well, guess it's time to head to school." For Gemei, even though he acts like he doesn't care, he loves reading. The only thing that's kept him studying for all these years was literature. He could not care any less about the other stuff, and being anti-social, he despised people.

"Egh, the same old boring gate, the same old establishment where I've spent about three years studying. Nothing ever changes does it?"

Now here's a little insight into my boring life, from a very young age, maybe around the time when I was five, all I could remember was the agonizing shouts and cries which originated from my parent's room. It was on par with the horror movies my cousin would watch on the rare occasion she came to stay over with speakers blasting at the highest volume. Every day would be the same; as soon as my dad came home, he would straight up start a fight with mother.

As a young child, I had no clue to what was going on, but it was on a later date that I realized that my dad actually had been taking drugs and had a side job as a drug dealer. My mom wasn't your typical innocent caring mother either, she hated me as each time they fought the only thing I could hear was that it was entirely my fault. Deep down, even though I was ignorant and clueless, all I wanted to do was apologize. Said apology never actually happened as I was too scared to approach her. Then, one day, it all went south. From what I can recall, I was sitting in the living room, alone, watching TV when suddenly out of nowhere my dad barged in through the front door and stumbled inside with two or three of his friends. I can't remember their faces clearly, but that was the first time I saw my mother genuinely scared. The look she had on her face that day was sketched inside my soul. That's all that I can recall, as everything following that was fuzzy. Maybe it was for the best because I'm pretty sure the next day when I woke up the first thing that hit me was the awful stench that came from seemingly nowhere. My dad was passed out in the kitchen, meanwhile, mom was crying inside her room and I had no idea where the other guys had gone.

Following that day, my parents separated, neither of them had any interest in keeping me around so I was constantly jumping from relatives to relatives. Then, one day, I got the news that my mom had committed suicide and my dad was shot.

That was when I was six years old. After my parent's death, my uncle decided to take me in. The first week felt normal, I was welcomed with open arms inside their family, at first my uncle was super friendly to me, like a dad I never had. My aunt was also very friendly, she always cared about me. One day, however, everything changed. Their daughter, named Rashelle, who at that time was only sixteen, forced me inside her room. She had skin as white as snow, making her a ghost in my six-year-old mind. Her wearing black clothes with skulls and demons all over didn't help either, I was afraid of her. I laid there completely petrified while gazing at her face. It was emotionless, not even an ounce of pity. I slowly got lost inside her blank stare, which was pulling me deeper and deeper. I felt like I was drowning inside despair, hopelessness, all the while she painfully took her time to undress me and then it all went black.

Thinking about it now, I realize that was the time I unknowingly lost my virginity. That wasn't the first time either; she did that to me constantly throughout that month, until one day I just got sick of it. I remember sitting in my room thinking what it would be like if she was dead. Next thing I knew was seeing her on the ground bleeding, from a wound around her neck area and also her tummy. Seeing someone bleed so profusely for the first time made my stomach turn upside down, but deep down I knew. I was secretly enjoying the sight of her in pain and suffering. When I finally looked at my hands, I saw a pair of scissors with its blade completely covered with blood, slowly dripping onto the cold marble floor which was once dry and clean but now was slowly getting wet from the blood coming from my poor step sister. Seeing her grasp for air and trying to call out her dad while looking at me was the best thing I had seen in my whole childhood. I could not help but just smile at her with the same blank face she had when she raped me. After being hospitalized, she played the victim card and told everyone I raped her, I tried to stand up for myself but no one cared about what a little kid thought. To make up for what I did, her dad beat me every day for the following two months using his belt, shoe, broom, even a knife at one point. I did suffer, but after a while, I couldn't care. Every time he stepped foot inside my room to kick my ass, everything went blank.

All I had to deal with after that was my injuries, most of them remained untreated as I would often just rub spit on it. That was the easy part, there were some days when they didn't give me food. I was treated far worse than their dog, I had to survive off stale food and water. When I turned eight, I decided enough was enough, all the anger built up inside me for the last two years could not be contained anymore, everything went blank once again and I remember waking up inside a car with a blood-stained knife in my hand.

Till this day, I never knew how I ended up neither inside that car nor how my hands were covered with blood. Following that ordeal, my grandparents decided to take and raise me until I was thirteen. Those past five years were actually pretty normal, they cared about me but thanks to their old age, I ended up taking care of them. They were grateful to me and so was I to them. Sadly one day, they both set off to collect their monthly pension, but what came back wasn't money but the news that they had both died in a car crash.

Yes, that's a lot of death for just one kid but I didn't care one bit if they lived or died. From a young age, I saw death as a form of salvation of some sort, it's like when somebody perishes, they are freed from this caged world which imprisons us by society and its rules to laws to many more other restrictions. Can somebody be truly called free? I could not stomach the thought of going back to my abusive uncle's place. So, I took the initiative to go and live on my own at my old house, which was in the vicinity of Kingsbridge. All the while managing to get myself admitted into an institute called the Ashford Academy; kind of weird considering my last name is also Ashford.

Not to worry, my parents left me quite a bit of money before they died, and I'm constantly being sent money each month by my parent's old companies until I turn twenty-four. I'm only seventeen, so for the next seven years, I can live however I want.