The Born Of Angel Of Death

Chapter 13: All I need is a Hug

𝕿𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖆

𝔚𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔶 𝔊𝔬𝔡 𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔰𝔱?

People always complaining about my name, as if I had a choice. I guess you could blame that to my literally dead mom that I fucking love so much. I really needed people to stop staring at me like I was about to burst laughing my ass off when I told you my name. Plus, it wasn't that funny.

Tequila Mendoza.

Now, tell me. Did you laugh?

Pfft, obviously not. Our generation diminished the value of their sense of humor. No wonder why the world turned into a such boring place. They made fun and jokes about people's insecurity -not that my name was concerned to be an insecurity but still there were people out there who was suffering because they had to face such a circumstance. 

So, Tequila Mendoza was my born name and I carried these name through orphanage and orphanage. Imagine how cool you were as a kid to have such an illegal name, well until you were a teen and stupid teenagers with their horrible jokes about bad parenting as if they knew such a thing when they got scared just hearing a month skip of period. 

Anyway, I won't cry and told about how pathetic my life already was, but I hereby to exhibit a story altered of who I was now which pretty long and detailed even though I despised the idea of exposing myself, where I found it was cringe-y and unnecessary.

It started when I was placed on my eighth orphanage when I was fifteen. You people must be fucking confused of why I was being transferred to different places. Well, easy say, I was being uncontrollably problematic child which they had enough of me. But I couldn't just take full responsibility of it. Orphan kids were the worst, honestly. What society saw was only the painted masks of virtuous, so their future would changed.

They were the worst, but so was I. I stated the fact not because I accused them out of nothing, but it was the truth. It was because I had seen them with my own eyes, experienced with my body, and I was absolute impressed by words. Words was something couldn't be seen and touch, and yet they had the ability to hurt people. Explain to me how.

Since it was my eight orphanage and I survived a few family which mostly of them were bad influence, I wasn't complaining but I was a kid who was born fatherless and an alcoholic mother who died when I was four, so all a kid needed was a good fortune, not more than.

Due to the experiences I received from the bad influence family, I knew how to survive. Or so I thought. As you could see, I was fifteen as I mentioned, and I thought I was a fucking adult already when life was way far than I thought, at the moment.

Being a gullible kid I was, I thought I knew life already. I held on that perception when I arrived on my recent orphanage. God, I mentioned too many times orphanages. Anyway, it was a Catholic orphanage and the rules were tight compared to others. And hey, I thought, so, kids here were going to behave and more educated since it was religious place.

No! No, they weren't. They were far worst. 

The first day I already got bleeding nose and purple eyes, oh, and concussion. They were teaming up to beat me till I bleed. They told me, it was their culture of welcoming new people for good luck. Good luck my ass.

What worst was, the nuns who responsible to take care of us were blinded and blamed me, who just came and told me to throw all the horrible attitudes from the previous family as I transformed into a new person since I was in a new fucking place.