Smiles from Me, for You

The morning of the Start

It was over. 

I had scars, but I was alive. Barely, but there.

But was it over indeed? Who even knows how this nightmare ends? 

I open my eyes calmly, as I have done for the last 18 years. Nothing scared me now. Neither the nightmare, noises, blood nor the congested feeling of someone else wearing my crown, sitting on my throne. I know now. No one is taking my throne, for it is my curse to bear. 

I get up from my bed, open the curtains, hear Daisy, the gardener argue with the milkman and smiled slightly. He was new and Daisy seemed to like him. The faint smell of dead roses lingered in the room. I gently placed my hand on the wall. I had forgotten if it was coloured pale yellow, or turned so over the years I had not seen them. I have to tell Janet to get them re-coloured. Mum's laughter was still in my head from my dream.

As I thought, my nightmare was not over. It was never over. It was a part of me for the last 18 years. The last time I touched my parents' face and betrayed them. A part of me still thinks I can be forgiven, but the wronged lay in graves I wish not to touch. Hopefully, I can smile my life to oblivion and ask for absolution thereafter. 
I am not good. I do not publicize so either. But I refuse to let others sacrifice their smiles for me. I understand life as a chain of connections and everyone smiles for someone. I wake up to make sure that no one goes to sleep, thinking no one smiled for them. No one is ever sacrificing for me again and I will smile for all, if I so have to. 

I hear Janet's steps coming up the stairs, as they have done for the last four years. Interestingly, she doesn't make much noise while moving through the house but I have noticed her steps every morning. She has always came in and placed a cup of cold brewed coffee in my hand, as we exchange smiles for the morning. She asks me about my dreams for the night. I tell her about my favourite closet and my parents being in it. I lie and exaggerate how happy it made me. She slightly nods, as though she catches every ounce of heartbreaking truth behind my lies, and asks me to get dressed for my first meeting, usually the finance manager of the estate. 

I like the regularity of my mornings. No surprises, no sudden changes. My smile is most genuine and heartfelt, although my heart disagrees. 
But Janet surprised me today.

I ready myself mentally to tell her about my first cat and how my brother would never let me feed her. Janet opens the door and proceeds to hand me my coffee, but then informs me of a sudden discovery. A letter has been found by her, in the library, while she was going through spare sheets of paper and arranging them. It was addressed to my father, but never opened. The date was just before.. the incident. I don't question why it was never brought to my attention. I lacked the ability to focus on anything for a long time. But, now I wanted to know the contents of the letter. 

I kindly ask Janet to get the letter to my office and ready breakfast for today. She bowed and smiled warmly, saying, "I realized on finding the letter that he would have not liked me going through the library." She was right.
Dad would have hated that. 

I smiled back and nodded. She bowed again and left the room, as one of my many hidden memories slightly flashed before my eyes. I was 8 years at the time, Thanes was only 7. I peeked in the library as my father was talking to a man who I recognized but did not care about much to remember. He was taller, but dad always declined that fact at dinners. He lied, but we laughed at it too. It was a pretty lie, one I would gladly relive.
Another random memory took my attention away from the taller person in my head and the green leaves of mahogany I had been staring at for some while now. 

My brother's name was based on the greek god of peaceful death. My mom decided on his name, while we had to beg dad to explain its meaning to us 6 years after his birth. Irene and Thanes were unique names, and not ones we fully comprehended as kids. I also remember crying because my name made me feel sad, though I don't remember why. My mother was gentle with us every time we questioned them, but never hid valuable knowledge from us. My father had harsher limits on our knowledge.