Cruel Sanctuary

Chapter 38

For hours we spoke, talked, chatted, whatever anyone would refer to it as but every word uttered went straight through me without any comprehension. Owen held the conversation whilst I chipped in with the odd nod or murmur. I've decided that I cannot face my family in-law nor can I converse with my own immediate family so, I ask myself, what is left for me? 

The logical portion of myself recognises that I have many people outside of my family: Owen, Emma, Luke, Lucy, Everleigh and Brooklyn. Not to mention their parents! Still, whether I like it or not, I have Clara who is a useful ally who will always be willing to listen, one way or another. Whether that is for her own personal gain or reliant upon the height of her mood, it is, yet again, another person in my life. 

That same logical part of me argues that, whilst I feel like I don't have my family, I do. Families don't disband overnight, neither do they completely abandon a member of their biological team. They love me as much as I love them but do they feel the same way that I do? That nothing will ever be the same again? That we can't be in the same place together? That there is no point in bothering to save our relations? If I do, then one of them, likely to be Jeremy, is contemplating the same vicious cycle as I. 

However, as in any good movie, there is a devil to my angel. What is a life where I can only rely on friends and distant acquaintances but not my own family? If I were to answer this, I would reply with a simple grunt which voices that it is not a world that I wish to live in. My whole life has been family orientated, it would be a shame to live the rest of my life in vain of my childhood. 

The clutter of plates being dropped into the dishwasher aggressively drag me from my thought submersion, "A penny for your thoughts?" Owen asks me, digging in his pocket for a penny. He portrays an expression of eureka as he pulls out an imaginary penny from his deep pocket before throwing it at me. Unable to even crack a smile, I catch air and pocket the money. Today, I am one fictitious penny richer. 

Sighing at his expectant stare, I give in, "I'm just contemplating life. In the scheme of things, our life is a lot like a book. I'd love our story to be made into a book," I daydream, completely off the tracks of my true thoughts. If Owen can present me with a fabricated penny, then I can display fallacious mind-farts. Although, upon considering it, our lives would make for a decent storyline. 

Smirking at me as he turns on the dishwasher, I can hear his narcissistic mind churning, "One day, Sky, one day," he fantasises alongside me and we fall into a distinct silence, comfortable but lingering. 

Our novel would be a romance, or maybe a rom-com, and it would be the sort of book that I would read over and over again. People wouldn't be able to skim through the carefully crafted pages, they'd want to take in every word, emotion and paragraph. It would be imperfectly perfect in every single way; just like the protagonists' relationship. 

However, I've always despised books with fairytale endings. Personally, I feel that the protagonist should always have to give up at least one thing: a friend or maybe a pet? It would make up for all of the unintentional and intentional pain that they have caused the reader when we get lost in the story world. Endings are usually deceiving and boring. They lived happily ever after. Our story only just begins. I am content for now. My story would have a tear-pricking, unique and realistic ending; not everybody lives in Wonderland and makes it without a scratch. 

For example, my brewing depression. A couple of weeks ago, I was in the best mindset for restarting after the loss of my mother but today I want to shrivel back up and hide away from civilisation. That way, I don't have to suffer from any more of life's cruel curveballs. I prefer that mindset, I welcome it. 

Owen sighs and turns to me, "I'm going shopping for food, are you coming?" He asks me and I stand up, following him out of the kitchen, "No, thanks," I gesture to my oversized pyjama t-shirt and my black shorts. My attire leaves nothing to the imagination, as you can imagine.