Prologue: Leaving Milan
Song: Kelly Clarkson - Stronger
4 years ago
"Come on sweetheart" my mom whispered and tugged me down the set of stairs and out the hell hole of a house. Well, a mansion one could say. But not all mansions house a king and queen or a dutch and dutchess. Some mansions cages innocent people and kills without regret. Whilst some are just cold and empty.
It has been an hour since my dad left and luckily, he brought all his guards to the important appointment he has with the important client - giving us the opportunity to leave Milan.
A couple of men stayed, but the drugged muffins had just did the job.
"Mom, are we really leaving him?" I exasperated. I was confused and anxiety build up inside of me, making me want to puke all over the cemented sidewalk that we are pacing on.
The cars are equipped with tracking bugs and explosives, we couldn't risk leaving using one of them. We can't be caught and most importantly, we can't just die a stupid death.
I dragged my small suitcase while my mom carried hers. We are on a mission. A mission where we need no failure, or else...
The thought of getting caught pumps the life out of me. If he saw us, we might as well be dead. You don't want to see him when he is mad - he is the reincarnation of Hitler.
Blood is what he lives for. He kills for a living. He tortures for money. He do illegal things and never regrets his decisions - even if that choice sometimes involves my mom in a fit of crying as he abuse her with me in the room.
My eyes long tainted with ny mother's grief.
He never once did that when I was young. The slapping and punching came when I turned 10. My mom was angry because he told me to take care of myself for when the right time comes, I'll be off to build a good partnership for his business.
I knew what that meant, I'm not a stupid little girl in a white dress with unicorn dolls and fancy headbands. He, my biological father, wanted nothing more than to give me away to some russian mafia for a business deal. Marry me away for money, greed, and power.
"Yes honey. Yes we are. We'll be safer in LA. We'll be safer anywhere but here" she assured me, ending my train of thoughts. Clasping our hands together and rubbing circles there with her thumb to calm me down.
I felt so much pity on her - tortured and battered that is what my mom had experienced and I couldn't do anything to stop her pain, she wanted out but he doesn't give a crap. And I hate him for doing that to her.
He is ruthless and all his men too, and when I reach my reasoning years, it all fell into place - all men are evil.
Hell, my own father is.
He was my dad but he was my mother's worst nightmare and it came to a time that I believed there was no option and hope. Life is full of shit - a septic tank. To survive, you have to swim endlessly.
From this day on, I will be my mom's protection. She will no longer get hurt as long as I am here.
My heart calmed down a bit and I started to feel less anxious.
In this world, there is no place for fear because if you're afraid, people will take advantage of you.
We need to fight for our survival and we definitely have to be brave in facing all barricades if not, then at least pretend you're brave enough - that's is all life is about, survival and with that came power, power over people. I want to be powerful because if you have a hold on a group of individuals then you can be who you wanted to be giving them no space for argument.
Power so great that once you tell people to kill themselves, they do just that.
I, Margaux Bavaria, am no longer life's slave rather a fighter for a better existence and I swear my life on that.
I heard the announcement saying the plane has arrived in LA hours later. This is it, I told myself.
A new place and a new life.
I imagined a medium sized house, with a white picket fence. Roses and sunflowers standing proud by the patio. My mother inside the kitchen with a 'cooking like a queen' apron, hair tied in a bun, placing a set of chocolate chip cookies in the oven.
How hard could that be?
How difficult is a simple life to have? The irony can't just leave me.
And there I was, a teenager with converse on, going to public school near home, a backpack behind my back and a set of books in hand. Maybe even a friend by me. Who knows?
When we exited the huge metal transportation, I inhaled the air of California and felt the heat of the sun's rays. Anxiety is still there, but not because I think my father could track us, but because I'm conscious of how the people my age will react to how I am.
How should I act?
How should I blend in?
How should we live now?
Despite tons of questions in my head a smile tugged its way to my lips as it crossed my mind that we are finally free - from the tormenting cage of a life and from the devil himself.
