In My Heart the Will

Dulcina

Dulcina

Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur

Chopin. Beethoven. Vivaldi. I saw them and others in my dreams and didn’t know why and they weren’t the only ones either. It was them plus other things that didn’t make sense in waking or the unconscious. All that made sense was when I found myself awake the next morning wondering the same question almost every time.

‘Have I gotten worse?’ Never really had the time to think or worry about it thankfully. Worrying was unhealthy.

Then again, so was hating someone... especially someone like Maverick.

“You haven’t packed yet?” He sounded surprised. I hadn’t even gotten up out of my bed.

“I’m not going to allow you to isolate yourself again.”

“You do it.” My mumbled retort was met with a knowing look.

“Yes, but I don’t have schizophrenia.” Point taken. The silence in my room didn’t bother me. I was absorbing all those floating memories that had been sitting and saturating the walls with memories of different shapes, sizes, and levels of realisticness. I kept them all, though. How was I supposed to be able to tell which ones were real and which ones weren’t? I just knew that some of them weren’t real because the thing that filtered what was real and what wasn’t to me hated me.

Getting to my feet, I wondered what my minds eulogy would be. Even Susie was changing personalities.

‘I can’t even stay consistent with how I wanted to be if I had had a normal father.’ Can anyone tell me how messed up that is?

Choosing to only pack what I had made, I got started on the first box. Maron was standing in my doorway with a bowl of pink strawberry ice cream.

“May I ask what is on your mind?”

“Too much, Mar-kun. My mind can’t make up its mind and my friends are showing how much it hates me.” Probably not getting much from that, he tried again, deciding to use another topic.

“Why do you think Maverick wanted your mother dead?” That question was almost too perfect at this moment.

I had almost forgotten my theory. Having been only seven at the time didn’t matter, at that young age with strange parents and an emotionally and mentally detrimental next door neighbor meant that I had to be careful.

“He knew her and he knew she knew what he was.”

“How? Didn’t you say that she was the naïve type that was usually trusting? Those people are better at seeing the good in people rather than the bad.” Only if you went by the profile.

“Because that was mother’s role. She knew what he was because she was the same as him. The thing was she used her drive for business rather than play and that was what made her a threat to Wilhelm. Then again, having ASPD made her a threat either way. He himself would not have stood a chance against her tact, so instead he used father. Father killed her only because he was afraid that he would not have a sacrifice to give God when that day came around. Since mother at least half fit his type he used her as a makeshift ‘angel’.”

“When did you learn about the way your mother really was?”

“You mean ‘who’?” Continuing to fold a shirt and place it in the box, I was barely able to catch War’s half nod.

“Mr. Rogers would have made a better next door neighbor.” Had War ever heard of Mr. Rogers?

“So Larmonte?” This reply was of an obviously questioning nature and I smiled over my shoulder at him. The only one that was always there for me, that had always trusted me and my word, loving me through all of it. If it weren’t for him then I’d still be in that asylum.