Our Dark Love

𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖴𝖤

BRIANNA

I wasn't always this selfish. I didn't always crave pain infact I despised it, but once I stopped feeling it, I wanted it more than ever. At any cost.

My own hunger caused me to be selfish, egocentric, and self-centered at times. Like I said, I wasn't always like this. There was time before the want and need to feel pain, a time where all things were simple. A time when it was father, mother and I. Us three living together in harmony, but like all things good, there has to be bad.

Mother is a walking, breathing and talking hurricane. A reckoning force, never dealt with. Mother had a high position in our community. Everyone who knew anyone respected or feared my mother, maybe even both at the same time. An influence to the society I grew up in, no one once stood up to my mother because if you did, you wouldn't like the consequences. When my mother said that I was a carbon copy to her, I didn't want to believe her but now I know.

I caused pain to recieve it, sometimes mindlessly but other times intentional.

With my mother being in the society's eye, she always pushed me to be the best. Mother always expected nothing but the best from me despite me being a child. People knew me to always be above average, when you hear my name in a conversation it would be about how I can do school and volunteer at such a young age. She always pushed me to volunteer and be productive. Father told her that one day I would burn out but little did he know that I had already burnt out.

He couldn't know how exhausted I was as a seven year old handing cookies to the elders every Sunday after church. I didn't want him to know because it would cause an even bigger rift between my parents. Now how I wish to have told him, confided in him. He could have done something about it but I know mother would never allow that. The things is, he never cared for image or the society, I loved him for that. Keyword: loved

My father was someone I, as the naive little girl, put in good light. He was my hero, my knight in shining armour. I looked up to my father, both physically and mentally. He always told me to work smart and work hard. He would give me lessons on how to succeed and be myself. He was my mentor in a way and for the longest time, I strive to be like him. Between the whistles of the wind and the silence of the night, I had peace and quiet being in my bed after dark.

I only had those five seconds of peace and quiet.

After those five seconds was chaos. Mother and father were on opposite ends of a pole, they never see eye to eye. Father would always just accept her argument and move on, no fight about it. Their marriage was ultimately end game. I have come to terms that they aren't meant to be together, but I don't think mother has. She still hasn't spoken about him neither does she want to hear about him. At night, I hear small whimpers and cries from her bedroom, her heart was never mended.

You're so confused as to where my father went, well I don't know where but he left us.

I remember the day like it was yesterday, it was nine years ago. I came back from my first day of third grade, after having spent the entire summer with father. We played baseball, soccer, squash, we visited the beach, went to a museum, he took me to the Statue of Liberty. I jump down the steps of the bright yellow school bus that brings me home everyday. The bus driver, Uncle Tom, waved his thick rough hand at me and closed the door. I waved at him and turned to our house.

We live in the Upper East Side of New York, where all the rich, spoilt people live. A cobblestone driveway extended till the large silver gates, marked with a J to show the owner of the property was a Jackson. A tall wall built out of cobblestone, with morse, surrounded the premises. Mother always took pride in image, hence our grass was always green, even in the winter. Father would wait for me at the end of the driveway, right by the large oak doors that reveal our home. I ran to him as fast as my little legs would take me, my brunette shoulder curls bobbed with every step I took. He picked me up as soon as I was infront of him and lifted me high up in the sky.

He always told me to reach for the stars.

He set me down and we entered through oak doors. The grey walls harmonizing with the grey tiled floor, our steps echoed in the foyer. He leads me to the kitchen and I see Aunty Lilith making one of her amazing dishes. I flash her a smile and she sends back a half smile. I brush off the gut wrenching feeling in my stomach and sit at the dining table with father. He presses his hands together and leans his forehead against it. He opens his mouth and words escape leaving me tarnished.

"Anna, dad is going away for a while so I need you to take care of mom, okay?"i

I agreed, of course, not having thought about him leaving for nine years. I watched him go and went to bed, reciting one the bedtime stories he used to whisper to me, in hopes that father will come back sooner than later. Mother threw a fit and burnt all of father's clothes that he had left, she burnt his record player, his ukulele and almost burnt our prized possession fathers grand piano.

This was our piece that bounded us together, we would sit and play on it while the crackles of the fire act as background noises. I was gifted with fathers singing voice, it was all I had left of him. Music.

Mother made sure I payed more attention to schoolwork than music, and it helped. It took my mind off things temporarily, even though I needed something permanent.

At fifteen was when I craved pain. I felt guilty for not feeling pain when father left without a trace or when mother told me she hated me, I was suppose to feel that pain but it never came. It was almost impossible to sneak around with the drugs but mother was almost never home so I had to dodge between the helpers and chefs. The drugs helped me feel.

Now don't get confused, I don't take drugs for the elated feeling, I take drugs for the after feeling. The pain in your chest and the shiver of your body after you come down from your high, I was addicted to it. It helped me feel for the leave of my father and my mother's hatred for me. I desired it and I couldn't stop.

I couldn't stop until Carter happened. If I hadn't have met him, I would still be in my room hating myself for being happy while crushing some Xanax. He didn't save me nor did he intend to save me, because I didn't need help.

I just needed to feel pain, and he was there to cause it.

He just needed to cause pain, and I was there to take it.

I hate him, as much as he hates me. He was angry with the world so he took it out on me. He loved to see me in pain and I loved to feel the pain.

Remember my insatiable desire to feel pain? Well he's desire was to inflict pain.

What a wonderful pair.

The same poles.

A U T H O R ' S N O T E

I love prologues...idk why

Stay cool and stay slutty my friends <3