Written on the Stars

I'm not Good Enough

*Self-harm, suicide,

I sat on the couch, my legs crossed and my hand in a bag of Cheetos, watching tv.I flipped through the channels as I brought a handful of Cheetos to my mouth, eating them and then regretting having so many in my mouth at one time for I couldn't chew.

The last couple of weeks has been so blissful.It felt like the world is being so peaceful and serene like life has decided to give us a break with drama and shit.Monica's pregnancy has been going smoothly with not much morning sickness and no complications.Yesterday we went to the first doctor's appointment where they confirmed that we are going to be parents, and they assured us that the baby most likely isn't going to be stillborn, but it still does have more of a chance which makes me quite startled.

I always think what my life would be like if Anneliese lived.My heart started beating faster every time I thought of my two-year-old daughter, with light blonde hair, a combination of both me and Monica's, and her mother's beautiful blue hair, cuddling up closer to Monica and I as we slept through a stormy night.I wonder what her personality would be like.Would she be rambunctious and loud like me or strict and elegant like her gorgeous mother?

She would come to out room every time it rained to slept in between us and to be snuggled and to be loved.She would get annoyed every time I mess up a drawing of her's and Monica would side with her.It's odd, Anneliese never lived in this world nor took a breath of air, but I feel like I loved her since I saw that plus sigh even if she never knew.

The doorbell stopped my train of thoughts.I groaned as I stood up, brushing off the crumbs of my shirt.I slowly walked to the door and another ring filled the house.I opened the door in annoyance.

I came face to face with a middle aged man with black stubble around his mouth and black hair that had a mixture of grey in it.Oh god, probably just a person a person asking to buy girl scout cookies.

"Yes?"I lifted my white eyebrows and leaned up against the door.

"Gilbert?Beilschmidt?"He asked.His voice was raspy like he's been smoking.

"Umm, yeah,"I mumbled,"Who are you?"

"Just let me explain before I tell you."He rushed.He took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his green eyes.

"I'm your father."He opened his eyes as I enlarged mine.No, he isn't; I refuse to believe this man is my father, who left me alone for a new family because I wasn't good enough for him.

"No, you're not!"I hissed, nearly spitting all over him.I wouldn't care if I did.

"Gil, please, I'm going to explain."He held his hands up as if he thought I'll strike him.Honestly, that thought has came to my mind several times during my teen hood.

"So, you're finally going to give me the answer that's been in my mind for years?"I snarled. All the thoughts that been rotting my mind had exploded out of me, shaking my limbs because of either fear or adrenaline.I hoped it was the latter, but I knew it wasn't.

"Gilbert, stop yelling, please."He tried to comfort, failing in the progress since I already knew I couldn't stop the anger that passed my lips.

"No!"I screamed, hurting my throat.

"It's not what you think!"He told me as I allowed him in and slammed the door.Despite how angry I was with him, I had to hear his story, the one that would finally confirm it all.

"Then what is it!"I yelled.

"I couldn't raise you,"He barked, stopping my insults,"You were so needy. You need everything I couldn't give you: medication, money, attention, love."He looked into my eyes at that last word.