Sympathy for the Devil

19

Eighteen. I am eighteen now, and my parents still have safety controls on my life. I cannot say I blame them. It started with relocation, but bad things always followed in suit regardless of where we went.

    Ignorance is a blessing we no longer can afford. At first, I saw mythological creatures that were straight from my drawings and my nightmares. They seemed harmless back then. I cannot say that now.

    "Kill," My mom's voice softened a touch. It was not as shrill as it usually is. It was a tiring tone. I exhaust her. She knows I have snapability. I've been a shitty excuse for a son lately.

    "What?" My tone is crisp and venomous. Although I was contrite, my tone did not reflect it. I managed a slight mumble of some pathetic attempt at a half-assed apology while I hunched my shoulders and slumped down. I felt significantly small and completely bitter.

    "I love you," Her voice flatlined and fizzled off.

    Dad nodded his agreement. A head nod is about all I can get from him lately.

    I kept my head hung low. I pretended that I didn't hear her, but we both know that I did.

    My cheeks reddened. Not from embarrassment at the sudden motherload of affection. I was not accustomed to much affection at all lately. My cheeks deepened in color from guilt. It tore away at my insides. I pretended that it did not affect me at all.

    For March, the air felt particularly hostile and nippy. I tugged my black peacoat around my beige t-shirt. I was never built for winter. I despised it. It's nearing spring, dammit. It's already the fifth of March. I expected this freeze to be left behind in February, but of course, I could not get that lucky. I miss living in California with the constant sun and heat. I lived there for a few months when I was sixteen. Since then, we kept inching our way back towards the inevitable New York City. I'd rather be dripping with sweat than having Jack fucking Frost nipping at my nose.

New York City does not have the best memories attached. It was the place where I left my friends behind. I stayed in touch with Bennett, but I couldn't bother to reach out to the others. Sam, Li, and Ellie. They were all left in the jaded past. Unlike Bennett, they were secluded from the truth. I preferred it that way. It was better that way. Safer. Bennett had no choice other than to be subjected. He is burdened with the sight. I wish he didn't know the truth, too. Drown us both in oblivion.

    When I found out I was adopted a few months ago, or more so, left to rot on a doorstep, my parents stopped being parents to me. They never stopped trying. I did. Bitter hurt squandered our relationship. It was never their fault. Not at all. I do wish they had told me sooner. I understand why they didn't. Nobody wants to know that they were born unwanted and unloved. Especially me. I wonder if my birth parents saw monsters, too?

    Between moving from place to place and having a giant gaping hole in my identity, my resentment grew. My family shrink suggested familiarity to better accommodate my struggles with self-reflection. My parents have the benefit of being needed in their respective job fields. There are always jobs for a resilient social worker and a diligent engineer. New York City seemed like their answer in a sea of questions. It is familiar. But it won't make things venture back into normal territories. I don't even attend the same schools as my so-called friends. Mom homeschools me at bizzaro hours that conform to her own schedule. I'm secluded throughout the day and left to my own destructive devices.

Could things go back to normal? I highly doubt it.

We live a street over from where we used to live. It's close to where Ellie and Bennett live. I could be normal again and hang out with my friends like old times. The fact of the matter is that I have changed. My friends probably have too.