his serenity.

chapter 1- sina

SINA:

Three words; Men. Are. Shit.

Yes, I'm sure many would disagree with that statement, but, in my world, that is my reality. Every fucking man I've had the displeasure of meeting has further proved this statement correct, with the exception of my deadbeat father whom I've never met in my life and don't have plans to in future.

Whether it be my mums boss at the strip club, my rugby coach, school teachers, guys at church pretending to be something they're not and even the fucking mayor of Mangere, all of them are shitty, perverted beings crafted by satan himself.

All except one.

Jonah.

An angel sent from above.

My younger brother and my reason for living.

The brother who is now being lowered six feet under along with my mother.

Dark storm clouds spread along the sky and the musky smell of rain fills my lungs as the pastor finishes his two-hour-long spiel. There's no one else but me here, my family had no friends or family, not even friendly acquaintances who could be considered close enough to invite, it was just us against this shitty-ass world. Now there's only one. Me.

I feel numb.

They'd been shot dead in our small apartment by one of Mum's clients while I was at training. The man responsible had been found in a countdown parking lot dead from an overdose. Fucking pussy.

Jonah was an angel, always smiling, always happy. Really freaking smart for his age, he probably would of become a doctor or lawyer if he had lived long enough to.

Mum was a good woman, when not on drugs.

She was fourteen when I was born. She left everything for me; her family, her friends, her church and a promising signing deal with a label for a child she didn't even know the father of. The last time I ever asked about my father was when I was five years old and my mother told me she didn't know his name, race or even his age.

They'd met at a house party, while my mum was piss drunk, and played truth or dare with a bunch of strangers, one thing led to another and boom I was conceived.

She worked as a stripper, prostitute and part-time drug dealer to keep us afloat. We jumped from house to house, sometimes we would end up on the streets, but, she always made sure I was clothed, fed and loved.

That all changed when I was six years old and my mother met a man while working a shift at the brothel, talking about a massive fucking red flag. He was rich, tall and handsome. And within two months of meeting, they married and we out of the ghetto and into a brick house with a white picket fence in the suburbs. No, he did not become a father figure for me, he merely tolerated me for my mother's sake.

A year later Jonah was born and they left us with a sitter to go on a 'short business trip' that lasted on and off for six and a half years. They never called, texted or sent postcards. Not that I cared much anyway, I was content with the shit I was given.

When they returned Mum was as high as a kite on meth and the asshole a raging alcoholic.

One business venture gone wrong, and he became bankrupt. We were evicted from our home in the suburbs and forced to move into an old, rotting apartment complex. Mad at the world and blaming everyone but himself he started hitting my mum. It started off as little shoves and pushes during heated arguments over money, drugs or alcohol and turned into him fucking beating on her. They spent the money the government gave me and Jonah on their next fix, leaving us to fucking starve. Soon, he turned to me. It started with little things like him hitting me with a belt for being seen at the wrong time or not putting his beers in the fridge before he got home from the pub, then slowly he started kicking, shoving and punching me. Which is why Mum put me in a sport like rugby. To have an excuse for the bruises on my arms and legs.