Lookism: What Am I Even Doing?

Chapter Thirty-Three

Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat in the corner of the dark room. Vasco is long gone. I'm not even sure what I said to get him to leave. When I snapped out of my own self-pity I found myself alone in this cold room wondering when I turned out so horrible.

As a fighter we hold ourselves to certain standards and follow a hard set of rules. The purpose for this? So that we can differentiate ourselves from the monsters. Yet, here I was, far beyond that line trying to figure out how far back it was that I stepped over it. Or maybe I had never been on the other side to begin with.

There was this harsh ripping in my throat and puking warmth in my chest as I tried my best to keep my sobs to myself. I curled my knees closer to my chest. Is this what I wanted when I said I wanted a better second life? Or had I become so absorbed with not letting anyone else step over me that I became the very same person who messed with others.

The door to the basement slowly opened. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt as my Uncle descended from the steps. There was no point in it though. I'm pretty sure he could see the snot running down my nose for himself. Or the self-hatred in my eyes.

He said nothing as he came over to me. He just took a seat next to me and leaned up against the wall. For some reason this was so much worse than having him yell at me. In fact, I'd prefer if he was here screaming at me, telling me just exactly the type of monster that I was.

"Don't you have a fucking shop to look after?"

I said purposely with a tight lace of anger. I glared at him. Get mad at me.

He shook his head, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, "It's already ten. You've been in here for four hours."

"What?"

Had I really been here that long? No wonder my head felt so heavy.

"Do you want to talk about it?"
Pfff! Hahahaa! Do I want to talk about it? What the fuck does this old bastard think he is? My damn therapist? I'm fucking fine if he hasn't noticed. And even if I wasn't what makes him think he's qualified to fix me. I froze at the words inside my head.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Looks like someone has been talking to a shrink."

He turned to look at me, "Yes, I have actually."

Excuse me, what? Haha! This ass has to be lying to me? Since when does he have time to go see a fucking shrink? He's always busy in the shop or watching those damn corny shows of his. Don't fucking tell me...haha...has he talking to this fucking doctor about me?

"When? In your damn dreams? You don't leave this damn place."

"I hired two part timers in the afternoons while you're still in school. After that day in front of your school gate I realized I should try a little harder for you. So I started going not so long ago. I've been trying to give you as much space as you need but I think it's time we talk."

I smiled at him, "Look who finally grew some balls."

His eyes narrowed at me, "Stop it."

"What? I'm not fucking doing anything. If anything, you didn't say you wanted to talk. Okay, so let's talk. What do you want me to tell you? That I'm fucking depressed cause my parents died? That I'm relapsing?" I stood up and dramatically threw myself against the wall, "The walls are caving in and it's becoming too suffocating to breathe!"

"Ila, I'm being serious, stop it."

This time I ran to the middle of the room and fell on my knees, "Oh, whatever shall I do? The anger is consuming me!"