Cold-hearted love

27. Sage

C.S Lewis once wrote: "Isn't it funny that day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different". 

I've never quiet realized how little my brother knew about me until now. he always saw me as the quiet, cold, smart little sister. 

Everything's always been the same to me, looking now how different it must've been. I've always kept the darkest parts of me away from him. The thing is, the darkest parts of me was all there ever was.

Emilio knew that and I suppose, growing up with horrible parents he understood why. As well as El and Rhett.

But I couldn't blame him for being mad and seeing a side of me I hid, a side he never knew existed. 

Had I completely lost my temper, like I had almost done, the whole building would be on fire. I'm glad I had checked my emotions before I lost it.

Now I only had to deal with making up a figment of the truth for the scars.

Jackson was the kind of brother who reprimanded me if I ever did something wrong, like most brothers, but I don't do anything wrong to his knowledge. Mistakes aren't something he's familiar with me making. And he sure as fuck isn't familiar with death despite being the son of Alexander Levine. 

Jacks had only ever killed to protect himself or his loved ones, he can't comprehend the horrors I've done. I barely do.

In a sense, I've always known there's something wrong with me. I've always known that to have true power it always comes at a cost, whether its political or magical power. 

But now I truly wonder how come I'm this way and he's not. I hate it. It's not fair.

To feel no remorse for the dead. Or the living. Maybe it was the way I was raised. Afterall I was raised around death and power. My brother got to see the best side of it because he was important and I sheltered him. While I a prized doll that was used and abused without notice.

Jackson was cherished and truly beloved by people, I on the other hand, was a camera doll.

I remember hiding from my uncle, my mother being tortured because my only companion was in my head. I remember lying for the people who killed my innocence. My brother had the most perfect life because he was the one they took care of. 

And maybe it was my fault because unlike my brother, I never bothered to be half-way-decent for two-thirds of my childhood. I know how my life worked. I had to go through it by being crueler and worse the cruelest. Worse than the worse. Smarter than the smartest. More strategic than the best strategist. 

But how did his work? 

I couldn't help it, I was so fucking angry at him, jealous because I was the younger child, shouldn't I have it easy? But what did it matter? Everything that was done today only proved one thing: no matter how hard I try to protect my brother once he know about me he won't do the same. He wouldn't want a sister like me. 

And I couldn't blame him for it.

Happy fucking New Years to me. I spent the first hours fighting for my brother. His beatings were better than most of the ones from my childhood. I can't help but think of the room I spent most of my time in. The old one that held so many fond memories as well as horrid ones.

No wonder I'm bitter. I have no right to be, but I couldn't help myself, shouldn't I be happy, he got the chance to live the life I've always wanted? 

And I am happy for him just. . .it sucked for me because it came at so many costs to me. 

So why did it cut so hard when I got a reality check because logically, I shouldn't care?

A chill went through my nightdress, leaving my legs exposed. I shiver in the cold winter night, on my balcony with only a thin green lacy slip on, not from the cold but from pure bottled anger.