He has lost her. He lost white. And since then, black was all he could see. He navigated in darkness, without a hint of light, until he began to believe that there were no other shades. He walked on the pitch-black path, which wasn't to his liking...
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Only half of the human population experiences true love. The rest experience it through parental affection and familial warmth. Thus begins the game of misery. People would run after the idolization of romantic pursuits. They would fall and get hurt, but they would stand up again and resume the run behind an emotional illusion that entices them to repeat the process until the wounds become numb. The heart, too. And that's when they realize that love is not a granted card that everyone gets when the umbilical cord is cut and the first cry of life is released.
I was not included in this statistic. I knew love in its romantic form, but I never knew what the love of a family felt like. I didn't know how the protection of the people who breathed life into you could mold you into someone fit to navigate society. I was dealt a backhanded deck of cards that started with a losing kick-off, and when I met her — my Lana— that was the first round I won.
But you see, cards are all about luck. You'd win and win and get cockier with every win. Arrogant, even. You would consider the poker table meant for you, made to accommodate your loud laughter after every win. Your happiness and the tingling feeling warm your heart and soul and give you the grit to carry on, to dream of a tomorrow and imagine a future that promises a happy ending in its midst. You would become confident. A believer of fate. You would erase the memory of the previous loss as if it never happened, under the guise of being optimistic. A man who focuses on the full part of the cup.
Optimism, however, is a short-lived emotion. A vulnerable mindset that cannot withstand the harsh onslaught of a vicious life. It withers with the first blow and dies with the second. With its dismay comes that of hope, followed by that of happiness when life deals you a fatal blow, and that's when an emotion stronger in comparison to optimism emerges.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is nothing other than vengeance. The one and only. The sublime poison that, though deadly when diffused in the blood, gives you the will to live and carry on. It gives you the antidote that breathes life back into the empty shell you have become. I wouldn't say it gives you purpose, because purpose usually dies with hope, but it certainly gives you a goal to fight for and achieve.
Mine sat opposite me, wearing an expression akin to wariness and not far from nervousness. My goal's hands were sweating so much that she had to pat them dry in her jeans every two minutes, no more. I wished she would stop worrying for a moment, but on reflection I knew I would get her to stop eventually. She just needed time, and I was willing to give it to her. I had been giving it to her for more than a year now.
From now on, it was only a matter of time. Those who know how to be patient reap the sweetest fruits. In my case, I was sure that I would reap the forbidden fruit that drove Adam and Eve out of paradise. But that didn't matter to me. I never expected to end up in paradise, to begin with. I would look like an impostor there. Nah-uh! Paradise was definitely not a place for people like me.
Onyx skimmed the document with a frown that deepened every time she came across a clause she didn't understand. It was a cute preview, really. The cynical nature she always armed herself with when she was around me. She didn't need it. But I wasn't going to tell her that. I was going to show her. Because my blow would not come from a contract I had worked out with lawyers in the most legal way. My blow would come in a form similar to the story of Hansel and Gretel. Granted, I couldn't bake to save my life, but I could give her something better than cookies. I would give her what she needed, what she lacked. I would show her what she was worth. I certainly wouldn't send her to my oven because I had no desire to eat her—no puns intended. But I would eat Min Yoongi through her—again, no puns intended. No fucking way—and she would be the one to bake him for me and add the seasoning to his appalling taste.
