Asylum For Aisling

19. Harry

The girl sitting in front of me was a different one than the girl I met my first day here. She was now broken looking. Her eyes looked lost and she seemed to be in a daze. The girl I met on my first day here was strong and resilient, but now sitting in front of me, she was shattered. That was only a tiny part of her life that had happened, and because she decided to tell me this first, I knew it wasn't the worst.

She wasn't looking at me, she was looking through me.

It was my turn to tell a story.

Everything that has happened in my life, what could I tell her?

I sat there for a few minutes staring at her. My head was swimming in memories as I tried to conjure up something to tell her. Anything. And that was when I thought of it.

"You ready, Aisling?" I whispered wistfully, my eyes having their own distant look.

"Yeah, Harry. Lay it on me." She whispered back.

This was the story about my unwanted life.

My family and I were never close. They never thought that anything I did was good enough. I could never live up to their standards. My parents were uptight, strict adults who were constantly working. They were CEO's of some firm that stole all of their time.

They made it blatantly obvious that they wanted nothing to do with me.

They hardly acknowledged my presence, but when they did,

it was only yelling and shouting about how terrible of a child I was. They told every day that as soon as I turned eighteen, I was going to have to live on my own. They hated me for anything I did. If I got straight A's, they would tell me that it wasn't enough.

My mom constantly reminded me that she always wanted a daughter. She would say, "If I had a daughter, she would be perfect. She would be the perfect child. What did I do to end up with you? What kind of sin did I ever commit to have ended up with a child like you? You will never amount to anything. You are nothing."

I would merely nod at her harsh words that felt like knives wielding their way into my heart. I would put on a brave face and act like it was fine, like the words that I couldn't go a day without hearing had no affect on me. On the contrary, it felt like those little knives were slicing parts of my heart at with each remark she made.

My father on the other hand would never say a word. My mother did all the talking, or screaming if you would like. My father would sit at the dining room table with a papers littering every inch of the mahogany wood, engross in his work. If he ever looked up from the array of papers, it would be to send me a disappointed look.

I did everything and anything to make them proud.

I got straight A's in all my classes, I took extra classes online, I got a job, I bought my own car, I never partied, I had a couple friends that were children of people my parent's worked with so they knew how well behaved and mannered they were, and I did everything they said. It was just never enough.

So, one night I decided that I was going to really show them what a disappointment I was.

I got completely smashed.

It was my first drinking experience, so I wasn't able to hold my alcohol well, or at all. I was at a club when I was sixteen, sneaking in with some people from school who were regulars at the club. The bouncer knew them personally, so I tagged along and was let in without a second glance. Shot after shot, drink after drink. I was smashed.

So, to push my new found rebel side, I decided that I was going to drive home as drunk as I was and show my parents the definition of a perfect child.