Metanoia, a Ghost Bird Fanfic

Morning after

Slate P.O.V

For a while all I could do was lie there, hand still extended to where my dad used to be. Just trying to understand what happened.

He left, they all left, my family, or were they?

"I've always hated you, just like your whore mother."

Those were her last words to me. Mother-not-mother always mentioned how I was like 'her'. I'm guessing all these years she was talking about my actual mom? Although that clarified so much, it brought more confusion.

All this time I've been so convinced I needed to look after my family, I tried to help everyone to the best of my ability because I had faith that my family was trying to help me. Thats how family is supposed to be, right? I guess I wouldn't know, after all this time we never even shared blood.

That woman, the one I was so convinced was my responsibility... she murdered me, worse; she made sure I died alone. 

After years of her warning me about the outside world she makes me question who's the real monster. If she lied to me about who she was, who I am, how am I supposed to trust everything else she drilled into me?

Surely the rest of the world isn't trying to drown each other in bathtubs, right? I mean although I live in almost complete isolation I'm pretty sure I'd get the memo if that was the case. 

And although yesterday went about as well as Napoleons Waterloo, I met nine men who treated me better than I've ever been treated by my 'family'

I got to see Kota's smile, Dr. Sean did help me twice, Gabriel looked at me... or my hair, as if it was the most precious thing to him. Though it was terrifying, not all of it was bad... it could've even been good if it weren't for mom-not-mom.

Or maybe it wouldn't have been, but I feel like I had the right to find out. She took that from me. 

Thick detestment layers the feelings of betrayal and confusion, dark amusement settles the longer I think of it. I've always feared being alone, but now that my 'family' deserted me and I'm truly alone, I feel... free. I no longer have to make excuses for my mother, because she's anything but. Even if I am a monster I don't have to belittle myself because I don't need to be good enough for her. I don't have to hate myself for not being the perfect daughter.

I finally know never will be enough for her, and for the first time, I don't want to be.

I want my own life. I've lived for other people long enough. I can focus on helping myself before putting others on a pedestal. I guess I had to die to begin living. I would laugh at the irony if I could get my muscles to work.

Oh, right, I'm dying. Or was. I should really focus on that.

As soon as I remember the state of my face, awareness spreads to the rest of my body and my high soon ends. I still feel like I'm burning from the inside out, like I'm a piece of metal that's been extracted from a  raging fire; glowing red hot and angry.

Good, it centers me and gives me a problem I am used to dealing with, instead of questioning my entire existence.

I know there's blood in the fridge, that's supposed to help, I focus all my attention on getting to it. I'm too weak to do anything but snail toward the fridge on the other side of the room, about 20 feet away. The closer I get to it the farther away it feels as I quickly find how painful it is to rub against the carpet. The smell of my blood fills my lungs and I measure my movements with numbers.

One; extend my arm, breath in.

Two; pull my body forward.

Three; breathe out.