Unwanted Desire

Swallowing the Guilt

I hate getting on to a bus when its rainy outside. I hate having to share my personal space with inconsiderate other's, who don't care whether or not they step onto your shoes or breathe heavily in your face. I hated it all, but I had to suffer in silence as I made my way home. My brother had called me nine times already but I hadn't picked up. What was there for me to say? "I'm sorry but I'm going to be late today, I have to kill someone." or "Can you hold on a sec, I'm trying to find the best place where I can launch my attack."  

To be completely honest, I was absolutely useless at lying! I remember helping my dad to make dinner one day when I was ten years old. My report card for the autumn term had arrived in the post and on the fourth page stood my failure in a silly Religion test . The paragraph that my teacher had written, stressed his concern with my work. My current result was in block capital letters and seemed to be the only thing that my dad was actually read,  3/20 - Under achieving.

 I had a plan all figured out in my head. He would ask me about the test result and I'd tell him how much my teacher hated black girls and how he'd given the exact same report to pretty much everyone in class. I had the plan all figured out in my head. But suddenly I could feel his eyes starring at my back as I chopped frantically on the carrots. He sighed deeply throwing the report onto the counter and rubbing his forehead... I almost pissed in my pants!

"I'm so ssorry daddy" I stammered as the words tumbled out of my mouth. "I'll do the test again aand and I'll get better, I ppromise." 

"Sshhh." He said gently as he came over to wrap me in his warm embrace. "It's not the end of the world."

Salty tears were streaming down my face faster than you could say  sodium chloride, yet he cuddled me until I was calm again. I loved my dad. He was the best man in the world. He'd never shout at us, me mum or Darren. Even when we made him really angry, he was just good at keeping calm. That's why when he died in a car crash later that week, it left me, mum and Darren in a terrible state. ___________________________________________________________________________

Being in the bus gave me time to think up a plausible alibi to cover where I'd been for the past 3hours. Darren was waiting for me on the balcony and I knew that this was serious. I hurried up the stairwell clutching on the arms of my backpack and biting on the corner of my lip. Would he show me mercy and let me off lightly? Would he see through my lie and punish me for life? Ever since dad died, mum went mad and now she was in prison for drug dealing and attempted arson on several occasions. They locked her up when I was 12 in order to ensure that people were safe and she didn't remain a threat to society. She's been there for  3 years...  When Darren turned 21, the court allowed him to get full custody of me.

Should I be taking it for granted? The fact that me and my brother lived alone with a regular visitation every three months from the social worker to see how well we were doing. If Darren couldn't take care of me properly I'd be back in the stinky care home on Lonsdale Road. The care home where I met Curtis. The demon that tried to cut me up every night. I remember the early days of me living there, she'd said that I was a disgrace to the female race. Her and her group reckoned I didn't deserve to be a girl. Apparently I was too hairy. I knew they were simply jealous of my long thick mane of hair that grew on my head and they were only looking for an excuse to hate on me. 

The care worker had said that everyone was to treat me nicely on my first few days in the care home till i'd settled down... But  the warning didn't stop them. It didn't stop them from getting razors and trying to cut off all the little hair on my arms. The hairs that were barely visible in the first place. I remember screaming when they dug deeply into my skin as i tried getting up from my bed , as they attacked me one night. Getting up and away from their grip and running out of my room. There were about five of them. And everyday they would cut me in one place or another. Everyday I would suffer in silence because no one cared to listen to my story. Nobody loved me.