Magnus POV:
*Flashbacks in italics
"Magnus! Sweetie, come downstairs, Dad and I want to speak with you."
I sigh, shutting the book I was reading. My room was, in fact, lined with books. I loved indulging myself in story after story, fact after fact. I would even read up on several different languages and teach myself...just anything to distract me from the life I was living around me. Real life was never better than fantasies.
I reluctantly put the worn out book on the wooden shelf, and slowly thumped down the stairs to where my mother's voice had come from, running my hand through my hair which was teased up and had a line of dark blue dye running through it.
"Yes, mom?" I asked as I entered the living room, only to find my father and mother sitting together on the couch. My mother looked rather anxious, and my father looked quite bored. I sat on the other side of the couch, glancing at them even.
I couldn't help but notice their body language. My mom kept fiddling with her fingers, and my dad seemed to be putting little restraint into looking uninterested. Mom leaned forward and softly put her delicate hand on my knee, and I looked into her eyes. Her eyes were a dark brown color, currently filled with indecisiveness. It was a strong contrast to my own, which were a brilliant color of green, with specks of bright yellow in the center. Why, might you ask, are we so different?
My mother, sitting in front of me, is not my real mother. My real mother, as one might call her, took her own life years after I was born. I was 9 years old. I was her "beautiful mistake," as she once called me to my father. My father used to be an awful person; he was abusive, and had a worse drinking problem than he does now. His short temper got him nowhere.
She blindly fell in love, and married him even when her parents begged her not to. Once she had, they shunned her. Slowly my father's inexcusable behavior got worse and worse, and she couldn't tolerate it. When she took her life, she took a part of mine with her.
My dad fell in love once more, with my "current" mother. She managed to make him a much better person, and I can't say I dislike her, she has been living with us for the past 8 years. She moved in only months after my mother died, however, and I still feel quite odd about the whole ordeal. Not exactly towards her, but towards my father. I had little respect for the man, and he didn't care much about me either. He never did.
He began to pretend I didn't exist at times, especially when I came out as bisexual four years prior, when I was 13. I was very open about it, and I was proud. Mama would have told me that I should be.
My mother finally decided to speak, cutting the air which was thick with apprehension. "Darling, we're moving out," she spoke, my jaw going slack upon hearing the words.
"What?"
"Honey, your father got a job opportunity in New York. His income has increased tenfold, and we have to leave immediately and—oh, sweetie don't look at me like that, I don't know what you're thinking."
I blinked; I had apparently gone wide eyed while she was speaking. It's not that I had an issue with moving out, the people here treated me terribly.
When word got around that my mother had passed away, people would tease me and say it was my fault, and they still do to this very day. In fact, that's what truly defines me here. That, and the fact that I'm bisexual. It shouldn't matter, really. Why is it anyone's business?
