My Other Half

Beginning

Wow. Um..I don't know how to start this.

Hi. How are ya? Me? Oh..I'm fine. I guess. Nice weather we're having...

You're gonna be reading this for awhile, aren't you? Well, I mean, you don't have to. No one's forcing you. But if you are, I think I should introduce myself. I'm Simone Muller. I'm seventeen, and I was born October 24th, 2000. Not that anyone freaking cares.

It was a rainy day, that October 24th. Water droplets fell like Jesus had just finished watching a cheesy soap opera. The sun sure as heck didn't shine as my mother pushed like her life depended on it, all alone in the hospital room with a fresh-out-of-medical-school doctor and three nurses.

The dipstick doctor nearly fainted as my mother delivered my twin sister Aaliyah first, me following minutes after. I can only imagine the look on his face when he realized all those years of medical school would never be enough to prepare him for the horrors of childbirth. As well as a grown woman screeching the whole freaking cuss word alphabet at him. Poor soul.

The nurses bustled my sister and I around, cleaning us and doing who knows what. We were soon brought to our mother, snuggled in pink blankets and baby hats-whatever you call those things. We were shortly named Aaliyah Rose and Simone Grace. She nestled us in the crooks of her arms, and sat in silence with her children. There were no clicking cameras, overwhelming amounts of "Awws", social media posts, or overbearing family members flooding the hospital to come see us. There wasn't even a father. Just the pouring rain and the quiet stirring of newborns.

My mother was convinced she was over the reckless hookups she had with our father, she didn't need him in her life, and she was perfectly capable of raising us on her own. If he didn't want to be there for his kids, so be it. Screw him, right? Boy, she was wrong.

In me and Aaliyah's first few months alive, she was already way behind in her rent payment and at high risk of getting evicted. She worked as a stripper-sadly enough-and hadn't been able to go to work on the account of us. She had run away to be with our mystery father and had no family or friends to surround her. She only had the crackheads at the strip place, not to mention the douches that attempted to hit on her every night. Mom was highly depressed, alone with two kids in a crummy apartment she was falling behind payment in, lived above a noisy strip club, and never got any sleep because of all reasons previously stated. Her life freaking sucked, to put it simply.

It sucked so much, she tried taking her life. Twice. The first time was an attempted overdose of pain pills. She eventually got scared and scratched the idea. The second, I'm told, was a hanging attempt in the shower. Apparently she heard Aaliyah crying from our room before she had the noose around her neck. She realized what she was doing, and decided right then and there that she needed to be there for her girls. She then buckled up for seven long years of attempting to "make it work".

She eventually got a better job. When Aaliyah and I were around three, she became a bus driver for the nearby district. During the day, she'd leave us with the next door neighbor Mrs. McLoughlin, who turned out to be a very nice little old lady. She'd drive the bus around during mornings and afternoons, come home at night, pick us up from Mrs. McLoughlin's, take us home, make us microwave dinners, put us to bed, and wake us up in the morning for the same routine. She did have off on weekends and school holidays, though. In that case, we'd either go to the park, get lunch with Mrs. McLoughlin and her tired-looking teenage daughter Terry, or stay home to watch our tiny static tv. It wasn't the best life, but it was something.

My sister and I were six when it all changed. The school my mom drove buses for had to make extreme budget cuts, cutting down on bus drivers and other staff members. My mom was laid-off, facing hungry kids to feed and a demanding apartment payment. Mom was forced to get a job as an assistant at the local Home Depot. That's where she met Johnathan.

Johnathan. The man that made my life certain Hell. You'll see soon enough.

She had helped him find the right size wood plank for his deck, apparently. Ever since that day, he kept coming back and requesting her help, claiming his deck was an ongoing project that required the assistance and smarts of a pretty lady like herself. Yuck.

Johnathan and my mom started going out. Every weekend, instead of spending time with us, she'd drop us off at Mrs. McLoughlin's and hop on over to his house to help him "build his deck". Yeah, right.

We soon met Johnathan. I hated him. There was always something about him that was unsettling. He was loud and obnoxious. He acted like small children weren't in the room, spewing out gross profanities when me and my sister were within earshot. He was dull and lacked personality, appearing stupid. He didn't have the affection a good dad would have for his kids. When Aaliyah and I were hurt or upset, he would mock us and tell us to f*ck off if our mom wasn't in the room. Aaliyah and I became very protective of each other when he was around. One time he grabbed Aaliyah, and I kicked him in the balls.

However, my mother couldn't see what we saw. A year after meeting him, they got married. We had to say goodbye to sweet old Mrs. McLoughlin, and move into Johnathan's messy shack of a house. Everything was "do what Johnathan says", "Johnathan knows best", "Johnathan's just trying to do the best for the family". I'd rather throw myself off the highest bridge into ten-foot spikes than call that ass a part of my family.

My mother soon became pregnant with a third child. In nine month's time, December 27th, Jake was born. Jake was the tiniest baby I had ever seen-his tiny fist could barely grasp my finger. Jake was diagnosed with autism at an early age, putting a huge strain on my mother.

Right around this time, she had began to realize Johnathan was abusive. She had seen how Aaliyah and I reacted to his presence, and he started to hurt my mother herself. He had been screaming at her one night because Jake was screaming. Johnathan was a drunk mess, yelling swears and the nastiest things one could imagine at my sobbing mother as Jake screeched in her arms. He went to hit Jake, but she threw him down in the crib and took the blow. She continued taking the blow for two years, before randomly leaving one morning and never coming back.

Welp, you've heard enough about me. For now, at least. Hey: put your tissues away. Save your tears for something valuable. No one has to feel sorry for me, and no one ever will. And besides, I don't want this to be all sad and sappy. That isn't what this story is. It's something much more than that. What'dya say, will you stick around?

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There you have it. MY. FIRST. FIC. EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

SO PUMPED.

Let me know what you guys think. I'll be happy to chat with you in the comments if you have any questions or criticisms or whatever. I'll update ASAP.

I'm sorry it was so long! Byeeeeeeeeeee and thanks so much for reading!