Solace ~ h.s.

⪻ 33 ⪼

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I'll ask my mum to stay the night at my place with Edward tonight, if that's alright with you. Let me finish up what I need to and then we'll go home.

It was one of the first things Harry said to me, just after I calmed down from the words you're adopted being said aloud.

And that's just what we did.

I waited for him to finish up his work and then we made our way to my flat, practically in silence the entire time. My brain was too busy swirling around the reality that my wonderful parents weren't actually my parents at all. Harry understood my silence, simply keeping a watchful eye on me until we reached my home.

Questions about how I was feeling and what I wanted to do were thrown out onto the table, but all Harry received were short, clipped answers. I wasn't in the mood to talk, or really do much other than wallow in pity.

And that's exactly what I did... before Harry had had enough.

Harry suggested a film, my favourite, to get my mind off things for the evening. I only agreed because I thought it would help. But as you can tell, all I could focus on were the unanswered questions and dark thoughts roaming my brain.

My partner in crime was able to relax his mind easily, drifting off to sleep only thirty minutes into the film. His body curled snugly behind me on the sofa, with a careful arm slung across my middle to keep me from ending up on the floor. I wished I could have the same luck with falling asleep, but alas I didn't.

Which brings us to the present; sitting on the floor in the loo, back up against the wall across the toilet, just staring at the porcelain.

There had been a reason why I was in here originally, I hadn't just come in here to sit on the floor. After emptying my stomach of its contents out of stress, I just continue to sit and think about everything.

First came the flashbacks, then came all the questions.

My entire life flashes across my vision in an instant, showing all the opportunities my parents had to mention the mere fact that I was adopted, and they didn't; or simply moments they just lied to me.

I have this very fond memory with my mother from when I was really young. At night, when I couldn't sleep, I'd ask her to tell me the story of the day I was born. She told me that she went into labour with me in the midst of a cool November night. She told me the pain she experienced and the joy she felt when she finally got to hold me in her arms. She told me of her and my father's stay in the hospital with me after my birth. She told me everything that would have happened during birth, yet all of it was a lie.

There was the moment through my early childhood where I would cry because I didn't think, as a five year old, I was pretty. The reasoning behind it could be solely blamed on this girl in my school who used to pick on me, but you get it. My mum would come and cuddle with me, assuring me that I was beautiful. She told me "you take after me with your beauty and you'll grow up to be even more beautiful than you already are now". She lied to me.

When I was about thirteen years old, I was riding my bicycle around town and unfortunately got a tiny bit cocky. I fell off my bicycle and broke my arm. My mother was out of town that week and my father had to take me to the A&E. The doctors asked me if I had any medical concerns that ran in my family, as a precautionary of course. My father told me and the doctor his and my mother's family medical history, not mine. He lied to me and my doctor.

Thinking back to all the significant moments in my life where I know my parents blatantly lied to me, brought more tears to my eyes out of pure pain and sorrow.