Leading Her from the Darkness

CHAPTER 1

Remember to vote, comment, & follow!

<<<>>>

Indiana is home. More so in the fact that my-family-is-here-but-fuck-there-are-a-lot-of-cornfields, kind of way. There are so many terrible memories in this place, but the thought of leaving my mom and sister absolutely terrifies me. They are my safe place.

My mother Emilia took off from Massachusetts with my younger sister and me, after she discovered what Carter, my repugnant sperm donor of a father was doing to me. She stumbled across files upon files that he’d buried deep in our computer’s filing system, and she immediately turned them over to officials. Once my mom found out what his secret obsession was, she bolted.

He then, of course, made up every excuse in the book, trying to bribe her into returning home – pretending that he was going to kill himself if she wouldn’t allow him to explain. When she refused, he even went as far as calling her and pretended that he swallowed a handful of pills and was choking on his own vomit, trying to lure her back.

Thank fuck my mom had some sense and didn’t buy it. She decided to call the authorities and had them do a welfare check on him instead. There was no way she was going to chance bringing us back into that house.

Once the police arrived at our home—one that would never be again—Officer Michaels called my mom back. He stated that Carter had officially been arrested. When they arrived, there was no answer at the door. They made their way in, preparing to find his cold, rigid body covered in his own vomit. Instead, they found him attempting to escape out of the bedroom window.

One of the officers was finally able to detain Carter, and he was hastily escorted out of the master bedroom while they conducted a full search. They found two fully loaded shotguns in the bed and stated that it looked as though he was sitting there waiting for us. Ready to end everything. A murder-suicide, I believe were the exact words Officer Michaels used to describe the plans Carter had entailed.

I admire my mother every day for her choices. Especially looking back on that night, now that I am older and can fully comprehend the gravity of the fatal situation we could have possibly endured. She listened to her gut instinct and exhibited true bravery, going against such a dangerous man as Carter.

To top it off, despite my mom’s troubled past with her father—my Grandpa V—she made sure we were taken care of and given a fresh start away from our past life. Even so, that relationship has never healed, and I'm not sure it ever could be mended. Be that as it may, we could never repay my grandfather for his assistance in wiping our identities from proverbial existence to help keep us hidden. We're ghosts—free to be a normal family.

Well, as normal as we can be considering our circumstances.

There are a multitude of spouses who stick around and make excuses for the actions of someone they love. Not my mother. She got us the fuck out how she saw fit. Never looking back.

My mom is the strongest person I know, and she has this light about her that can bring so much joy to those she surrounds. She passed that particular trait down to my little sister Hayden, who has one of those infectious giggles that make people laugh, even if they have no clue what they’re laughing about. Just the pure, innocent noise brings out happiness to all who are blessed enough to encounter her and hear it.

My mom ended up meeting my stepfather, Josh, who later adopted us kids and raised us as his own. No questions asked. I started calling him dad from an early age, because well, that’s what he is. He’s the stereotypical man who works his ass off to provide for his family. He doesn’t know when to stop working, actually. He works 7 days a week, usually 12-16 hours a day.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely appreciate everything he does for us girls, but sweet baby Jesus, we butt heads like no other. We agree on almost nothing. We are both stubborn to a fault. Too much alike in the way that “we are never wrong,” and we will never, ever say “sorry” unless we genuinely mean it. Which is almost never. But he taught me to be strong and to never take shit from anyone, no matter what. He just may have taught me a little too well, if you know what I mean.

Due to my immense dislike—or in better terms ‘distrust’ for most people—I took to art as an outlet. I have tried it all; writing, painting, drawing. You name it. I was desperate to find anything to help me escape from the “real world” and immerse myself into creating something beautiful. My head was and still is just constantly floating in the clouds and refusing to come down.

After my first year of college, I took a break for a couple of years because I had absolutely no idea what the hell I wanted to do with the rest of my life. What’s the saying? “I’m a jack of all trades, master of none.” That basically sums up my entire life.

I never wanted to decide on just one thing. I grew up with my nose shoved in books and scientific journals, trying to learn everything about everything. I could also never stick with one job because once I learned it, I grew bored and then was ready to move on to something new.

So, when I eventually came to the resolve that this vicious cycle of making self-destructive decisions and having a “woe is me” attitude would never end while I'm surrounded by all my old vices—I decided I needed to get back into school and out of this state to start a new life. It took me till age 25, but better late than never, right?

That’s what led me to apply to NYU. New York seemed to be the best option for a new start. Not only are the people kind of known for their antisocial rudeness—for lack of a better description—but even in a city full of people, I can simply blend in and essentially go unnoticed in the shadows.

Now, this plan only half works because as soon as I told my best friend Lily about my decision to jump ship, she grabbed her floaties and dove right in after me. I can’t say that I’m mad about it though. She is the only person outside of my family who truly knows me, that I didn’t immediately scare away.

Why?

Because she is just about as fucked up as I am. She went through her own horrors and has her own demons. The day we met, she saw them inside of me too—reading me like an open book. We just clicked. She’s that friend that would be right by your side and help you bury the evidence of whatever fuck up you got yourself into… A fuck up she likely talked you into in the first place. So, at least she's consistent.

I must admit, as tragic as our pasts were, it's nice not feeling completely and utterly alone in the world for a change. Yes, people can feel for you. They can sympathize and pity you. But they never really understand unless they too have been through something cataclysmic.

This is the first step to righting my wrongs. I’ll have my best friend while I go to a new school in a new state and living in a new apartment… essentially building a whole new life. I'm starting over. And I refuse to let anyone get in my way.

<<<>>>