Sting » Louis

twenty five

Have you ever felt that your whole world had been torn to pieces? That everyhting you believed in, everyone you trusted, had betrayed you? That you had no reason to live or to justify your existence? That was how I felt. I was ruin. I drove through the streets of London aimlessly, teras were streaming down my face. I was hard to breath and even see. The mascara I was wearing was smudged all over my face and making my eyes sting, making it unbearable to keeo them open. 

But then, suddenly, as the heavy drops of rain fell on the windscreen of my car, something snapped inside me. I opened my mouth and took a couple of heavy breaths. I needed to stop myself from this situation. I was only poisoning my own self. All of the others were living their lives casually, with no bothers, no guilt for the life they had weaved for me. I had to take my life into my own hands. To stop depending on others. To live freely, independently. And throw away the rubbish from my life.

And I knew exactly from were to start. From my mother. 

I parked my car near the park my old parental house was situated. My mother hadn't left the house after her divorce from my father. I was her parents' house and she had inherited it the moment she got married to my father. I lived there my whole life until the incident with Louis. The reporters would cluster around it every single day and wait for any of us to come outside. It was one of the most dreadful periods of my life, a period that I wish I forgot. 

I strode at the front door as the heavy rain was damping my clothes and hair. My makeup was already a mess, so I couldn't care less. Plus, I was sick and tired of appearing always perfect in front of my mother. She always expected my to look my best and behave properly-well, according to her standards. After my kidnapping byLouis I had to listen to anything she said. Because she wanted to protect me and wanted the best for me. I couldn't understand her back then, but I know now that every parent wants the best for their child and want no harm to find them.

But now she would listen to me. It was time for her to hush and listen. I banged on the door. "Mother, open up! I need to talk to you!" I screamed through the rain and hit the wood again and again, until I saw her shocked expression looking at me. "What is going on? Why are you like this, Gemma?" she spoke with a cold, yet worried tone in her voice. Her blue eyes, tried to decipher my expression as I stood there and looked at her. I felt a desperate need to hit her or spit her. I took a shaky breath and moved inside speechless as I saw her looking around outside in case someone of the neighbours saw me like this. She closed the door hastily and grabbed me by my upper arm, but I pushed her away.

She didn't expect this reaction. "I told you, I want to talk." I spat and moved to the living room, I could see the droplets of water I left behind as I walked but I didn't care. 

"At least let my bring you a towel..." she started. "I don't need anyhting from you!" I screamed as I sat on the armchair my father used to sit and read his newspaper.

"Gemma, I will not abide this behaviour inside my house!" she raised her voice as well and sat opposite of me. "And I will not tolerate my mother lying to me!" I snapped.

"What do you mean?" I saw her expression change for a second, but she didn't let her guard down. "You know exactly what I mean mother. I know everything."

"Everything? What exactly are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?" she kept her calm tone and her straight, perfect posture. "You have, mother." I stopped and looked her in the eye."I know you hired Max. I know he's been there to protect me, to keep me company."

She shook her head and tried to come near me. "Who told you these surreal lies? I can't believe anyone would have such an imagination...!" The more she spoke, the more she enranged me.

"Max admitted everything! I can't believe my whole life has been a lie!" I stood up, raising my voice, making bold movements as I talked. I really couldn't control my anger, the words that escaped my tongue. I couldn't keep it together. "I can't believe you controlled everything, you played me, your own daughter!"

"All I wanted was to protect you! In the beginning -yes- I admit it I wanted to have someone to look after you in case Tomlinson wanted to come near you again, but I never forced him to want to marry you! It was his choice! He fell in love with you." 

"Well, as you can see you both failed to protect me, because the company I work for is Louis'. He came back into my life and  wants to claim me." I said sarcastically. "What...?" she trailed of as she sat back abruptly on the armchair holding the spot on her chest where her heart would be. 

"Yes. Ever since I was a kid you wanted to control me! To do everything you asked me for, to obey you, because you were always right. But look where this got us; I got kidnapped, almost died of poisoning, and then almost getting married to someone that took pity on me. Bravo, mother!" I clapped. "You're such a great mother! Model-mother!" My voice came out raspy as a few fresh tears streamed down my face. 

And then, everything started to come back; the endless hours with the psyciatrist. The pills I took to sleep at night. THe prohibition of watching t.v. at least for two months because at every news report there would be at least a reference of my name along with my pictures. My classmates at university who always looked at me strangely and talked behing my back. I listened to their whispers. They referred to me as 'weirdo', 'kidnapped girl', 'the slut' and much more. 

And as the thought were flooding my mind, I was starting to become dizzy and lightheaded, it was hard to breathe. The mucus from my nose was streaming down as well as my salty tears. I tasted them as I had my mouth open to breathe. I was in a delirium, I hadn't taken my pills.

"Gemma!" I could hear my mother's voice faintly, I could feel two arms trying to embrace me. I didn't want this. "Look what have I become mother! Look at your daughter!" I was in a frenzy. "Look what you all have done to her!" I turned around and took hold of the lamp that was on a small table near the armchair I was sitting and raised it above me. "I hate you!" I screamed. I could feel my hot face, my throat hurting, the sweat that was forming on my forehead. I was ready to throw her the lamp.

"I will always love you, my daughter. And I know  what you've been through. I can't change the past, but I always wanted the best for your future. And if your future doesn't include me, I will accept it. But you have to see that it wasn't me who got you to this state, but that man." she said decisively, but full of emotions as tears were streaming down her face. It was a rare sight to see. My mother was always composed and sometimes she seemed cold. I never immagined she hid so much power and full of genuine love.

"You can never see me again if that's what you want, but I want you to be happy and have a smile on your face. You had lost yourself the moment you met that man, and you were starting to find it, when you met Max. I'm not asking you to reconsider him as your husband. No. I'm trying to encourage you to find Gemma. The Gemma that was before our holidays in Cuba. The laughing, optimistic Gemma."

I collapsed on my feet on the ground as the lamp fell from my hand. I took short, quick breaths. I didn't know why I acted like this. I didn't know how I had lost myself, how I got into the situation I was in. I didn't know why I was ready to throw a lamp at my mother, screaming at the top of my lungs. But she was right.  I collected my broken pieces and dragged myself to the door. I took a last look at the back of my mother's head, her slick bun in place, the lean figure straight and motionless and opened the door, seeing that the rain had stopped and some rays of sun were making their appearance.

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Short but pleasing? No? I'll be finishing this story soon.

In case you're interested, I'm writing a historical fiction that takes place in Ancient Greece. It is called Elysian. Please check
it out!

Until next time,

Emily