Warning : This chapter features subject matter such as suicide idealization, emotional abuse, and depression. If you are sensitive to any of those topics, proceed with caution.
Queen : hey it's been a minute, you're still coming right?
Darling : Yes, I'm about halfway there. Lots of traffic out tonight.
Queen : okay well im waiting. alone.
Darling : Are you... mad at me per chance?
Queen : im not mad. i just thought you'd be here like 2 hours ago
Darling : We never really agreed on a time.
Queen : yeah but
Queen : i guess im feeling kinda down
Darling : Did something happen?
Queen : my mom texted me while you were at the store.
Darling : What did she say?
Queen : the usual. and mentioned that my father was coming back home soon and that i should stop by for dinner when that happens
Darling : Can you just not go?
Queen : as previously mentioned they pay for my rent so yeah... mandatory
Darling : Just wait a little bit longer. I'm coming as fast as I can.
Queen : okay.... thank you marcus. im trying not to think of the past but it's hard
Truthfully, sometimes I wish I didn't exist. I have days where I'm fine and maybe even a bit happy but under the skin, I can practically smell those putrid feelings. It started out simple as everything does. This is so frustrating, I wish I could die. Then it was incorporated into my daily thinking. Yeah, I could totally die right now. After a while I began to joke around with the feeling. Before I knew it, suicide was more normalized to me than my own sexuality.
I knew from a young age I was different from my family. I knew I was more open to new experiences and flavors. My mother would hold my hand as we walked but never her bare hand. Gloves always adorned her small blushed hands and covered up the warmth that emitted from them. My father never truly spoke to me. He would ask me questions about myself but not to know me - it was to gauge my reactions. He needed to make sure I was suitable for family outings. Social events. Dinner parties. In some ways I was like any other child. In other ways, I was a prop. An extension of my family made to extend their reach to their own goals.
We were very rich due to my fathers ties with the oil industry and my mothers ties to a mining company. And so I was raised mainly by the house maid, Jennifer. She was a Vietnamese immigrant who came to the states when she was 14 years old. She had been living here for 7 years when she came to work at our house.
I remember my first memory being Jennifer rushing to help me back up after I had tripped over a tree branch in the backyard. The look on her face as I cried and held on to her hands for dear life. Jennifer was always so open and would tell me stories about Vietnam and about her family that still lived there.
"Don't you miss them?" I asked once.
"Of course I miss them. See Guinevere, for my culture we place emphasis on family. Your family is your everything. Friends may go, relations may go, but your family stays with you forever."
"I don't think I'd miss my family."
Jennifer picked me up and sat down on the bed and then placed me on her lap. She then slowly started to brush my hair.
"Blood is important but if your family is not your true family, then you will find one. You'll grow up and find people that are like minded and call them family. It may be a bit more difficult, but it's more than possible."
"Can you be my family, Jennifer?"
"I already am. And I will always be."
When I was 12 years old, Jennifer left the home. Her family had by that time, all immigrated and she was getting married soon. I desperately wanted to be angry at her for leaving but I couldn't. Jennifer sacrificed so much of her life to raise mine. Before she left, she gave me a star shaped lantern and a journal to write my stories in.
She told me she believed in me and my stories. She told me everything would be okay. But it wasn't. I wanted to be selfish and cry and scream and say please don't leave. Don't leave me as you're the only person in my life that truly loves me. I just smiled and hugged her. Then I waved goodbye as she got into the car with her fiancée and drove away.
My mother escorted me inside and then immediately started taking absentmindedly about needing to hire a new maid. I knew it was just a job, just a profession. Yet Jennifer's love was not something my mother paid for. It was true and pure.
I started running and didn't stop till I made it to my room and under the covers on my bed. I didn't need someone new. I just wanted Jennifer back.
I wanted to feel loved again. Love - in any form. I wanted to escape from the restrictions of my family. The stiffness of their family ties around my neck. I needed a way out.