I have a problem. I've gotten myself into a huge mess that I
can't clean up. There's no way out of this.
To start out, I can't tell you my name. In case I ever do get away with this. So, you can just call me Storm. I'm a terrible person. But you have to hear my story to know why. How am I a terrible person? Glad you asked. I hurt people. It's hard to explain. You'll just have to stick around with me to see what I mean.
Let's start from the beginning. Why I am who I am.
Ever since I could remember I would wake up in the middle of the night to my parents screaming at each other and my mother crying. It always resulted in my father leaving the house and my mother coming into my room and hugging me. She would cry and just rock me back and forth saying, "It'll all be okay. We can fix this. I'll fix this."
I never understood what she meant. Until the day she killed herself when I was twelve years old.
I still remember her funeral like it was yesterday. My father refused to go. He says it was because it hurt too much, but I know he never loved my mother. He just wouldn't say it.
We had the service in the church that mother used to go to. Father had made her stop going. He had thought it was a waste of time. So, Aunt Tori had taken me to the church and left right away. She couldn't bear to see her sister. I was to text her when it was over and she would take me for ice cream and take me home. As if sweet treats were supposed to make everything better.
I remember walking through those double doors of the church. Everyone turned and scowled at me. According to father and everyone else, it was my fault mother took her own life. But I didn't wrap that rope around her neck and hang it from the fire escape at our apartment.
As I walked towards my mothers casket, I became numb. My father had taught me that years ago. I remember going to open the casket and being stopped. "You don't want to see her like this." I didn't argue with the unknown man. I just turned around and sat down.
Many of my mothers friends said nice things about her that day. Most of them were all about her younger life, what a good friend she was a loving person, etc.
Then, it came my turn to say something. I stood at that podium, everyone waiting for me to speak. I stared out at all of their scowling faces. Then, I burst into tears. There I was crying, and no one offered me a hand, a shoulder, a hug. Nothing.
I ran out of that church and texted Aunt Tori. And that was the end of that.
After my mothers death, it was just me and my father. He started drinking more and even got into some drugs. I was always cleaning and cooking for the both of us, even though he was gone most of the time.
Then, on Christmas, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, we got a "special delivery". My father has another child. A one year old baby boy was left outside our door with a note saying it was my fathers son. That was the first day I saw my father cry. My new little brother, Tobias, made my father realize he needed to be responsible. But it only lasted a couple weeks. Then, he was back to drinking and drugs. And Tobias was left for me to take care of.
Tobias, or as I call him, Toby, was extremely smart for his age. Even when he was just three years old, he understood that fathers behavior wasn't normal. Toby was wiser than I ever was at that age. It's hard to believe we have the same father.
Now, age five, Toby is smarter than ever. He understands what happened to m y mother and how he came to be in my life.
Now that I am twenty, I took Toby and moved into an apartment away from out abusive father. I called Children's Service, had him put in foster care, and became his guardian.
When we first got Toby, Aunt Tori would take care of him while I was at school. Then, I would pick him up and take him down to the church, where I worked as a babysitter for many people in our little town.
Aunt Tori eventually went crazy and ended up in a nut house just outside town. We haven't seen her since.
From that day on, Toby and I left for the church every morning at seven AM. I now run a daycare from seven to six. Then, we go back to our apartment, I make dinner, we eat, watch a movie, and go to sleep. Pretty simple, really. But it's not easy. It will never will be.