harlequin cheyne {four} fin
Jul 4, 2017 21:38:57 GMT -5
Post by solo on Jul 4, 2017 21:38:57 GMT -5
 |  |
HARLEQUIN CHEYNE
I had my first heartbreak when I was thirteen.
People say I was too young, that I couldn't possibly understand love or heartbreak at that age, that it's just some story I made up. They think I'm lying. But I never lie, Mummy always said that lying was a sin and those who did it deserved what they got. I never liked lying. I never liked heartbreak either. No one does.
He was nice, or at least, that's how I remember him. Dr Grimaldi has told me more than once, he was cruel to me, that they were all cruel to me. But I don't believe her. He loved me, I'm sure of it, he just had a funny way of showing it.
I don't remember exactly when Mummy left us. I was young, but not so young that I couldn't remember anything from before she died. I remember her smile, her eyes. I remember the rules she gave me, which have turned into the code I now live by. Never lie. Keep on smiling, no matter what. Put your family first. Protect them. Live by your word, et cetera, et cetera. I liked her. Dr Grimaldi remembers her, says she was a lovely woman who made the best chocolate chip cookies in the district. That's one of the few things she says that I believe.
Heartbreak became normal after thirteen. One after the other, I just couldn't seem to keep them. I loved them, with all my heart, and I'm sure they did too. But I kept screwing up. I'd forget to smile, I'd forget to laugh. One of them swore to me it had nothing to do with me, but obviously, he was just saying that to make me feel better. It never is their fault. They're perfect, in every way possible. I just have a tendency to ruin things.
I don't think Dad has been quite as happy since she died. He's different, different enough to get me a therapist and close himself off from his little girls. It was a secret, he told me, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone else. I didn't like the thought of lying to anyone. But Dad is family, and so I go about my business and pray to whatever God is out there that no one will ask me about my personal life. It's none of their business anyway.
When I was fifteen, I saw Liza cleaning blood off the porcelain tub in the bathroom upstairs. She had a bucket and a cloth, both stained red, not really doing much except pushing the stuff around the shiny white bath. I didn't offer to help. I stood behind the door, peaking through the crack with one eye, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. There was a big, misshapen bag in the corner. It was gone the next morning and the tub was a faded shade of pink instead of snowy white.
Liza's got her group of power-hungry girls, I have...well, my wits and my heart I guess. Dad has told me more than once that I'm naive, that I should be more careful. He's just trying his best to say what Mummy would if she were still here. But of course, I know better than he does. I always closer to Mummy than any of the others in the family. She loved me the most, I think, but I wasn't heartbroken when she died. I loved her too. But my heart held itself together for a few more years.
Abusive, Dr Grimaldi calls them. She's wrong. She doesn't know what I'm capable of, she doesn't realize that I'm able to take care of myself. Sure, I've had my fair share of broken hearts, but their hearts are always the last to break. It's the same scene, over and over again, practiced until I've gotten it better than perfect.
Fall in love. Create a wild story of passion and excitement, twist myself up into it all, until I'm close enough that they can grab hold of my heart and shatter it again. Gather the pieces together. Take them out to the pier, high tide, because it's so much easier that way. Hearts stop beating after lungs fill with salt water and there's no more room for oxygen. I smile, of course, because it's what Mummy told me to do. I take them into the caves around the shore because I'm much better at hiding things than Liza ever will be. Cold steel against skin, find the hearts and break them like they broke mine. Soft kisses on frozen lips to say goodbye for the last time. Whispers of I love you, promises that I understood it wasn't their fault.
I don't tell anyone about them. Well, no one except Dr Grimaldi, because she asks questions and Mummy told me I must always answer truthfully. I think I scare her sometimes. She tries to hide it, but I know she's frightened. I've told her more than once she doesn't have to be. I'm harmless, I've never understood why she thinks otherwise.
I turned sixteen today. Dad forgot it was my birthday, but Dr Grimaldi brought me cake and a new journal. She says it's good to write things down, that maybe it'll help me understand my thoughts. I think she's the one who's trying to understand them. I'm sure of it, because I understand myself completely. We ate and talked and I laughed. She sat back and listened. Same routine, every day, one after the other. I don't mind it. She's nice, and I appreciate the fact that she wants to fix me, despite the fact that I don't need to be fixed. Mummy always told me I'm perfect just the way I am.
