abused and bruised // frisson

THERE WASN'T A DAY that went by I wasn't constantly grateful for the life I have been given. I wasn't grateful for what most people think you should be grateful for - your wealth or your health. I was thankful for the life I was spared. The life of drunks of parents who didn't care what they did as long as they had a bottle of liquor by their side. The fleeting sight of their wealth was always on my brother's Paris' mind. He would tell me how their house was beautiful but the paint slowly chipped and the furniture began to wear. And yet the they did nothing about it, they would just sit their and giggle about who knows what. Paris said that they were even drunk when they named me. It could have been worse. I could have been named like Tree or Building or Whiskey which was their favorite drink of the year. But Ciela was what they picked and it hasn't changed. Nor will it ever change. The girl they named Ciela escaped their dreadful way of treating their family.

Paris would say that he wouldn't change a thing even if he could. He risked his life to take me out of that house. There was always a possibility that they could have come after us. But the sad thing was they never did. I don't even think they noticed. I once asked him if he would trade laces with me if he could. He still said no, what a selfless bastard he was. All the bruises, neglected nights left alone and starved, and screams he indurred were all apart of him. All he ever cared about was to make sure that I had a life he would have wanted for himself. Even now I am 17 years old and he still won't leave. Even though it seemed that I was dependent on him, he was more dependent on me. He didn't know what to do unless he was protecting me. He couldn't come to terms with himself that one day I would be able to protect myself.

And even though he couldn't give me a life or wealth and all the glories of the world, he gave me a chance to have a loving family and attention I needed to grow up strong. While I was grateful, he seems to think he has failed me as a brother. Just like my cousin Rowan who we live with and Paris I have to work. I thought of it as my duty to the family to sew seat covers for helicopters but he saw it was just another burden I had to face. His wrinked face, embedded with years of hard work would cry into his pillow cursing my mother and father. How could they have thrown away such a future of themselves and their children? When I would run in to comfort him he comforted me.

When I worked I would think of him. Everything he sacrificed for me to have the life I had was why I kept my eyes open in the hot factory room. But when the work bell rang and the machines shut down I was even more grateful then I was before. The air was warm tonight as I walked along the streets towards my home. There wasn't a thing I would change today.  

friss△n || 563 words