adolesca marchenko, d8 [fin]

"Bitch."

"Excuse me?"

"I called you a bitch."

Confrontation was something I excelled at. Drama often weaved its way into my life, creating a nest made of impulsive decisions and intrusive thoughts that made its home in my brain. I often brought chaos to our boring family of four, in contrast to my little brother who was content to sit inside and read books all day. He is smart - much smarter than I - but his introvertedness claimed his social skills from him, leaving him vulnerable to the harsh reality that is free will. 

"You're the girl who led my brother on," I elaborated, as I stepped closer to the girl. I could feel her hot breathe on mine as I looked up at her, our noses almost touching. My small stature didn't help me with confrontation, but the harshness of my deep voice sunk into her neck like snake venom, poisoning her veins with the toxicity of my words. No one fucked with Atlas. Not even me.

---

My mother sat across from me, her eyebrows furrowed as she eyed me wickedly. The ice pack that I held to my eye stung, sending nerve signals across my body and chilling my senses. Black eyes were my favourite post-fight souvenir. I sported the ugly bruise with pride, a token of my victory that I could sport without losing my humility. The bitch got lucky and landed a shot square to my left cheek, causing a cascade of swelling and bruising. I fucked her up a lot more.

"You are 18 fucking years old and you're still picking fights."

My mother was probably one of the most intimidating women I knew. Adolesca Marchenko and Ariadne Marchenko have always been the same individual, cut from the same cloth. She doesn't like to admit that I've grown into a version of her younger self. The only difference between her and I is that I like the way I am, and I've embraced the mediocrity of life. My mother on the other hand hated the fact she married young and lived the white picket fence lifestyle, losing the years of her youth to diapers and crying babies. Perhaps that was why Atlas was her favourite.

"She had it coming."

"You are 18 fucking years old, you graduate soon, you're almost ineligible for the reaping, you are jobless, you..." 

Yeah, yeah, mom. I know how much of a disappointment I am to you.

---

If my mother and I were the same person, my little brother and my father were also a reflection of each other. It made me wonder how my mother and my father ever fell in love, if they ever were in love. Sometimes it felt like my mother just liked how submissive my father was, someone who would be there for her every need whenever she pleased. Maybe that was why they worked. She was a leader and he was content to follow.

Atlas and I have always been close, despite our lack of common interests and completely incompatible personalities. I was content to listen to his ramblings all day. It made me realize how incredible the kid actually was.  His mind worked in unfathomable ways that I couldn't begin to wrap my head around.

"Sometimes that's the way it goes," I tell him, "we all have a tendency to feel superior to others. That's why people like her gravitate towards people they feel are inferior to them. It gives them fulfillment."

"You're so wise," he says back, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye that tells me he's in complete awe of his big sister.

"Kid, if only you knew I was one of the least wise people you know," I add, "you teach me more than I could ever teach you."


---

Recklessness and impulsivity are my best friends. 

My adolescence has mostly consisted of getting in trouble, pissing off authority, and creating problems for myself that usually never end up getting solved. I'm sure if we were rich enough, my mom would love to pump me full of ADD medication.  

I'm not sure why I've grown to be so rash. It seems every thought in my mind is beyond my control, like I'm a grenade with the pin just waiting to be pulled by God. And every time the pin gets pulled, I spontaneously combust into mania. Nothing has been off the table. I sometimes scare myself. Mom tells me I need to grow up. The thing is, I don't know how.

Drugs, sex, rock n' roll, I guess.