That bitch!
So much of me wants to go see her. To rip her hair out, to cause her the pain she caused me, after all this time. After that letter, I'd doubt she'd even speak to me. She'd spit at me, no doubt.
That bitch. She had no reason, no right to do any of what she did and then come back to me with some bullshit apology that she just used to cover herself. Hell, she didn't even use the whole story!
We became friends when I came over from Russia. It was my parents and I, and I spoke bits and pieces of the English language. I was 10 years old, and she was 8. She spoke little English, like I did, and somehow, somewhere, we forged a friendship. We were inseperable, we did whatever we wanted. I knew about what her parents did, how they hurt others, hell, I even knew how they hurt her-I did nothing. I couldn't. At the time, I couldn't do anything, not without my own mother and father knowing, finding out, hurting me. At the time, all I knew was that parents hurt, and children dealt. So we coped. So maybe I killed, maimed, whatever it is that you want to call it. After all, I didn't know any better. All I knew was that life worked lile that. We grew up together, Maribella Calla and I. I was one of the bridesmaids at her wedding.
And then she signed the marriage document as Irene Kelly. And then she became too invested in her marriage with Jonathan to spend time with anyone else, to even see me. So we fell apart. I got in to a relationship, with a man twice my age, because he asked me and I couldn't say no. I was broken, inside, and eventually I was broken on the outside, too. He broke me. I broke myself, too, in a way.
But then I went back to Irene, one day. The man and I had stopped seeing each other, and I was lonely. So I went to see her. I cried to her, cried about how I missed her, about everything that had happened since we stopped talking. And she held me, stroked my hair. She kissed me, that day. And I kissed her back. She tasted like cream, like tea. Then she stopped.
We stopped talking to each other until I was 24 and she was 22. I came over, and I told her everything. I told her everything, she called me crazy. We fought, we argued. I slapped her, she pushed me. But then I left.
We came back to each other again when I was 28 and she was 26. She said I could help her, I could take in the kids they found. So I did. I took in the kids, and I raised them. I raised groups of kids, at a house they had found, that they then gave me. So that was how it was.
That's how it was until she found out what happened to one of the kids, and then said I was on my own with the kids. She'd leave me by myself to find the kids. Which, I guess, was helpful. She had always tried to dictate how I found the kids, how I would take care of them. So I was on my own. It wasn't like I wasn't used to it. I was always alone.
Alone became my own way of normal. Sure, there were the kids. But more than often, they were off selling papers, or finding odd jobs. I was alone, besides when I had to go out, or when I had to work with the gang. If Irene and I were still friends, if we still had each other, I wouldn't be alone. If I had gotten married, if I married..him..when I was supposed to, then things would be okay. Then I wouldn't be alone, I could be happy, I could be..loved.
But marriage..marriage for the sake of loneliness is something that I have rarely seen work. It has hurt Irene, it hurt Elizabeth. Irene's marriage wasn't for loneliness, it was to pay off debts, but..but still..it made her less lonely, for a while, and then left her to despair, by herself. Then she had Thomas, and I figured she'd be okay. But I see how she looks at some women, how she looks at the floozies on the street..almost as if it was for a longing way. Only a woman like Irene would long to live life as a whore, but I can't blame her. Her life is..not the one anyone would've wished on anyone. If I could, I would pity her. But I can't.
And then Elizabeth..well, it hasn't really hurt her. There are two extremes, those that it hurts the most-Irene-and those that it has no effect on-Elizabeth. It never bothered her. Her husband is nice, a sweet man. He always calls me miss, and ma'am, even when I tell him he doesn't need to. He is a good man, and has always volunteered to help me with..projects. Burning down the house of my parents. Helping me fix some of the parts of the house that he, the man I had dated, left me. So he was helpful, and he and Elizabeth seemed to get along as well as one could, in this situation.
Marriage had never really been a thing I was interested in. If I was going to get married, I would've been married by now. Marriage was hard, it wasn't made for people like me. It was something made for people who needed security, who needed someone who would love them. But I didn't. I had lived in a world without love for so long, I don't need love anymore.
Love was made for people who had wishes, who had dreams. People who weren't trapped in a life that seemed to be going nowhere.
However..that was subject to change. And change, I hope it does. I need it to. I can't just keep living in the shadows like this. I need something to actually do with my life. Something more than taking care of kids that no one wants, more than just planning.
I need something more. Always have, always will. As for how to get that..well, I've got some ideas. And more than enough ways to get people to do what I want.
Time to put those skills to good use, for once.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
