Everybody at the table turns around as I walk into the room chewing gum.
I reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke, but I didn’t care. I stared at
them while they all looked at me; different emotions all over their
faces. The emotion my mother’s face was sadness. Why exactly she was
sad, I didn’t understand; it’s not like I brought myself to this point.
Neither did I understand the disappointment on my father’s face or the
pain in my twin sister’s eyes. I walked past them to my room not caring
to look back even when my mother shouts for me to come back and eat. Let
them eat their stupid food I thought to myself.
I didn’t care.
I would never care.
There was a time when I used to care though. I was nine, maybe ten then
and I didn’t know how hard life could be. My family was certainly happy
back then; we had everything any family could ever ask for: a good
home, financial comfort, contentment and love. There were only two kids
in the house; myself and my twin sister. She adored me and I loved her
even more. The relationship between me and my parents wasn’t any
different. I loved them so much I never disobeyed them. Not once. I
didn’t want to do anything to make them unhappy or sad. But that was
until seven years ago when I turned thirteen.
The day had been an unusual day right from the start. I woke up late,
didn’t eat breakfast and got to school late. I had gotten punished in
school for the first time that term and I found it very difficult to pay
attention in class. It was like the universe was trying to prepare me
for something.
I found that something when I got home and saw three strangers – two
girls and one boy – who looked to be in their late teens sitting
quietly, watching my mum while she sat on the floor and wailed. I looked
for my twin sister and asked her what happened. “They said they are
daddy’s children from his first wife.” I stood there in shock. My father
had a first wife?? One my mother didn’t know about? I walked out of the
house and went straight to my friend’s house. I didn’t even say a word
as I got in, I just collected the blunt he was holding and started
smoking it. After coughing a few times, I got the hang of it.
I remember going back home that day feeling ashamed and disappointed. My
father was waiting for me; he could smell the smoke on me the minute I
entered. He asked me where I was coming from, and in my inebriated state
I couldn’t provide an answer on time. My father’s temper has never been
good, so I wasn’t surprised when he jumped up and beat the living hell
out of me. After beating me senseless, he made me understand that he had
“older, more responsible” kids now and my life could waste away for all
he cared. I grew up watching as he took everything from me and my
sister and gave it to them; the best clothes, best gadgets, best
education, best cars, and so on. My friend’s house – and drugs - became
my safe place.
Looking back on that day; the day my father decided to betray me, I
can’t say that it’s the reason why I’m now a drug addict or an expert
cat burglar. But it sure contributed to it. I want to take from the
world what it took from me; what makes me happy and I refuse to care how
many people are hurt in the process. I reach into my pocket and take
another piece of gum.
I don’t care.
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