#notadamselsl

[guttersvillemayor]

Remembering Home

[You would think that I’d be comfortable visiting my childhood home. Most people probably are, but most people didn’t have their lives forever changed when their mother came back from the dead to attack their father and essentially kidnap their child. So my childhood was a bit marred with what happened. I wasn’t even sure why my father fixed the house back up and stayed…. Okay, that’s a lie. Obviously I knew. It was because of me. He didn’t want to leave the one place that reminded him of me. Somehow he could get past the fucked up event that caused our tragic separation to see all the loving memories the house held before that. But for me, every time I entered the home, I had to push past a sick feeling in my stomach that I’d never see my father again. It made visiting difficult some days, especially on the nights where my past seemed to be lurking in the shadows. Despite all of that though, I loved my father and tried to spend as much time with him as I could to make up for lost time. That’s why I found myself knocking on his back door before using my key to enter in.] 

Dad? You here? [Hopefully he wasn’t asleep or something, as I wasn’t being my usual stealthy self with a nice collection of grocery bags. The years had caught up with my father and all though there wasn’t anything specifically wrong with him, you could tell that time had taken its toll on him with past injuries and such. I’d find him napping and not as fast as before. He probably had aches and pains that he refused to tell me about because who wants  their child worrying about them, especially one as capable as myself. His words, not mine. So I was relieved to hear his low, deep chuckle come from the living room. It was a sound that I never got tired of hearing and used to make me nostalgic during those years with my mother. Someone once commented that I didn’t laugh like most people, but instead chuckled and I knew that was a compliment to how I was like my father. Although, as you can imagine, my mother wasn’t as pleased to hear that. 

“You brought some food to cook for me, kiddo? Kiddo? Edith?” My father reached out to grab some of the bags from my hand, pulling me back from my thoughts.] Um… yeah. I figured you’d be up for some home cooking and whatever we have leftover I can bring over to Zane. Otherwise, who knows what garbage he’ll scarf down. [The idiot was still healing from his run-in with Diego and had no problem shoveling crap into his system. “Ahh, and how is Zane these days? His dad said he looked like he got hit by a Mack truck or something.” I give a bit of a shrug as I see him look at me with the silent question of why he looked that way if I was supposed to be watching his back.] You know those Barrett boys. Act first, think second. Now what do you say to some pasta? [A smile tugs on his old chapped lips before they brush a soft kiss to my cheek. “I say that sounds delicious. Do you need any help?” Quickly shaking my head, I point to the chair at the kitchen’s island.] Nope, you can either sit in here with me or go back to whatever you were doing in the living room before I interrupted you. [He gives a short wave of his hand, as if to dismiss the last part of what I said, as he sits down in one of the  island’s chair. “I was just reading the paper. Nothing that can’t wait. So why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you?” 

This was one of the things I loved about my dad and our unconventional lives because if we were anyone else I don’t know what we’d talk about. Maybe that’s just because I don’t know what normal was outside of my bizarre upbringing, but I loved being able to talk to my dad about being Zane’s second and the business. His years as a mercenary made this as normal to him as it was to me. So as I unpacked the groceries and started dinner that’s what we did: talked shop. There were something that we still didn’t go near, such as my mother. But it didn’t feel weird to mention that I’d had to sew up Zane’s injuries after his fight with Diego. Or bitch about how pissed I was he went there without me, especially because it was my job to watch his back. It was these interactions and moments that helped me forget the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach from when I first got there. It didn’t matter how many times I felt that way coming home because in the end I remembered that’s where I was… home. With my dad. 

“You’re zoning out on me again, kiddo.” My head quickly turned to him with a blank look on my face.] Huh? [By this time we were sitting at the kitchen table. A nice pan of jumbo shells stuffed with chicken parmesan along with some steamed veggies left between us on the table from dinner. My dad chuckles softly and reaches out his hand for mine, settling my fork back down to the plate before firmly gripping my hand in his. “Have you been getting enough sleep lately? I haven’t seen you this distracted since…” He lets the words die on his tongue, because as I said, there are some things we don’t go near. And he was fast approaching the number one no-go zone. Wanting to put him at ease, I muster the best smile I can and turn my hand enough to give his a squeeze.] I’m fine, dad. I swear. Just a bit worried about Zane. He’s no stranger to trouble, as we both know. But I’ve usually been there to drag his ass out of the fire. [There’s more I want to say. Hell I could rant and rave all night, but it would get too close to how much I was afraid to lose Zane like I had once thought I’d lost my father. 

It was times like these that I was glad my mother taught me how to conceal my thoughts and emotions. It’d take a bit more work than usual because I was so tired and unguarded around my father. However, he didn’t need to be worried about all my emotional baggage when he had his own physical issues plaguing him. My father quirks an eyebrow at me, unsure if what he’s seeing is the truth. So I focus on how much I love him and let a genuine smile pull my lips back even further before leaning forward to kiss his cheek.] Really, it’s fine. Now let me box up these leftovers while you finish your dinner and then I’m gonna go see how that dumbass is doing. [I’m not sure if my father truly believes me, but he doesn’t fight me. Simply nodding his head, his hand releases mine and he goes back to his food as I quickly grab the other food of the table. 

It doesn’t take long for me to pack up the leftovers and my father to eat what he had left on his plate. But when I go to take care of this dishes, his hand stays mine. “Don’t worry about those. I’ll take care of them. You should go ahead and take those to Zane. And tell him that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep you by his side and not just cause you’re a mean cook.” We both chuckle together and I wrap my arms around his torso, which still feels as sturdy as it did when I was a child. Although definitely not as muscular. And after a couple more words of parting, I find myself once again leaving my childhood home. Eyes glued to my father for as long as humanly possible before letting out a heavy sigh, as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time I was inside the house. 

Giving a shake of my head, I try to throw off my more disturbing thoughts and remember that my mother was definitely dead, my father was clearly alive and my main concern was probably in his office doing god knows what. With that in mind, I waste no time heading to my car as I yanking my phone out and call Zane, getting his voicemail.] Okay, asshat. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m coming over with some food so you better not be getting into trouble or I’ll be taking this delicious food back to my place and you can eat from a dumpster for all I care.

[guttersvillemayor]

Running From The Past

[“Keep running Bea. Never stay in one place at a time. It’s not safe to be still. You don’t know who will find you if you do.” My heart races at the fading dream that contained my mother’s voice. The warning something I’d heard so many times that it was permanently etched into my mind. As quickly as I wake up from the dream, I sit up and pull the knife from its hidden place under my pillow. The sharp weapon held out as if wielded at an invisible attacker. It takes a moment for my logical mind to catch up with the emotional state I woke up in. If there was anything that could be said about my life is that it probably left me completely fucked. How I was as sane as I was would remain a mystery to me. But once I remembered that I was safe in my apartment, I started to drop the knife down onto the comforter. My body covered in a sheen of sweat from what was most likely a nightmare that resembled something from my past. At the age of 31 I had spent more time on the run, moving from place to place, than the regular person. Even military brats didn’t move as much as I did. And my life was way more complicated than theirs too.

 For the first 13 years of my life I was raised not to trust my mother. My dad never gave a real reason for why she wasn’t to be trusted, just that I shouldn’t. However by the time I was 16 I found myself going against my father’s warning. Letting go of the knife’s hilt, I bring my hands up to my face and rub away the nightmare, fatigue and sweat, unable to close my eyes for fear of seeing something from my past. Trying to explain how I’d ended up where I did to anyone would take more energy than I’d ever have. It’s why I was thankful for Zane. Not just for what he did by coming back into my life, finding me while I was lost. But for giving me a home where I didn’t have to explain. He got that my life was complicated and still treated me like I hadn’t been away for years living with the devil herself. My relationship with my mother is hands down the most complicated part of my life and the sole source of any hell I’ve gone through. It’s hard sometimes to come to terms with the fact that not only am I a killer, but that my mother was the one who molded me into one. When I was turning 13, she found where my father was keeping me hidden and set up a scene to make me believe he had been killed by some unseen evil and she was there to rescue me. When in reality the evil was her, and my father was in fact still alive. Critically injured from her assault, but alive. He’d spend the next decade waiting for me to return to him, while I believed him dead and became everything my mother wanted.

 Putting the knife back in its sheath under the pillow, I slowly make my way out of my bed and head towards the kitchen for a much needed drink. Probably straight out of the bottle. The chances of my ever having a normal childhood and life were gone before I was even born considering the fact that my father was a former soldier who became a mercenary and my mother was… well I don’t know when or how my father found out the truth about my mother, but she had been a spy for a country against America. I never learned which one and I honestly didn’t know if my father knew which one she worked for before she went rogue. So yeah, a mercenary father and a spy-turned-assassin mother meant I was fucked from the moment I drew my first breath. Despite my father’s attempts to let me be a normal little girl, I ended up only having the skills that rivaled both my parents. Glancing at the time, I figure Zane was probably at home asleep still and the bar wouldn’t open for several more hours. Yet I could feel the nervous energy still vibrating on my skin. I needed to work it off before I drank myself silly. The sun was barely up yet.

 Not caring to shower before getting dressed, I slipped on some running clothes and shoes. Headphones easily fitting into my ears as the music started reverberating against my ear drum. The loud beat giving me something to focus on while I ran. My feet seeming to hit the pavement in time with the music. I didn’t live in a seedy area, but even if I had, I’d feel sorry for whatever poor idiot tried to mess with me this morning. The run helped slightly to lessen the heightened emotions that had been stirred by the dream, though my head still was foggy despite the fact that running usually helped to clear it. Maybe I’d need to talk to Zane and see if there was something, some task, that I could take care of. Even six years after leaving my killer lifestyle behind, I still found the preparation for something work related helped push any thoughts I had to the back burner. Maybe that was the only good thing that came from living with my mother. A shiver running up my spine at the thought and remembrance of what had shook me from my sleep.

 My nightmare had been about my mother coming after me after all these years. That she’d pursued me across the world to try and drag me back into the life that I’d given up so easily. I never wanted to be a killer and I was thankful to Zane for giving me a job that let me at least pretend some days that I was normal-ish. He’d even questioned me once in the beginning about why I settled to work for his business when I was skilled to do so much more and I simply replied that I never wanted to be like my mother. But it was more than that, and I think in a sense he got that. My nightmare was being my mother and dying like she did. In a way it wasn’t as bloody as most would think, but in the end she was no less dead. And all because someone wanted revenge for a kill she’d made. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life having to always look over my shoulder… or at least not any more than I already had to. As I wrapped up my run, I stretched outside my place and watched as the sun slowly rose in the distance. At least in this life I had a place to call home, my family and a job that I actually enjoyed doing for a boss who was more family to me than my mother had ever been. If only I could shake off the ghosts that seemed to chase me into my dreams. Maybe I’d never truly know peace, but it seemed I at least had a taste of it for now.]