CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: MY-WORLD

Realize that narcissists have an addiction disorder. They are strongly addicted to feeling significant. Like any addict they will do whatever it takes to get this feeling often. That is why they are manipulative and future fakers. They promise change, but can't deliver if it interferes with their addiction. That is why they secure back up supply.
-Shannon L. Alder

AJ's

The first time I realized that what happens in my house wasn't normal was when I was seven, it was one of the first times I ever remembered staying over at one of my friend's houses. 

Her name was Kiara and she was a feisty red-head that liked to push the other kids in the playground down for sending anyone she was remotely connected with the smallest of dirty looks. Kiara had a twin who was really shy, I don't remember her name because of that but I do remember that Kiara looked like a carbon-copy of their father and her sister looked like a mix between their parents.

Their parents.

That's what stood out to me, because I went straight from school to her house, was that when they we got to their house and all hopped off the bus, her parents were there. They walked us all the way up to the door and into the kitchen, asking about our day like they were actually listening even though looking back that must have been super boring and eye-twitching to listen to. Then Kiara's dad made us snacks and we all got messy eating them.

And nobody yelled.

Even back then I found that a little weird, but I liked it so I accepted everything and just laughed with Kiara's family. It felt like I fit in there more than I did at home so I wasn't about to complain.

Then nighttime came and they all made sure everyone was okay, pretended to check under their bunk bed for monsters- -that made me giggle, because I knew first hand that the only monster that could walk into my room at night was my father- -and that's when it happened.

What shocked me.

Both Kiara's dad and mom went over to their girls, kissed them, said 'I love you' without a bit of malice and wished them goodnight.

My parents never did that.

Kiara didn't say anything, she didn't react shocked and her sister certainly didn't act like anything was off -and she was the shy little girl that cried if someone bumped her in the hall. 

That was their normal.

Love was their normal.

And that was completely, honestly, so weird.

That wasn't normal. It just wasn't.

What was normal is getting off the bus and walking home by yourself. It was opening the door and getting yelled at to remember to take your shoes off and hang up your bag by the door. It was them instantly making me sit down and do homework for two hours, then the minimal chores I could do. It was telling me it's time for bed and only coming in to see if I brushed my teeth and if I didn't I got a lecture long enough to make me tired the next day.

My little seven year old brain couldn't comprehend it, how a family could function like that.

Where was the yelling? Where was the shattered glass?

Isn't it suppose to be there?

Then after more sleepovers with other kids, in a flip of a switch, Kiara's family made sense to me the same moment mine didn't anymore.

That was normal.

My family was not.

But I knew even then that it's not something that I'm suppose to talk about, my parents certainly never discussed it, my teachers never asked me anything along those lines, my friends never noticed. I didn't talk about it, I didn't ask my parents why I couldn't because I could piece together for myself that the outcome wouldn't be good.

In my mind, I already had enough bad things and as far as I was concerned I could deal with those bad things. I didn't know what the outcome would be, only that it would be uncomfortable and my parents wouldn't like it and rarely could I deal with things that my parents didn't like.

Not doing something is usually easier than doing it, being lazy is way easier than staying busy.

But being quite about that, not doing something like opening your mouth and telling people the things you go through, knowing you can change it, is a lot harder than doing it. Staying silent and hiding abuse is harder than letting it show.

I guess it's okay I turned out like I did, despite the drugs and abuse and all my bad actions, because I'm a good person now.

Besides, I think it's often said that the best stories start with destruction.

But who knows if that's true.

I am a girl with an anxiety disorder and a body once filled with more drugs than a doctor could list in one breath. I am an addict that loves mangoes and sketch books and kissing. Through the years I've learned to be a therapist, a peacemaker, a good person, a sister, best friend, a lover, a girlfriend and an enemy. I've tried to be on time, prepared, I try to read books and draw pictures.

And I try to take myself seriously, even if many people around me don't.  

I've tried to do my best and always keep moving. Sometimes this means I don't sleep well but I've learned that I thrive on self deprecation and exhaustion long ago.

I drink coffee and mango smoothie, a lot. I've been on birth control since I was fifteen and have to take an anti-anxiety medication I rarely allow my body to consume. Judgement comes easy when I stare in a mirror but not at hazel eyes, love pops into my mind when I see anything green.

Now I'm not passive-aggressive or self-harming, now I know right from wrong.

But maybe my biggest flaw is that when I hear someone tell me I can be anything, I hear that I have to be everything. That if someone asks me to do then a favor, I do twenty. If I can help someone, I start thinking I can save the world.

Right now am I trying to save my world.

Micah.

Before this moment, I hadn't realized how truly hard it was to save the world. In all the movies there's superheros with plans and powers and skills. In reality there's just my 5'3" broken self, trying not to lose one of my soul mates with a plan put together within two hours while trying to keep my ex best friend- -who woke up, which I found oddly relieving- -quiet.

I hate this, I really do. I don't like saving my world.

My world should stay safe. My world shouldn't need saving.

I'm scared.

Because if I can't save my world, what happens? What will happen to Micah? Will he get out or be stuck here?

I don't want to think about it, or I just might throw up.

And I can't exactly risk that right now.

Oh fuckernut, I'm literally only half way up the stairs and I'm already freaking out.

Why did I have to be the one to get out of my chain? Micah probably could have already got us both free. Heck, if this was only up to him we would be home by now.

I'm just freaking myself out more.

Stick to the plan AJ, I tell myself. If you do that everything will work out.

Silently as I can- -since I'm walking on my knees instead of hopping on my one good leg- -I make it all the way up the steps. When I get to the top I hide right behind the corner.

Holding my breath when my nerves get fried seems to be one of my major downfalls but at this point it's too late to do anything about that.

Bracing myself, I bang loudly on the wall to purposely draw attention to myself. I hear his pounding footsteps before I see him, but the second Sidney rounds the corner to face the stairs -well, I push him.

I just...plant my hands on his back and push.

He falls down the stairs, I think he screams.

Then my pain registers and I realize that to do so I stepped on my broken ankle, making a wall of pain seem to slam into me from the back. Though I just slide down the stairs painfully on my ass instead of tumbling dangerously down them like Sidney did, I still get pretty dazed.

This must be my karma for pushing someone down the stairs.

Because of this I stay seated on my ass until I come to my senses -entirely due to Micah literally throwing Sidney onto her, who we gagged and chained up in the chains I was put in.

A muffled scream leavers her mouth as she's now trapped under her 5'9 180 pound older brother.

My broken boy just rolls his eyes, "It's just a fucking concussion, if I was allowed to you'd both be dead."

I took murder off the table.

Mostly because after I explained who Sidney was exactly, and why he said what he did about 'being my first' and how I was fourteen at the time, Micah really did want to kill him and I didn't doubt that he could.

I don't even believe in the death penalty that my state has, so straight up killing someone no matter what they've done to someone you love is out of the question.

Obviously, my Demon doesn't agree with that.

"Artemis?" Micah crouches next to me, hand gently pulling on my arm. "Can you move this all the way out? I need to see if you broke your elbow."

"I-It's fine." I stammer, trying not to sob when Micah's not even free yet or panicking either. "What's next?"

"Find the key." He pauses, dark eyes looking over me. "Do you need a break? They're both down here and he's not waking up anytime soon."

I shake my head, "Just help me up."

"Put your arms around my neck." The broken boy instructs and instantly I do. Standing up, he uses his good arm to lift me and gently place me on my good leg. "Don't rush and get yourself hurt, go slow but smart."

"And find the key." Finishing this, I feel a small tinge of hopelessness. Not about to ask him what happens if I don't, I gently kiss Micah's palm before looking back up to him. "I'll find it."

He nods, not really smiling but his lips definitely quirk up at the corners. "I know you will."

No I won't.

I'm incapable.

Defective.

Stupid.

I'm -not in the place where I can afford to seriously listen to any intrusive thoughts right now.

When I make it back up stairs it's scarier than it was when I knew Sidney was up here and about to run straight towards me because I know- -or rather, I can feel- -that something else, something bad, is about to happen.

The TV is on, blasting some stupid show about fears as far as I can tell, and it's very neat.

She always, always kept her room pristine and cleaned her house when she could. She doesn't like messes, especially when it came to shoes and food. That's why it didn't surprise me when I woke up and we were left in our socks.

Surprisingly, I don't find the key first, but rather Micah's black sweatshirt -which I instantly pull overhead. Just the scent alone helps my racing heart calm down, which I'm thankful for.

"Savvy? Where is-" My entire body goes rigid at the male voice, one that paused with confusion heavy in his tone. "Tsk, I don't think you're supposed to be up here."

Without giving me the chance to reply, a hand is on the crown of my head and pushing me into the wall making me scream -my broken ribs not able to handle the pressure without a white-hot pain flooding my body. He presses against me, making me want to scream again.

"Did Sid bring you up to play with you?"

I'm scared.

And I can't breathe. It's too painful, it's too hard.

But then something is shattered behind me, the pieces and dust flying against the wall and the weight falls from me without the man ever making a noise.

My eyes snap open- -me not having realized I closed them- -and water with relief at the sight in front of me.

Jem.