|Faith and False Hopes for Better Days
Author: ClearlyChloe PM
All Ajani Sullivan is trying to do is survive. Yet when his angel can't manage to he is left with nothing but his faith and false hopes. He finds himself immersed in a home with an eclectic bunch of characters who all want him to be happy. REWRITTEN!Rated: Fiction M - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 5 - Words: 11,129 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 11-30-07 - Published: 10-27-05 - id: 2036936
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Some nights I wake up screaming, the darkness closing in on me and shoving its way down into my throat so that I can't breathe anymore and I choke on it. It's suffocating when that happens; It begins to feel like I've been torn apart inside and nothing will ever be able to piece me back together again. I never know what to do because I was never like this before; I never hurt inside like this before. Sometimes it feels like the whole world can feel my pain but they don't really do they? I paste on a fake smile and nod my head, doing what's asked of me and everyone thinks I'm okay because they don't want to deal with me. I'm only needed to be used, to be placed up high on a pedestal by those who need me to do things they can't and then get knocked back down again. I can feel the bruises under my skin, sharp pin pricks when my fingers touch unmarred flesh. You can't see them, and neither can I but one of us knows that they exist.
I consider myself to be an individual even though I fight with myself daily about how I can't actually be one, everything I've done someone else has done before. Everything I've suffered someone else has suffered before and it was probably worse. I'm selfish and I know it but I don't know quite how to stop it, I should just be what they want me to be and do what I can to lessen their pain. There's just something so…wrong with that to me. I don't know what to do now that my life has changed irreparably from what it were just mere years ago. I've changed and now when I see pictures of the past they seem blurry and out of focus because I can no longer understand what happened then; at others the focus on my happiness then and what I had is so sharp it hurts my eyes to look at. It hurts my whole body to see it as I yearn for that happiness.
Perhaps I should explain my situation a little better even though no one will really ever read this beside myself but it's nice to think I have someone to talk to, someone who understands what I'm going through and might actually care a little bit. The people I live with…even though I call them mother and father in public aren't really my immediate family. Actually, if I'm honest they aren't actually family at all, at least not my so called father. Remember that should you ever see me, I'll be the one with the red hair and the fake smile standing next to my oh so damn blonde family.
My real father was Dylan Sullivan. He died in my arms after he had been stabbed in the streets; we were coming home from a movie together. I was eight years old and I held him close to me, not a mark on me. I guess even neo-Nazi's…skin heads; whatever you want to call them have pity for even children at times. I never knew my mother, he was all I had and all I really remember of that night is watching him cry. He never cried. He didn't cry when mom left us…mother, mom's are people who fix broken hearts and repair scratches with band aids and she was never that for me. He was my world and he always promised me that I would have a better life than he had growing up.
Thanks a lot dad. You definitely lied to me, my life is no better. In fact I might even say that it's worse now than it ever was.
I should have died with you. You understood what it was like to be different, what it was to be something other than normal. Your best friend doesn't, did you know that about him before you sent me to live with him? Did you know that he would spend hours lecturing me about looking like a sissy, about behaving like a man? I don't think you did, you could be harsh at times but you were never cruel. Cruelty was for those who had nothing else to give you once told me. I guess he has nothing else to give.
Brianne, Jonathon's wife is so scared of him that even though she loves me she won't say a word against him, her own son, her flesh and blood is so much like him that she barely says a word to him either. There's only one person keeping both of us here I think, Brianne and myself. A baby girl who trusts me with everything that she is; she doesn't care if I play my music too loud although apparently she finds the content depressing, even though I don't think she knows what that word actually means. She's so stunningly beautiful, like an angel fallen right from the heavens.
She's like me in certain ways. If she lives to be an age where she can realize her own potential her father is going to hate her with every fiber of his being. It makes me want to weep inside because he will cast her aside. She has too much love in her heart to be restricted, the complete opposite of me. I have so little love in my heart that I doubt I could ever love anyone as much as I love her, it's pure, familial and worshipful. She is my angel and I would do anything to protect her, but I don't think I'll have to for much longer.
What's that saying again? Only the good die young? It's something like that…
Hello, my name is Ajani Sullivan I'm thirteen years old. I want to die when she does. It's lovely to meet you, but you'll never truly know me because I would never tell anyone this. Not now and not ever.
Isn't life a drag?