The Journal of L.V

January - Thursday

13/01/2020

Journal, I don't know if you know this already, but I can be a bit angry and violent.

It isn't something that happens too much, but when it does happen, it usually turns out very bad.

Let me explain:

So today was the day Giselle would be leaving for the ballet academy in New York.

I am happy for her of course.

Giselle is an excellent dancer, and I sincerely hope she is able to become an international prima ballerina.

 And while I am happy for her, but she just makes herself so hate-able.

I can't help but want to break her kneecaps.

I suppose I could say the same for all my step-sisters.

They are almost complete angels in the presence of David, but when they are left alone with my mother and I, they could win a fight with a demon.

Mom says they are just acting out, because they are not completely used to the fact that their father is married to someone other than their own mother.

I argued that I was not used to the fact that she was married to David, but I wasn't acting like the Devil every time I was in the presence of David.

Mom simply shook her head with a smile.

Anyway, so when I woke this morning, I found that my underwear had been strewn across the floor and my bedroom door was wide open.

I had thought, "It's probably Juliet again."

It was best to ignore Juliet until she got bored and left you alone.

So, I had simply gotten out of bed and picked up my underwear, until I noticed that a few pairs were missing.

I had cursed loudly in Russian.

"It is not good to cuss, you know," Giselle had said from my bedroom door.

I had turned to her, but froze when I saw her wearing MY clothes.

"What are you doing?!" I had yelled at her.

Giselle had simply examined my room with an expression filled with disgust.

"Your room is a pigsty. And your clothes are horrid," Giselle had replied.

I asked her why she was wearing my clothes.

 "I like these ones. I would never be able to find them anywhere else, so I am keeping them," Giselle had said.

I wanted to yell at her and tell her she couldn't do that, especially since those clothes were too big for her.

But then she said, "Oh, and I took the liberty of getting rid of the clothes I thought were horrid.Your welcome."

I tell you dearest Journal, it took all of my being not to knee her in the stomach.

I think it was the panic I felt when she told me that.

You see, over the years I have received gifts from my mother, father and extended family back in Russia (my extended family on my mom's side has never liked me).

Most of the gifts have been photos, toys, ushankas (a Russian hat), etc.

But my Bubushka (grandmother) back in Russia has always sent me food or clothes that she has made herself.

It is her way of connecting with me without actually seeing me.

In return, I send her letters and sometimes I send her the products of my attempt at knitting.

I love her dearly, so I keep all her gifts.

Those gifts include the clothes she sent me.

Anyway, I asked Giselle which of my clothes she got rid of.

"Oh. Basically all of them. Especially those knitted ones and those ridiculous hats with the fuzzy ears. I asked daddy to burn them since I just couldn't take the sight of them," Giselle replied casually.

For a second all I could hear was ringing  in my ear, and then my vision went white.

"Uhhhh.... Elaine! Something's wrong with your daughter," Giselle shouted.

And yes, there was something wrong with me.

I was shaking all over with a mix of panic, sadness and pure rage.

I needed to hold onto something and squeeze, so I reached for Giselle's neck and grabbed onto it.

Giselle squawked loudly and grabbed at my wrists.

I remember yelling in Russian, Giselle and her sisters screaming, my Mother shouting in rapid French, and someone pulling me away from Giselle.

I then promptly blacked out.

When I woke up, I was at my room, but it was the one I had at my Father's place.

Peter was leaning over me.

A bit of background on Peter: 

He is an Aboriginal (to be more specific, he's 'Indian') orphan.

He is twelve years old, but he likes to act like he is the older brother.

Peter is very honest (painfully so), but only when he thinks it is necessary.

No matter who you are, whenever you talk to him, you feel like you're talking to someone at your level.

He is also very charismatic to those he likes, but is very salty to people he dislikes.

In other words, he is the best little brother I could ask for.

My Father adopted him three years ago, but it feels like he has always been there.

Back to the present: 

Peter looked at me with concern in his eyes.

He asked me if I was alright, to which I replied that I was.

"So what did Giselle do to make you rage like that?", Peter asked me.

I explained what she had done and Peter immediately launched into a rant about how despicable the act was and how we wanted to learn to knit as soon as possible so he could remake all the clothes I had lost.

As he spoke, I could feel all the anger seeping out of my bones.

It was times like these where I was even more grateful for having Peter as a brother.

At the end of his rant, Peter gave me a big hug and said that he would do anything for his sister (aka me).

I asked Peter how he and Dad were doing, so he started going off on a tangent about how Dad was fine, but still wouldn't be taking us to Greenland anytime soon.

He was interrupted by Mom and Dad entering the room.

Mom stood with her hands on her narrow hips, while Dad stood tall with his arms crossed.

Mom's red hair was done in a messy bun, her hazel eyes were tired and her delicate figure was slumped slightly.

She looked tired and slightly sad.

At least she didn't look disappointed.

I began to apologize, but Mom hushed me as she crossed the room to hug me.

"I am sorry," Mom said in her thick french accent.

I wanted to protest, to tell her that I could have done better , but then Dad was hugging me too.

Dad was a rather muscular man, so the hug hurt a bit.

"I should not have given so much freedom. I should not have let them walk all over us. I know how much all those gifts from your grandmother meant to you. As punishment, Giselle will only be going to the academy next week and I will be taking away her favorite dress," Mom said gently.

I wanted to tell her that she didn't need to, but dad answered for me, "That girl had no right to destroy your things. It is only fair that she be punished."

Mom nodded and I noticed her wet her eyes were.

Peter immediately enveloped Mom in hug.

Dad took off his ushanka, revealing a thick mop of black hair, and he put the ushanka on my head.

I looked at him with curiosity in my own hazel eyes, but Dad simply said that ushanka was now mine.

I protested and Dad took the ushanka off my head, only for him ruffle my black hair and put it back on my head.

"It is yours, my child. Now come, I made potato salad for dinner," Dad said.

At that, Peter ran out of the room chanting "POTATO SALAD!!!"

Mom hugged me again and got up to help Dad in the kitchen.

"You missed school, by the way. Don't worry, Jeremiah promised to get your homework for you. He is coming by later," Mom said before she left the room.

I looked the clock and was surprised to see it was already one in the afternoon.

The rest of the day was spent eating, playing in the snow and catching up on missed work.

It was too bad that Mom had to go back to David's house thirty minutes later.

-L.V