A Touch of Bitter Sweetness

Christine. Christine Manchello. Born in Athens, Greece, 2000. I moved to Turkey when I was a child and now live in Brussels, Belgium. I’m 23 years old. I’m quite slim, tall and a bit tanned in complexion, intoxicating emerald eyes, wavy ash wood hair and a light smile. I’m currently in my fifth year of med school at Ghent University. It has been my dream to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. So, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you so much about myself. The truth is I’m a dark person with many secrets. Secrets so gruesome that you’d never believe an innocent woman as I would have. But I can’t hold on to them any longer. I have to tell someone, and who better to tell than you, my dear reader? I, Christine Manchello, am about to give you the ride of your life. A few years ago, everything was perfect and everything was in place. My life was basically set. But my parents never cared a bit for me, and my first betrayal started with them. I had no idea that I was hated so much by them and that the sight of me made them sick. I’ve always thought they loved me, cared for me, treasured me. But I was wrong. I trusted them. And that was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. But I don’t regret anything. Because I’ve learnt my lesson. Too bad they’re dead. Dead? Oh yes, I skipped that part. Wanna know a secret? I killed them. Shocked? I mean I warned you. I have some dark secrets. Why am I telling you this again? Like I said, I want to relieve myself of the burden. It’s too much for me to handle anymore. I want to reform. So yes, back to my parents. I killed them. Why? Because they made my life miserable and that had to end. Wasn’t there a better way? No, they deserved to die. Even worse, the year I was about to start my medical school, I learnt that my mom was actually my stepmom. No wonder she hated my guts. And when I confronted her, she had the audacity to lace my food with peanut oil in an attempt to harm me. Harm me? I am allergic to peanuts. She knew that, yet claimed to my father that she had no idea. How messed up this was. The night after, my mom came into my room and started to choke me. With much difficulty, I managed to knock her off and run to the hall, screaming and shouting for our neighbors. My father, on the other hand, did not seem affected one bit by the fact that his wife almost choked his daughter to death literally, because when the neighbors came over to see what was wrong, he told them that I just had a nightmare and was so scared. I knew right then Mr. Quinn felt really sorry for me and knew they were lying. But there was nothing that he could do. Mr. Fabian Quinn, my neighbor, is a well-respected, retired teacher. Whenever I needed help with physics, I used to approach Mr. Quinn for his assistance. And his wife, oh Mrs. Quinn was such a sweet woman and made the best cookies and pastries in the entire world. One year for my birthday, Mrs. Quinn baked me an entire basket of lovely aromatic pastries and gifted it to me as I was recovering from the flu. I was not even well and my own parents left me all alone in the house on my birthday. Mr. Quinn came over and made me soup and looked after me like a real father should. To me, Mr. Quinn was more a father to me than mine. Mine was a jerk, an asshole, and his wife was a goddamn backstabbing b***h. For all I know, she probably killed my real mom because of how much she ‘claims’ to love my dad. She probably did something to my mom when I was a child so that she could get my dad. And now, in his eyes, I'm the worst child to ever exist. I guess the good thing about not remembering much from my childhood was that I did not have to deal with s**t at an early age and I’m so grateful for that. I wonder from time to time what had changed though. I don’t ever recall seeing my mother, sorry stepmother like this.