His game (being rewritten)

It was supposed to be fun, no?

***1st peson pov

We hit it off. I don't know what it was, but that summer evening, when he shook my hand telling me his name was Grant, it was like fate had been sealed. I felt like this was it. Sitting with him on the roof, watching the night, how it was slowly passing by. We did so until it got too close to winter, until it got so cold, not even his warm protecting hand around me could keep me from shivering when the harsh autumn wind blew around us, making my cheeks and nose pink. My 18th birthday was a start, our start, and I couldn't thank my lucky star enough that it brought this man into my life.

Everything in my life seemed so perfect, the past four months with Grant have been bliss, nothing could disturb the happiness that filled my heart if it weren't for my overriding thoughts. I was certain for a while that I was just overthinking things. There were so many noises that day, so many people talking, overlapping each other, I could have heard wrong. Except that my mind kept on reminding me that my aunt had a very distinct voice. So distinct, that I could recognize it anywhere. I remember being lost once in the park as a child, when she took me out to the swings. I was calling for her, hot tears streaming down my face, crying my heart out like any child would, when I heard her melodic voice through all the noise.

*** The night of the birthday party

"She's 18 now, how much f*****g longer will you keep it up?" the voice was hushed but clear enough, she was sure it was her aunt. "You know damn well how much longer. On a side note, I would advise you to shut up. You would want to end up like my sister dearest, would you?" the voice was higher, mom? "You threaten me now? Frances?! You'll let her talk to me like that?!" it seemed the argument was getting heated, something wasn't right. It didn't feel right to be listening in on the conversation, but god, something was telling me it was important. "She can talk to you however she wants to, and I can too, sister. I don't think you've forgotten all the things that we have against you. Proof of the things you've done that will lock you up for years if not for life." Dad? "Unbelievable. This devil woman made you like this. She did this." Disgust was evident in her voice. ˝Before her, you wouldn't have turned your back on family." "Don't speak as if you know me. We all know you will keep this secret, because you care for her. Better be alive to do so though, no? You ain't worth much dead anyway." I assumed it was the end of the conversation and quickly took a few steps back, not knowing if what I'd just heard was real or if it got all mixed up with every other conversation that was happening in the room, turning into a grotesque reality that my brain mashed together.

It haunted me. The conversation has haunted me every damn night since my birthday, getting clearer and clearer with every nightmare that came knocking on my door as dreams flooded my mind. At some point, I couldn't keep them at bay, they were there even in my waking hours, making me ask myself what kind of meaning they held.

One morning, I couldn't help myself anymore. We were sitting at the breakfast table, the sun shinning through the big windows with no obstruction. The day was clear, the birds were singing and I just wanted to shut down or forever shut up the noise in my mind. "So, there's something that has bothered me for a while, that I wanted to ask you about." I was peeling apart my croissant layer by layer, deeping each layer into some of the dark chocolate that filed its inside. "Yes honey? What is it?" my mother was just picking up a piece of her scrambled egg on to her fork, not really minding me. My father was quiet, seeping away at his coffee whilst probably reading the news on his phone. "I ... I uh-..." I bit my lip, not knowing how to assemble a coherent sentence. "You know it irritates me when you uh and ah at me, as if you don't know how to speak real sentences." mom was looking at me now, and it was not a pleased look. She was annoyed with my mumbling. I sat up straighter in my chair, looking at her. "I overheard a conversation between you two and aunt Abby at the party. It was quite heated and I just wanted to ask what it was about." They didn't flinch. Dad looked up for a second when I started to speak, but soon lost interest, and mom was giving me an icy glare. I knew what it meant. "I don't think it's appropriate for you to ask such questions. If you weren't a part of the conversation, it must have been for a reason. Do you think that the theme of the conversation or anything that happened after concerns you?" When she was like that, when she talked to me without any kind of emotion in her voice, like she was void of anything and everything, she scared me. She turned into what nightmares are made of and I knew, I had to shut myself up and preferably leave for the day as soon as I could. "Sorry, you are right, it's not my business." my head hung low and I reached for my glass of water to try and push the bitterness of the conversation off of my tongue and down my throat.

I called Grant and we went out for the day. It wasn't eventful. To be honest, half of the day I don't even remember. It was obvious that the conversation at breakfast did not satisfy anything in my subconscious. All the words were running around and playing catch whilst trying to fit into a puzzle, a puzzle I'd started to put together on my birthday, though it sometimes felt like I began doing so way before that. Before I could remember.

...

It had been five months now. Five months since me and Grant started dating and something has changed, aside from the fact that we moved together almost a month ago. I'd like to say it has already changed the day after my wear talk with my parents - or well, my mom, since my dad didn't want to or didn't see the need to participate in. Grant has been less patient with me, and sometimes it seems to me like he is a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode and sometimes I'm afraid he'll explode around me. Maybe it's not a big deal though. My mother is short fused as well. If she weren't, she would keep her calm and not be irritated by the smallest things. Or maybe he's just had a rough couple of weeks. Not that I would know, since he stopped telling me about his life.

Lately, I have had thoughts running through my mind that made me think that this wasn't the life I was supposed to be living. It's silly really, maybe the only thing I needed was some distance, time to clear my head. But I didn't get that. No distance, no space of my own, but I did get a curfew. Leaving the apartment in which I lived in, with Grant, was only possible when he wasn't home, but being home later than him was a no go. The only thing I would earn myself by being "late" were swear words and a couple of pushes against the wall or on the floor so he could assert his dominance. I never would have thought I'd let someone go this far. "I'd pack up and leave as soon as someone showed the first sign of abuse.", it's what I always said, whenever I and m friends would watch a show about domestic violence or just a theme like that popped up for whatever reason. Maybe I thought of myself as way stronger than I was in reality. Because reality looked like me freezing up and apologizing for things I hadn't even done, just so I could calm him down. I felt like a mistreated dog, who still wanted to be petted by his master, because he foolishly still wanted his love. Goddamnd foolish dog, didn't he know, the only thing he'd ever get were bare bones, bruises and a tight leash.

This wasn't fun, and it was supposed to be just that, wasn't it? It was supposed to be fun, no? Be loved and give love. All those adventures and sweet nothings you could whisper and then for me it was like waking up to ice-cold water being thrown in my face.