Lover Boy: All American Boy

With a deep sigh, Avery responded, “Everyone that I ever loved.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

After taking a moment to study Melanie, Avery decided that she needed to tell someone – that she couldn’t keep the grief in and let it continue to suffocate her.

“You may want to get comfortable, it may take a while.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” Melanie replies gently.

How little did she know that time was never on Avery’s side.

“I remember…I remember how the sheets of paper rattled within their tight grasp in my trembling hands,” Avery begins as the memories play in her mind.

As she closes her eyes, she continues to relay the visions verbally to Melanie, but Avery is so lost in the recollections that she finds her consciousness transported back to the moment.

The th

ick, cream-colored cardstock sat heavily in her palm. The papers have finally been signed: it felt like she has been waiting forever for this moment. It had taken eighteen years to get to this point. Well, really six considering the age difference, but now Avery felt like her life had a purpose and she couldn’t begin to fathom how their lives would change.

She would be hers to take care of – fully; not that Avery hadn’t been taking care of her already, but her life would now rely solely on her.

In Avery’s eyes, her six-year-old sister was utter perfection – could do no wrong. The deep red of her auburn hair starkly contrasted the blue of her eyes; eyes that captivated and pronounced her innocence at first glance. She was wise beyond her years, already coming to terms with the vile hatred their family felt toward them.

Growing up, Avery was treated as utter scum and filth since her mother had shown up pregnant at the age of fifteen. Her grandparents’ wealth masked the shame they felt, and they hid her mother away until Avery was born: an unexpected surprise by one of the staff, Avery’s mother claimed.

Yes, staff. The mansion, which sat atop a hill, looked out over eighty acres of land and the city below and housed at least fifty employees.

Three stories of brick and mortar, grandiose columns, and a wraparound porch were all it took to fool everyone.

This façade of a home was nothing but lies. From the time Avery turned two and could push a broom and pan, she was made to work the grounds. Ignored by her actual family, she tried clinging to anyone that showed her maternal care. All of the servants ignored her out of fear from their employer and shoved Avery out of their way most days - except for one, Mila. A Slavic immigrant, Mila came to work for Avery’s grandmother as a caretaker to her dying husband, Avery’s grandfather. She made sure Avery always had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a warm bed in which to sleep. She was also the one who disclosed, in secret, Avery’s placement in the family: she was not a slave, but a child of old money.

Avery’s grandfather died when she was twelve, right around the same time her mother announced another pregnancy and engagement.

When baby Aria was born, their mother and grandmother took pleasure in her arrival. It was like night and day to how Avery had been treated, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be jealous. She loved Aria. She was the most beautiful little baby Avery had ever seen; pale skin, eyes that matched the sky at mid-day, and a swatch of red hair. Unfortunately, at her grandmother’s insistence, Avery wasn’t allowed to be near Aria. Her grandmother claimed that her shallow soul would taint the child. But Mila, who then became Aria’s nanny, made sure to sneak Avery into the baby’s room daily during the early morning light.

When Aria turned three, Avery’s grandmother found a note from their mother saying she was running off with her second husband and her trust fund, planning to never return again. Her grandmother, whom Avery guessed was disgusted by this, turned against Aria. The abuse became both mental and physical. The staff seemed to always turn a blind eye to the beatings so Avery took it upon herself to try and contact local help. The police laughed in her face the day she snuck away and went to the police station. They couldn’t seem to fathom that a sixty-year-old woman of her social stature could raise a fist. Dejected, Avery dove head first into research regarding child abuse and child turnover.

She knew that if she could get her grandmother to sign over the parental rights to Aria, which their mother had given to her own mom upon her disappearance, then Avery could become her legal guardian. With this in mind, she pushed along for the next three years until her eighteenth birthday. Avery prayed that one day her grandmother would decide to ignore Aria, as she had her, but it seemed the longer their mother stayed away the more furious their grandmother turned. There were weeks at a time when Aria would have to miss preschool due to bruises on her face or arms.

Mila did her best to keep them upbeat and to keep the girls from their grandmother’s wrath, but one person could only do so much against a self-proclaimed goddess.

Yet, even as Aria took beating after beating, she still remained this cheerful beacon of light in Avery’s life. Love wasn’t strong enough a word for what she felt for Aria. She was unaware that we were sisters, but she knew that Avery helped take care of her. At the time, it had been enough for Avery.

On Avery’s graduation day she also turned eighteen, double the reason for her joyous outlook. No genetic family was in attendance, for obvious reasons, but Mila had come along with Aria to watch her cross the stage. Tears sparkling in her kind eyes, Mila proclaimed that she couldn’t have been more proud of her. Avery’s mind reeled and couldn’t even settle on the achievements of the day. No, she was completely sidetracked by what she had planned for the following morning.

The next day, Avery stood in front of the cold dark room that was her grandmother’s office. The papers from the attorney shook in her hand; a pro-bono case she was lucky enough to receive from a schoolmate's mother. The knock on her grandmother’s door echoed in the hall like a taunting laugh. She entered when commanded, but Avery didn’t utter a word, just laid the papers in front of her grandmother.

“What’s this?” her grandmother asked harshly, the wrinkles on her face scrunching closer together and resembling crepe paper.

“I want Aria. Please. I’ll take her away from here and you won’t ever hear from us again. I swear,” Avery pleaded.

The pounding of her heart raised her body’s temperature, staving off the chill of the dungeon-like room

“You’ll never return? You’ll take yourself and that bastard sister away?”

Avery cringed as the word “bastard” floated through the air - a term she has become far too familiar with.

“Yes, I promise. Please,” she begged again.