26
Sebastian
If I sat down in front of any of the therapists who my grandparents made sign NDAs that basically said their souls would be sold on the black market if they divulged any of my secrets, they would have told me I need coping mechanisms.
Maintenance.
Cognitive behavioral therapy.
Group therapy.
All the good stuff therapists love to sing in different tunes to avoid spelling out the word insane.
You’re different, they would say. It’s okay to be different.
That’s about the only thing I came out of therapy with.
Being different could be either a blessing or a curse, depending on how I treat it. If I act like a victim, that’s all I’m ever going to be.
If I act like the assailant, however, things could diverge in another direction.
I found out early on that I couldn’t be obvious about my purging. And that’s when it became tricky. My bursts of violence could only be hidden for so long before my grandparents caught up to my activities.
So I bottled them inside until they began to fester and metaphorically attack my internal organs like cancer, with no cure.
Until her.
The girl who’s running because I ordered her to.
Because she wants it as much as I do.
Because she has bursts of violence, too. Only, she’s on the receiving end of it.
Her direction is neither methodical nor calculated as she lets her legs carry her across the vast grounds.
My blood pumps hot in my veins and the internal festering I’ve been experiencing for years disappears. My chest constricts, but my legs stretch and I sprint behind her.
My nostrils flare and my muscles turn rigid with the promise of the chase.
Naomi flinches when her foot catches on something on the ground, but my pretty little toy doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t pause.
And doesn’t ever…ever look back.
Like a perfect prey whose only concern is to run away.
She’s fast, even with the way her dress clings to her thighs
with every move. Even with how her pace is frantic and disorganized at best.
I breathe in her fear that’s permeating the air and listen to the sound of her shattered breaths that break the silence of the night. The music from the main house still reaches us, but I don’t hear it over my controlled movements and her frantic ones.
Naomi gives it her all. It’s never half-assed or a makeshift attempt at escape. She sprints at the highest speed her body allows.
Like she’s running for her life.
Sometimes, I believe she’s really scared, that deep down, this whole thing has taken on more weight than it should.