Page 54 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
Was it wrong to kill an animal and bring the carcass home to show your parents? The answer to that question was yes. At least when it came to my mother, it was wrong. Then again, I was pretty sure she considered my existence wrong, so…
My mother died when I was six. Most people would say that she was a happy woman who was quick to help others and had a smile that could light up the room. I knew a different version of her.
My mother didn’t look at me with the same adoration in her eyes that she had for my brother. When it came to her youngest son, her expression said one thing.
Terror.
She tiptoed around me as if she were expecting me to stab her in the back.
I couldn’t say it was an irrational fear. There were plenty of times I considered stabbing my mother. Once, I even picked up a knife when she was baking cookies. But if she died, then my father would get mad, and I’d have to spend more time with our nanny Jean, who smelled like mothballs and talked way too much. All of which sounded like a humongous headache. So, I sought other ways to tame my murderous thoughts.
Hence why I was so proud, for not only catching the groundhog, but for finally being able to find out what was inside it. Now, I wasn’t one of those ‘born to be a serial killer’ kids who wanted to dig around in dead bodies. I was looking for something.
The heart. Because, according to my mother, that was where love was.
The entire concept of love fascinated me. I’d sit for hours, watching movies and TV shows, trying to figure it out. It blew my tiny child’s mind that someone could care more for someone else than they did themselves. Was my heart broken? Was there something missing from it?
I didn’t care about anyone like that. Not even my father, whom I respected more than anyone else. Sally Jenkins’ parents died in a car crash, and she cried for weeks. If my parents died, I wouldn’t miss them, but I knew I should. Hence, my quest to find this mysterious love.
Insects were too small to see their heart. I thought about cutting my brother open and looking at his. He was always crying and hugging our parents, so obviously, he had this elusivething called love. But that would make my mother cry, which in turn would lead to the same problem of an angry father and mothball nanny. So, out into the forest behind our house I went.
In came the groundhog. I looked all through that thing and couldn’t find any hint of love. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but the way people talked about it, I assumed it would be easy to find.
When I was satisfied with my findings, I took my prize home, held it up in my small bloody hands to show my mother, and said, “He doesn’t have any love in his heart either, so mine’s not broken.”
She got really quiet and just stared at me.
That was when I learned that while I may not be able to love, I sure liked scaring people. Thus began the downward spiral of our happy family. Mom cried a lot and told my father that there was something wrong with me. He told her to let it go and started fucking the nanny. My brother blamed me for our parents’ constant fighting, while I couldn’t care less about any of it.
Eventually, my father got so annoyed with my mother’s constant badgering that he shot her, bringing peace once again to our household. She was buried in the garden next to the pool.
I used to think the reason my father pitted my brother and I against each other was to get rid of me. Despite dismissing my mother’s worries, he still watched me. He wasn’t scared of me like she was. It was more curious than anything else. As if he was trying to decide what I was capable of.
It turned out it wasn’t me he wanted to get rid of, but my brother. I knew that now. My brother was a pussy. A whiny, clingy, pussy who hadn’t inherited any of our enhancements. In other words, he was not fit to be the Kratz heir. If he weren’t the older of the two of us, then maybe he’d still be here.
My brother did serve one purpose, however. I learned that I could miss someone. With all his faults, Eric was still a good big brother. He looked out for me and taught me stuff. Sometimes I wondered what he would be like if he had grown up. Who knows, maybe I would’ve grown to like him.
Had my murderous thoughts died down any over the years? Nope. In fact, they were currently at the forefront of my mind, screaming for me to grab something sharp. And there was one person in particular I wanted to stab.
“It’s moving day,” Ravi sang while throwing my door open.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
The last thing I wanted was a fucking roommate. Unfortunately, I had no choice in the matter. I told Ravi I needed time to make space—which was a lie. My room had plenty of space. I just didn’t want to share it. My father decided yesterday that I’d put it off long enough. When I argued with him, I was given five lashes to remind me of the consequences of ignoring my set rules.
My back hurt like a bitch. Every time I shifted, a sharp ache would shoot up my spine, reminding me of the expected bullshit rules I had to follow. That didn’t stop me from wanting to kick Ravi out when he stepped in and pointed at the left side of my room.
“Put it over there.”
My jaw clenched as two men in navy jumpsuits carried a mattress intomyroom and dropped it two feet away frommybed.
“What the fuck, Ravi?”
“You heard your father.” He tipped his head to eye one of the mover’s asses. “We have to room together.”
Ravi was the first person I felt love for. Or at least what I thought was love. He was more of a brother to me than my ownwas. I’d kill for the motherfucker. Right now, though, I wanted to kill the motherfucker.
“Rooming together does not mean sharing a fucking bed.” I waved my hand to the left. “Move your shit over by the wall.”
