Why?

Contains: suicide ideation/intentions, murder, rape, abuse, and sensitive language.

“I lost everything that week.” I breathe. “I lost the people I love, the people who love me. I lost the love and kindness I had towards people. I lost my sanity.” My teeth grind against each other in agony and frustration. The familiar sting of tears coming back at the memories of those days flooding my head.

He continues staring at me.

Just of course he says nothing, because he has no good response to what he has done to me.

“After that week, I was hanging onto the edge of sanity with a finger tip. The only thing that was keeping me from letting go was the fact that I knew they weren’t dead and they were waiting for me, some way, somehow.” I admit, the words rolling off of my tongue, ones I have been waiting years to say to him, to show him that he won, and hopefully will stop destroying my life.

“Why?” He says, trying to make me look him in the eyes. “Why not just fight me then?”

I look him in the eyes. “I was a shell. Empty. Lifeless. I lost my life that week.

“I was angry. I was frustrated. I was doubting myself. I was scared. I was so, so scared. I was scared shitless, out of my mind scared. I was scared for my child, what would happen to them when I would one day leave them or have to leave them—who or what would come after them because I wasn’t there to protect them anymore. What would happen if I didn’t have enough strength when the day came for my child to be born. If I wasn’t even alive or a person— still a shell and emotionless as you have taught me.”

“Why did you love your child like you did?” He says, lifting his hands up and putting them back at his sides in despair. “Why care for him?”

I look away, not baring to look at him any longer. “Because I never had that person. I never had that person who cared for me, who was there for me, who fed me, who clothed me, who gave me a roof over my head, who loved me for God’s sake.” I list the things off on my hands, one by one. “I have always been that person for everyone because I never had that person. I’m the mother, the caretaker to people who need it because I know what it’s like to not have that person, or even anybody at some points, so I become that person for them because everyone needs that person.” I suddenly remember all the times I was that person for many, many different people.

A beat of silence passes, just the wind whistling in the trees, the only noise being made.

“Why the hell haven’t you forgiven me?” He says. “I can change, just ask me to.

I bite back the urge to kill him. “I have! Many times! So many fucking times, but you never even listened to me.” I take a deep breath to calm myself, just a tiny bit. “Even if you tried to change it would take…” I think on how long it would take, on all the things he has done to me that have caused me pain, grief, scars, brands, metal limbs, and tattoos. “...Hundreds of years, thousands at this point for me to forgive you.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking ‘why’, you know why, you were the one who did them. You were the one to

rape me, abuse me, torture me, kidnap me, send people after me to kill me and my families, declare war on me, betray me, act narcissistic and toxic towards me, neglect me, kill off my familes, destroy my life, burn my life to the ground, litterally and figuratively, and hurt me in ways no one else is capeable of doing.” I list the things off on my fingers again. “Do you think that I can forgive you like that?” I snap my fingers. “No, I fucking can’t. Not when you keep doing those things one after another, giving me barely any time to process what the hell you did to me and what other people did.

“They add up over time, fast. They become so fucking hard to handle that I crash and spiral until I am a mess, or a fucking shell, lifeless because I don’t know what the fuck to do about the weight on my chest and shoulders, holding me down. That is what happens. So even if you were to change it wouldn’t change all the sleepless nights I’ve had, all the scars, all the panic attack, all the anxiety attacks, all the negative thoughts in my head, all of my blood that was spilled over and over again, all the lies, all the hurt, all of the brokenness that is me. It wouldn’t go and change that. It wouldn’t get rid of it because it already happened and you can’t change the past, ever.”

“Why still live after you lost everything again, and even more that last time?” He asks, calmly.

“Oh, I wanted to die so many times. The only thing that kept me from not putting a bullet through my own head is the shred of hope I had left. I lost everything when I came back. My son was put into that place,” my face twists with disgust, remembering that day vividly when I opened the door and they—I don’t even want to say their names or who they were to me—were standing there and said that he was in the place I just came from and I broke down. “I haven’t seen him since before I left, my fathers were back, all of them. They took everything away from me, my kingdoms, my lands, my research, my files, my belongings, the things that make me, me, goddamnit.” I take a deep breath. “They made all the bad memories of them come back, the ones that were painful to think about and still are,” my body contorts in repulsion at the statement. “They put even more memories in my head, even worse ones. I became their toy they could use. I was their puppet, their thing, their property, not their daughter, not someone they loved and cared for. Nah, nah, nah.” I waggle my finger. “I was nothing like that. Nothing like that. They were assholes and I purposefully killed them to get rid of them, to get the fuck out of my fucking life for once. But of course you had to resurrect them like they were zombies, to terrorize me till the die I fucking die.”

I look up at the blue, calm sky, searching for some peace to be settled deep in my bones, that is what I need right now before I burn the world to ashes.

“I’m pretty sure that the definition of ‘father’ is to be loving and caring towards your children, not acting narcissistic and toxic towards them, not showing that you love them even though you say it, over and over, it honestly has become annoying at this point. And well you’re most definitely not acting like the definition of a father right or ever even, Dad.” I sigh an exasperated sigh. I look him in the eyes for the last time today, the same ones as mine—blue. “For God’s sake, Dad, I created the universe and you can’t even think to give me a break for once or let me live my life. I hate you for everything that you have done, I’ll never be able to forgive you. Good-bye.” I say, walking away from him for what is hopefully the last time. Not daring to look at the same pair of eyes as I have had for my entire life and will never be able to change. I hate my eye color because of him, I always have and always will.