Garden of Sins

And my dad? He doesn’t really notice. He’s merely a shell of his former self. However, my mom always freaks out. And today might be another one of those days because I haven’t been around for a while and I’ve supposedly found a better family.

You’ve always seemed like a safe haven from all the craziness here. And now you have shaken my world and pulled the lifeline out of the water where I am now floundering alone.

“Mom, it’s not like that. Please, let me in.” God, that I have to beg my mom to let me in is a bit perverse. I would never do that to my kids. Mom kicked me out a couple of times in the middle of the night. The first time, I was twelve and I was so scared. I sat outside the door crying because there were monsters everywhere that threatened to devour me.

My mother is a psychopath.

She groans and touches her forehead. “You give me a headache, Alayna. Go!” She nods to the house. As I pass her and smell her unpleasant familiar scent, she bumps me firmly with her shoulder and I stagger sideways.

Hearing the revving engine and the tires squealing as Mr. Rush drives away aggressively as the door shuts tears me apart.

Fuck.

My knees are soft like butter as I walk down the hall. There are ancient pictures of my parents, when my mom was beautiful and my brother was still alive, hanging here, but the frames are dusty and crooked. However, there are no longer pictures of him as Mom hid them all.

The green flowery wallpaper, which reminds of the seventies, is peeling at the corners, the top drawer of the chest of drawers hangs broken, and old shoes are scattered everywhere and in the way. It stinks of cigarettes and stale air. At the Rushes, it always smells like flowers or some kind of scent that Mrs. Rush has sprayed through the house because you smoke there even though you are not allowed to. She always grumbles and mutters to herself and when your dad hears, he nestles up behind her and makes her giggle.

To my left is the living room. The green velvet sofa is ancient, maybe there are vermin living in it, you never know, but I sit on it as seldom as possible. Besides, when you smack the cushions, it makes a lot of dust.

The sun falls into the dark house, illuminating every smeared pane, dust particles swirling in the air, and the spiders that have made a home for themselves in the corners. We still have a CRT TV that runs practically twenty-four hours a day. Dad is sitting in front of it as usual. He is wearing a stained white muscle shirt. His beer belly has become enormous over the last few years because he does nothing but sits in front of the TV all day. Boxer shorts and socks complete his appearance. I don’t look like him at all, I’m more Mediterranean looking, unlike my parents. Mom believes I inherited it from my grandpa, who is supposedly from Spain, but I don’t know, as I have never met him.

My father is balding in places and his green eyes, which used to shine when he gave me piggyback rides and jumped around the house laughing while Mom made di

He lost the desire to live when my brother lost his life. So did Mom. But, Mom compensates for it differently than he does. She tries to sleep with as many men as possible because she thinks it will reawaken feelings that were forever eradicated long ago. It also seems she is ru

I walk past my father and do not bother to greet him or take off my shoes as I walk up the dusty wooden stairs dragging my suitcase behind me.

I see Mom stubbing out her cigarette in a flowerpot with a dried-up palm tree in it. Then she sits down with Dad again and starts grumbling.

“God, Harry, look at you! All day long, you sit here drinking. And you stink. When was the last time you took a shower? And...” I slam my door behind me and lock it in case my mom loses it again and wants to take it out on me. I lean against the door and take a deep breath. I could be with you now. I could be letting the sun shine on my face through the big windows. I could smile at you and you would kiss me. I could smell you and cuddle up in your strong arms. I could be safe and protected, feel you, and hear your voice. God, I love your voice and I miss it already.

Although I couldn’t get away fast enough, I miss you all already, even Ava’s bitchiness.

But it all went so horribly wrong and it became clear that I can’t get a normal guy. I’m totally over myself.

I throw my handbag on the twin bed I’ve been using since I was six and think longingly about your huge, soft, smelly, cuddly dream bed. My not too small room is actually okay because when Mom furnished it for me we were still a normal, happy family.

My bed is next to the wall and next to it is a small wooden closet where all my stuff lays. I have a desk with books that have been piling up on it since junior high because there is no shelf. My computer is prehistoric and crashes every five minutes. But that’s okay, it’s better than nothing.

Everything is dusty here too. Sometimes, I try to make something out of the chaos, but it seems almost impossible, and I haven’t been here for a while now.

I sit on the edge of the bed and gaze out the dirty, smeared window. When Mom has her manic phases, she sobs as she cleans the whole house. In doing so, she smears everything, making it worse. When another depressive episode overtakes her, she sits with a bottle in the corner. And aggression is the normal state between these two phases.

She wasn’t like that before, only since Jamie died. I slowly gave up hope at fifteen that things would ever get better. At that time, I was still trying to do everything I could to make my parents laugh and love me so that they would stop ignoring me. Sometimes, I wish I had died instead of Jamie because they were much more attached to him.

That’s what Mom told me a couple of times when we were fighting. I wish it had been me.

Since then, I have built a wall around my heart where everything she says bounces off it. I just try to live my life and concentrate on the future.

And yes, I am head over heels in love with you, Caden Rush. So now I’m going to think about what really happened this weekend.

I fall backward on my bed and stare at the mildew-ridden ceiling.

It got weird when Carter started to get involved. I have never had much to do with him, but still, there is something when he walks past me or even looks at me. Then it feels as if he has looked or touched me like that a thousand times before. And in those moments when he was there while you were touching me, it became confusing.

Sometimes when I have sex with you, it feels like you have two personalities. The rough demon who doesn’t give a shit if I enjoy it and the sexy, mind-fucking guy who knows exactly what I need, what he is doing, and at what angle so I can have multiple orgasms.

It’s a little scary, but also hot. It’s absolutely mind-blowing. I never thought a single man could be capable of making me feel like this. Meanwhile, I’ve grown addicted to it and I can feel your absence in every fiber.

But then there was the ride in the car.

And I certainly did not imagine that! You brought me to orgasm with your fingers right in front of your brother and I couldn’t hold myself back. Only you can do that.