1. I Had Never Really Known Love
1. I Had Never Really Known Love
LANA
Bruised and battered.
That's what I see when I peer down my tank and at my abdomen.
Though these exact words could be used for the rest of my body and mind too.
I tend to the wounds on my body and slip into my creaky bed. Mind racing, I toss and turn, waiting for sleep to overcome me. But it never does.
No, every night I am left alone with my venomous thoughts.
I close my eyes and immediately open them back upon seeing the flash of my past. My past was something that is indescribable — in all the wrong ways.
It all started when I was born a girl. My parents wanted a male child, but there I was — female. And for some absurd reason, they blamed it on me, as if I'd chosen to be born in the first place.
Even though I was born in Paris, the city of love, I had never really known love.
And now, for the twenty-two years of my existence, I have loathed my life.
What is there to live for when you wake up every day and get either abused or neglected — and bitterly, the latter wounded me more than the former.
What is there to live for when you were just twelve and saw your mother run away with your little brother, Levi, leaving you with a spiraling father?
My parents were addicted to gambling and drinking and wasting away money. And the consequence of this barely left us any money. So they would take huge loans, and when they failed to pay them, Levi and I were forced to pack up our lives and move. Again.
Not only that, their drinking problem got them so out of their minds that they would lash out at anything they saw — or, in other words, me.
I would be the one to face my father and mother's drunken fury in order to protect my little brother. This made Levi blissfully unaware of my abuse, but that was exactly what I wanted.
And when I turned twelve, my mother fell in love with some other guy and ran away with Levi, taking away the piece of my heart that was beating for my little brother.
After that, my father didn't pay any attention to me and was rarely home — drinking away his life.
But one nightmarish day, he came back home sober and told me of his plan. A plan that included me earning money for the two of us, while he spent it all away on gambles.
After he said this vague plan of his, I was, once again, left alone at the house with nothing but my thoughts.
I ventured off into the streets in hopes of someone looking to hire me. But that's when I stumbled upon a man.
I still remember that conversation I had with him.
'And what would a little girl like you be doin' wandering this part of the city?' he said.
'I'm not little, and what do you mean by 'this part of the city'?' I asked, looking up at his bearded face. I took in his appearance and saw that his knuckles were bruised, along with his jaw. 'And why are you injured right now?' I boldly inquired.
He grinned slyly at me and said, 'Answer my question first and then I'll answer yours, little girl.'
I huffed and said, 'I'm looking for a job.'
His eyebrows shot up, and he asked, 'Why? You barely look ten.'
I narrowed my eyes at him and said, 'I'm twelve, and why would someone want a job? To earn money, duh. Now, answer my questions.']
'Calm down, little girl. I was in an underground fighting ring. Do you know what that is?' he asked, amusement lacing his voice.
'No. But my best guess would be the fact that it is definitely illegal,' I said. 'And also maybe that you bet on the fighters.'
He smiled down at me. 'You're spot on. But I was fighting there, not betting...'
I pretended to listen to him, but my head was in a faraway place at that time, devising a whole new future for myself.
I had asked the man for the address, and he hesitantly gave it to me, along with a password to the door.
Not even an hour later, I found myself standing at the fighting arena, squished between the crowds and in complete awe of the place.
For a month, I had visited this place and learned how to fight, practicing on a makeshift dummy in my room.
By the time I was thirteen, I found myself fighting there nearly every day.
I don't know if it was the money or the thrill that kept bringing me back to the place, but for the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere.
But my father took away three-quarters of the money I made. Which left me to pay the bills, school fees, groceries, and some of his debt with approximately five hundred dollars. And all the money I saved went into my savings.
And maybe my father realized that I was now strong enough to defend myself from his abuse — or he had just grown tired of me — because now he no longer raised a hand on me.
Instead, he ignored me as if I didn't exist and only remembered me at the end of the month when he had to pay his debt or when the house was dirty.
This neglect was worse than the abuse. Feeling invisible is something that I had to grow used to in my own house.
So, I buried myself in studies and fighting, hoping to escape this brutal reality. In a way, it helped. It took my mind off things — if only for an hour or two.
And that is how I find myself studying a business degree at the Paris School of Business.
I had saved enough money by fighting in underground fighting rings to last me through college.
Still, I paid money to my father every month, because no matter how far I would be from him, he had to have control of my life in some way. It was tiring and draining.
Fighting was not an issue for me. Hell, there was a time when it was the only good part of my life. The art of fluidity and calculations was one that I had mastered, and I used it to my advantage. It was a brutal dance, its melody growing more unsettling and foreboding by the second.
I found myself in those fighting rings — discovered my passion and my escape.
Being alone was something else I always loved. There is a certain reverence in being with your own company that makes you forget reality. It makes you lose track of time, clears your head, and lets you ponder your thoughts alone.
But being alone and being lonely are two very different things.
I would know, seeing that I have gone through both — often at the same time.
Kids in class didn't like me because of my clothes or my distant behavior.
My parents didn't like me. In fact, they hated me for what I wasn't.
The only person who did was Levi. And he was stolen away from me.
From the day I moved out of my father's house, I vowed to find Levi — as though my life depended on it. Though I still didn't have any leads on him.
Because of this depressing routine I had set up for myself, I was beyond lonely.
So, I looked for my soulmate out there. I wished for the one who would complete my heart and fill the gaps in my life. The one who would be there for me whenever I needed him to be. The one who would love me just as much as I did him.
The one who would rid me of my nightmares.
Because every night was a routine of the same things — the flashes, the thoughts, and then the nightmares.
There were some days when I would get a dreamless, peaceful sleep, but that would only happen on the days when I was heavily injured.
I toss and turn more on my creaky bed, dodging thoughts that become more violent than the last, until sleep overcomes me — and takes me, yet again, to those pieces of my past that have been tucked away in the darkest corner of my heart.