Excitement and adrenaline flooded me with each bet. The bigger the win, the more euphoric the high. Those wins made me forget the low of losing. And if I remembered my failure, the idea of vindication seduced me, providing another type of intoxication.
It’s hard to believe I once thought those things were the pleasures that made my life worth living. I had no idea what true happiness was.
Having Lila was joy. Pure and unfiltered.
Losing her was agony.
I haven’t had time to fully process the rapture of getting her back. But I can’t imagine anything in life will ever top hearing her tell me she loves me. That I’m hers and she’s mine.
And knowing she chooses me.
Nothing better than that. There’s comfort in being chosen, just as there is to have a choice.
The first time I felt powerless was when I was four. Although I didn’t know what it was called, the feeling will always haunt me.
I had no say in my own future. My pleading tears were pointless. They changed nothing. Either nobody asked what I wanted, or my answer didn’t matter. If they’d have listened, they would have never taken me away from my brother. I’d never willingly leave him behind.
In my early twenties, I experienced another version of powerlessness—a retrospective type. I first felt it when I learned why Perry and I were put up for adoption.
There’s a fruitless longing that adds to the torment. It burns deeper because all the years between the inciting moment and the realization split the ache into two warring factions.
One begs for the chance to turn back time. The other simply begs for control.
Dammit,I wished like hell for the chance to plead my case before the decision was made. An opportunity to prove we were worthy of being chosen.
And being loved.
Sadly, I can’t reverse the course I was put on before I knew how to walk, talk, or wipe my ass.
The cards were dealt, and I had to play my hand.
Even broken, my heart kept beating.
I vowed never toput myself in a situation whereanother person could decide my fate.
Nobody would control my life but me.
Sadly, control is an illusion broken people cling to. All so they feel powerful, even if they’re just as weak as the next guy.
Like it’s Groundhog Day, I foolishly believed I could control the outcome today. This time, it would be different.
Once more, the illusion is shattered.
A monster holds our leash and is bringing us to heel. I can’t save Lila from this fate. And I can’t save myself from it either.
I’m utterly devoid of power, an inferno raging inside me with no mouth to set it free. A dragon made of paper.
The few options I have aren’t options at all.
Throw Lila into a car and drive her away, leaving our lives behind?
First, she wouldn’t go willingly. Second, innocent blood would be on our hands. Neither of us could live with it.
If that’s out, then maybe I could bum rush the compound in a gas mask with a bazooka on my shoulder.
Great way to die. And get everyone else killed in the process.
I haven’t come up with any other options that might have a better outcome. We’re well and truly fucked.
