I was born to be left behind. The first words out of my mother's mouth when I popped out like an egg were, "Oh just look at that turned up nose. Oh! She had an under-bite. This is wonderful. She will be the best daughter a mother could ask for! You just watch!" The smile that crossed her red, bumpy lips was one of love, but also one of envy. She wanted my hideousness, she wanted to receive the looks of disgust I got when I walked down the street. I always wondered why she felt this way, I mean, all I ever really wanted was to be pretty. I wanted to have the perfect curves and sparkling bronze skin. I wanted to have bright blue eyes instead of red ones and I wanted to be able to flash a perfect white smile when people passed by. I didn't ask to be a warlock; in fact I asked almost once a day not to be. I wanted to go to the local high school and try out for the Junior Varsity Soccer Team. I wanted to join stage crew and built the sets that transported people into other universes. I wanted to make friends and find a boy that was interesting to look at, and made me blush. I wanted to be normal.
But I accepted it. It would have been hell not to. Shadowhunters after me at every corner, vampires and werewolves coming by in secret to ask if I had a solution to their problems. They always stared at me when I said I had never learned the tricks of a warlock. What good was it to be one, they thought, if I chose not to use any of the benefits, like magic? I learned to smile at my red pupils flashing in our cracked mirror in the small loft we owned on 4th street. I learned to hide my claws in black leather gloves, claiming that they were the new style. I learned to smile with my mouth closed so no one could see my teeth. And most of all, I learned how to not be human. I learned to accept the fact that my mother liked to practice dark magic in the kitchen, and that every once and awhile I would hear the blood-curdling scream that accompanies death.
My family thought I had finally outgrown my desire to be someone I'm not.
So it came as a complete and utter surprise when I told them I was getting married. I didn't barge in and say, "Hey mom! Hey dad! Guess what? I met a nice warlock boy with black eyes and teeth made of silver! We're going to elope!" No, that wasn't it at all.
I came in slowly, letting my tension fill the room like a mist. Then I cleared my throat and let the words flow out, choppy and unsure.
"Hey guys," I started. "I just wanted to let you know that I've been seeing someone for the past few months… and we're getting married." I stuck out my hand and my mother took it, examining the diamond ring closely.
"This," she said warily. "Is not black."
"So?" I shrugged, but my heart was beating something fierce.
"All warlock's propose with a black diamond."
"I'm not marrying a warlock," I said stiffly, my voice catching at the end.
They didn't kick me out, as I expected. Instead a cold air set over the loft and I felt it day after night, until my wedding. No one but my sister came, and she stayed in the back of the procession, near the weeping willow tree. I had wanted an outdoor wedding, something nice and beautiful. I didn't even wear my gloves, and when my fiancé saw the claws, he hesitated for a moment, but then took one in his, and kissed it gently, his eyes full of tenderness. He had loved me for me. He really had.
But I was born to be left behind.
So it didn't come as a surprise when I found myself alone in an empty apartment seven months later, with nothing but a check for 100 dollars crumpled in my fist.
I may be alone again, but I will never forget you.
No matter how many times I'm left behind.
I won't forget.