It started when I was 6.
But I guess you need to know what happened before that. To be honest it really must've began when Sevda Evren, my Mother, married Kadir Adnan, my Father. It feels really strange calling them my parents now. I've grown to feel that they became strangers that raised me, no; to say that they raised me doesn't fit. They married each other out of love and had a cheery little baby.
They named me Sadi.
The first few years they were so happy; so happy that they'd been blessed with such a joy. They looked like the perfect family. They spent all the time they could together raising their adorable baby girl. She was strong, happy and loved. Everything was fine; copasetic. Mommy was a teacher, Daddy was a lawyer.
And then the fighting started.
I never found out why it started, nobody ever told me. I'm sure the problems started before I turned 6 but that was when I found out about it. I was supposed to be asleep but I woke up and I was thirsty. I went to my parent's room but they weren't there. And then I heard something breaking downstairs. It's stupid to go to the source of a mysterious noise but I was six and my parents weren't around. I crept downstairs and my parents were in the kitchen talking in urgent, angry hushed whispers. There was a broken bottle of wine with its contents spilling out all over the floor but I paid no mind to it. I let out a startled gasp when my Father slammed his hand down on the counter and everything went quiet. My Mother hissed something at my Father, picked me up and took me back to bed. I asked her why Mommy and Daddy were fighting and she told me that it was nothing to worry about. I may have been six but I knew she was lying.
Her tears gave her away.
Soon the fights became more and more often, much louder. They knew I knew so they saw no reason to hide it. I'd lay awake at nights listening to the screaming, the yelling, and the occasional breaking of glass. I'd fall asleep praying that I'd still have both of my parents in the morning. For 2 years they fought, sometimes Daddy would hit Mommy and they would retreat from each other. They'd grown apart and I was left in the middle trying to make them happy. Be Mommy's angel and Daddy's little girl. From the outside, we were still the perfect family.
On in the inside, we were quickly drowning.
When I'd come home from school, Mom would be doing chores or reading. She'd read me stories and I'd tell her about my day. When Daddy came home it'd be after dinner, of course, those were the days when he did come home. Mom would send me to my room for the rest of the night while she argued with Dad. When it was over and Mom had locked herself away in her room I'd come to discover that Dad plunged himself into drunk slumbers.
One day, everything went to hell.
I loved my Mom dearly; she was the most important person to me. She taught me how to dance, how to sing. She loved me so much so when it happened, I didn't understand.
I didn't understand why she left.
It was the last time I ever saw her, the last time I talked to her. It seemed like a day that Daddy dearest wasn't going to come home but I was wrong. The moment he came home stumbling drunk, Mom gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me she loved me and sent me to my room. I knew something was wrong and she knew too. Dad never came home so early and so drunk. I was 10.
I didn't sleep that night.
There was a thunderstorm that night, I remember. It was the worst fight they'd ever had. I hid in my closet trying to ignore all the screaming and yelling. I don't know how long it lasted but it ended with a drunken yell from my Dad, another smashing lamp, a slamming door and the sound of the car pulling out of the driveway and speeding down the road through the pounding rain. It was my Mom who left.
Then the call came.
It was from the police. I didn't understand at the time why my Dad sobered up so quickly. Why he looked so pale when he hung up. Why he hugged me tightly telling me how sorry he was. Why he was crying. Why I'd never see my Mother again.
She'd driven too fast and the car slipped and swerved off the bridge.
It hurt. And I became quiet and reserved. I didn't smile, I didn't talk, and I didn't sing nor dance. I was just there. I couldn't hate Dad and I couldn't forgive him either. Dad still worked but didn't do much else except drown himself in alcohol and anti-depressants. I did everything around the house and took care of myself. I'd indulge myself with the occasional not-so-accidental cut. It was my secret sin. It was like that for a few years.
But then my Aunt made an unexpected visit.
I was 13 and dear Lord, teaching myself how to deal with my period was horrifying. But that aside, she was on my Mom's side and lived in France. Dad had been pushing off her calls and not replying her emails and letters. I hadn't seen her since Mom's funeral. It was only a matter of time before she came but I didn't expect her to come on one of /those/ days.
/Those/ days were never good.
/Those/ days were the days when Dad had a bad day, which came around a couple times a month. That day was an exceptionally bad one. Dad lost a case so he went out and drank like usual. But that time he came home rip-roaring drunk and trashed the house. Of course I'd collected all of Mom's old stuff that was important and hid it away in my room. He didn't come into my room; he always stayed away from me. As if I'd judge him or remind him of Mom. He eventually passed out in the living room from too much booze and pills. I secretly hoped that one day his bad habit would kill him.
Too bad it hasn't happened yet.
My Aunt came in through the open door. Dad never locked it so I always did but I didn't that day. I never went near Dad when he was trashing the place. I was in my room at the time, ear buds in my ears, doing homework with the sweet sound of Chopin and Mozart blocking the outside. My Aunt must have awoken my Dad (hopefully with a kick) since I heard them both arguing all the way up to my room. The strange thing about my Dad is that he could get wasted in no time flat and sober up even faster. Sometimes it made me wonder if he was ever even that drunk.
The look on Aunt Feriha's face was priceless.
I stared at her with a blank look as if nothing in the world was wrong. She told me to pack up whatever I could before leaving signalling Dad to follow. He gave me a levelled gaze before turning and following Aunt Feriha. I didn't understand what that look meant, I still don't. He didn't try to keep me with him; he let my Aunt take me away.
He let me go.
I moved to Marseilles where Aunt Feriha lived. I took what I could and later Dad sent whatever was left of mine. He didn't say goodbye or sorry or anything. It was as if he wanted me gone. I didn't really care though. Marseilles or Ankara, it didn't matter. Downside was that she had a son, Sadiq. I couldn't help but laugh at the similar taste in names between her and Mom. Sadiq, Sadi. I think it was the first time I laughed in years.
It felt good.
Marseilles was good for me. I got out of the suburbs and into the country. Fresh air, green fields, blue skies, colourful flowers; it made me smile again. Sadiq was nice to me though it was sort of awkward. I got a job at a flower shop, it made me feel warm; being surrounded by all the colors. I stopped cutting.
And then I met him.
His name was Gupta, I know, funny name. He was quiet but not shy. I'd started to talk and smile again and the pain of losing Mom ebbed down a lot. He wasn't like anyone else, he was different (shoot me please for the cliché) and I wanted to be his friend. Thankfully he didn't mind.
He was a good friend.
'Was' being the key word. We went through college and most of lycee together, the best of friends. We were the odd pair but no one paid much mind to us. He was exceptionally smart and had lost his Mom too; I think that gave us common ground to stand on. Gupta was like the brother I never had.
I wish he was still alive.
Gupta, on the outside, didn't seem like the wreck he was on the inside. He'd tell me about his troubles and I would listen, relate and comfort him. His Dad was constantly pushing him to be what he didn't want to be. Being the son of a Congressman wasn't easy. Gupta was smart, but not smart enough for his Dad. I hated his Dad. It was the year before Graduation that he left.
He killed himself.
The day before he told me how he was going to be free someday. How good it would feel to be free. He told me how thankful he was to have me as a friend. It felt like he was saying goodbye and later I realized that was exactly what he was doing. If I had known, I would have stopped him.
I wish I did.
It was all over the news. 'Son of Congressman jumps off building'. The school building to be precise, the one where we'd always sit on talking about all the things we'd do. Where he said goodbye, where he said he was going to be free, where he plunged to his freedom.
It hurt like it did when Mom died.
Aunt Feriha started treating me like a little child. I hated it. I drew away from her which made her smother me even more. I started cutting again out of spite. I ignored her best I could and Sadiq became my 'brother' in a way. The awkwardness evaporated and he was always there for me.
He helped me escape.
After I graduated I left. I used the money I'd saved up from my job and some help from Sadiq. About a month after Graduation, I hopped on a plane to Canada and I got to Ottawa. I didn't tell Aunt Feriha but I left a 'thank you' note. She didn't have power over me anyways. She was my Aunt, not my Mom. And I was 18 anyways.
Then I met those two.
I stayed in a hotel for a few days while I found a permanent residence. I came across an ad that was offering a room in an apartment. I called and met with the other two people that were staying in the apartment.
There was something about them.
Of course my first thought of them was how strange they were. They were best friends and obviously they'd known each other for a while. It reminded me slightly of Gupta and that dull throb of pain made itself known for a short while. But they made me smile, made me forget. I wanted to know these people.
Gary and Gilbert.
Sure it's not the smartest thing to do; a girl moving in with two random guys. But I felt like I could trust them, like I could be with them. It took me a while to come out of my shell that I had built around myself after Gupta died. I didn't let anyone in except Sadiq. But those two walked through my shell like it was nothing, maybe because they weren't looking at it but looking at me.
It was mind boggling.
But I became sucked into their antics, I became one of them. And I didn't care at all; I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Gilbert was loud, rambunctious, slightly conceited and obnoxious but somehow I can live with him. Gary on the other hand is I guess the opposite. Before I knew it, I'd opened up and let them in, something I've rarely ever done. And what keeps me amazed is the fact that they did it so effortlessly. I hadn't cut since Graduation.
I love them so much.
They're my best friends and I came to love Gary in more ways than one. It was funny how I fell in love considering all the shit that happened to me but I'm not complaining.
I'm finally happy.