Well… ha ha, not that good of a story. Just something I wrote while bored. Not the kind of thing I usually write, and thus not that great. This is AU insofar as Cosette knows all that stuff about her parents. Um… takes place while she's at the convent… I do not own anything Les Mis related.
I hate the part of myself that is his. I look at my hands, my arms, my feet. I feel my face, touching each feature, wondering which of them are his. I examine my thoughts, hoping they're nothing like his.
If I knew who he was, I'd slap him. If I knew his name, I'd write it on a piece of paper every night before bed, and then burn it. If I saw his face reflected in a miror, I'd shatter it. I hate him.
He abandoned us—my mother and me. We did nothing to him. Nothing. But he took his hate and hurt us with it. And he doesn't care that when he left, he left that hate with us. In us. I hate that man. I hate the face I would never recognize in a crowded street. I hate the voice that blends in with thousands of others. I don't know that man, but I hate him. I hate my father.
But more than I hate him, I hate that I hate him. Does that make sense? I hate that he can make me feel this way. That I can't even remember him, and he probably doesn't remember me, but he has such a control over me.
I know girls who love their fathers. They talk all the time about them. To those girls, their father means home. Safety. Love. Why couldn't I have had that? Why couldn't I have been born into some normal family with a mother and father and maybe some siblings.
If it wasn't for my father, maybe I could have.
I'm supposed to love my enemys. Does he qualify? I'm supposed to love my parents. Does he qualify? I'm supposed to turn the other cheek, pray for those that prosecute me, and love my neighbor as myself. It's hard, though. Maybe if I didn't live here, it would be easier. If I wasn't surrounded by nuns who try to live as closet to God as they can. Maybe it would be easier if I had other people to compare him to. Maybe.
All I can do is pray that God will turn my hate into forgiveness. What's done is done. It's in the past. Gone.
Forgiven.
Amen.