"Existence is the stain on reality's page." He Who Can't Be Named

  Entry #257 New Beginnings

  I was never meant to hope. I was never meant to have a choice, not in this life, damned if there’s a next. I was never meant to fall in love, not with him. Lastly, I was never meant to be a Husband. In these fickle mantras of what was never meant to be, a sudden sense of denial arises. It proves time and again cumbersome, this love. Trying to get water to stick to oil. A metallic thorn in my side, this feeling.

  A filling that can only be described as primal lies, and it waits. Despite those onset spikes of denial, hiccups in my marriage. I was meant to be a father.

  As a lone Inheritor. Curse his cruel, abominable name. A sly devil. Not a single paternal bone in his shell of a body. Hardly a father, if not by blood. But isn’t that a Father's defining quality? Blood, blood, is it not blood that makes me the jet-black handsome head of hair I am today? Without his golden leash around my neck? Thirty-four torturous years, and I fail to teach an old dog new tricks. You can’t teach a man long past his prime, nor can you convince him.

  Mabtali learns with a tireless effort.

  I learn the evolving business of worldwide car dealing give or take a few recreational business activities. Money is money. What's dead has been put to rest, a job well done. I can almost recall the breathtaking view, champagne in the air, the sun setting across the Tuscan horizon, a moment to die for. Here’s to death, a toast to letting the old dog die. (R.E.M Buy a new yacht, preferably midnight blue hints of Pegasus pearl white)

  Chapter 1: The Name of Life

  "ACHOO!" Sneezes the cutest onyx chrysanthemum of a girl as the meanest, grimiest greenest ooze of snot shot from her brown nose.

  Adena flinches as if the smallest micro-cannon in the world suddenly decided to misfire during a war to last a lifetime leaving the metaphorical barrel slightly red and agitated.

  A battlefield encased in ashes.

  Scratching her nose lightly after peering down at her small facial hill, she lets her lungs fill with air and other anomalies of soft reassurance. She realized her mistake and breathed out a sigh for the pending stampede in the coming sixty seconds. A quarter to the sound of what was supposed to be a blessed sign of life in the girl's spacious, cozy, yet soulless room.

  The buffest woman to grace the Mabtali manor's cillian halls, bulldozed in wearing cardigans up, business down.

  To any God-fearing man looking to get into Paula's fitted pants, they could tell from a glance that the woman meant business, even when her face showed a concerned , dependable, middle-aged housewife, and she was almost all of the above except for the housewife part.

  A quick pro quo, in recompense for Adena “going easy” on her when she first arrived at the estate as Paula had asked. Paula a farcry from Nanny Mcphee felt obligated to answer a few of the girl's questions, among those questions were.

  “Where you from?”

  “Columbia.” Paula answered.

  “Where in Columbia”

  “Bogota.” Paula answered.

  “Are you married?”

  “No.” Paula answered.

  “Do you have kids?”

  “No.” Paula had answered for the last time that morning in quick succession placating the child by saying, “How about we save some questions for later.” She wasn’t asking, and because she wasn’t asking Paula definitely wasn’t telling.

  To Adena’s disappointment, Paula had business to get to, she always meant business.

  Paula with her slicked-back ponytail and dark brown eyes of Colombian descent had burst into Adena's room meaning business, aiming her orbs of devastation at Adena lying on her enormous bed ten times her size with a frown, orbs of devastation referring to the first pair, above her torso.

  Having discovered the girl's eye for bullshit and customer service smiles that didn’t quite reach the eye. Paula vehemently bent the knee to the girl sitting in front of her, a girl no older than thirteen, hoping to come across as a knight in casual armor. Why not try to be subtle about her mistake? Barely noticeable, Adena couldn’t have noticed. How could she? Her face was… Staring up in Paula’s direction, not a good sign.

  Rather than make a bigger deal out of bursting into Adena’s room. Paula smiled, thinking Adena a clueless girl with a short fuse, a short temper, and a short attention span. She also thought she’d hit a bullseye when she made that assumption. She would never say those words aloud to maintain some sense of her dignity. A disgrace to her years in the NAC. Even now, a couple years in service, she couldn't quite come to terms with how she found herself at this estate on babysitting duty. Despite the stupefaction of what was now Paula's life, Adena wasn't going to babysit herself.

  “Mi se?ora,” Paula lowers her head theatrically, thinking Adena unfamiliar with the overdramatic telenovela, she tries to placate. "What ales you? Are you okay? Did you fall ill!?" Paula had thrown three questions at Adena sitting on her bed, legs crossed, eyes narrowed.

  "No." A gunshot, Ms.Mabtali’s brief response.

  Adena hadn’t spared Paula a glance. Her eyes glued to the door handle directly behind Paula, or the starry engravings on which the door held, maybe both. Her mind would wander, more often than not. The girl rarely saw Paula, for she was one of five assistants her father kept around for the past month because of the current circumstances. Unfortunate circumstances.

  Adena rarely saw anyone, her father included.

  The burly woman standing at her bed front could only be called an "assistant", for the one person to draw water, blood, and mountain for the charcoal-headed girl was her Father.

  “Papa.” Adena mumbled as her mind stumbled into a jumbled mess as she stewed over the name. A name fitting of her second acting father.

  Where was he? The man whom she’d given the title, an achievement, a trophy of the highest tier? And who or what gave Paula the right to barge into my room?

  "This is my private domicile, and I will not be harassed … Bitch!"

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  'Ignore that. I didn't say that.” I’m going to ignore that. She was sure she didn't say that, out loud.

  I didn't say that out loud. Did I?

  Prying her hazel eyes off her bedroom door, forcing down the fleeting rage filling her throat, a rage directed towards Paula for disturbing the peace and enacting the natural laws of house etiquette. Adena gritted her teeth the slightest bit to no one's acknowledgement, hopelessly sliding her eyes across the black and green flecks located on the black tissue from two minutes ago she didn't recall using.

  Adena mindlessly watched as green and black specks pranced about Paula's face to her torso. Noticing that her attention had gotten away from her while observing the shaded dust mites.

  "No, I'm fine Paula. How have you been? How's Papa!?" Adena blurted out in anticipation.

  Attuned to the young girl's odd behavior, Paula stood her ground to ask Adena, "Are you sure you're not coming down with something? I can always find someone downstairs to-"

  “I’m fine!” Adena raises her voice, stopping her hand from shooing Paula away.

  With a shy grin Adena let her mouth do the talking before her mind took the wheel. "I'm fine, remember, I'm starting "public" school. For the first time… You know, after being isolated for who knows how long. After begging to him, you know.” Adena didn’t want to make things awkward. Paula was always awkward when it came to talking about her parent’s.

  Noting the emphasis the doll put on the word “public,” Paula stopped herself from interrupting.

  “I'll meet ‘normal’ kids, people my own age, in their natural, ‘normal’ habitat. Now,” Eyes blooming with focus and determination, “About Papa!?” Adena spoke,, a short stop from hyperfixation.

  Paula giggled in a firm voice, straightening her spine from the previous fourteen-degree bowing position. She walked back to the engraved wooden door she had run through, which led to the rest of the grand Mabtali mansion—halting before exiting the room.

  Adena watched Paula think quietly to herself. Paula was bad at making conversation, but so was she. It was their common ground. Paula's eyebrows furrowed as she pondered how to carry out the conversation between the two.

  Adena sat silent in front of her book, moving her flowing black curls out of her face. And to Adena's wide-eyed surprise, Paula gave a reply instead of walking out.

  "He’s in recovery. I don't know the story as well as you do, but some recurring health issues didn't play well with last year's wave of COVID. He’s getting better. Soon. I know your birthdays are coming up, so don't worry.” Paula had said enough to douse Adena’s worry, her curiosity.

  Exiting Adena’s room, Paula had closed the door without a creak, which Adena would have applauded her for, on account Paula hadn't barged in unannounced.

  Throwing the book in her lap onto the floor with excitement, ignoring the brown specks that flittered off its cover, the giant thud the book made on impact.

  Unconcerned with the cruel tricks her mind decided to play on her. Adena beamed out of bed, shouting from the top of her lungs in Adousa’s absence. Jumping up and down on her black cloud for what she assumed to be five seconds. That five seconds turned out to be five minutes.

  When all was silent, Adena looked at the leather-bound history book that helped her return to reality.

  Why imagine a world when the real world was right in front of her? A world that could fit in the palms of her slightly bony hands.

  Hopping off her fluffy bed, Adena grabbed the expensive brown leather-bound book off the floor that she was supposed to return to her father's sacred study. A cherished secret between the two of them. Her heartbeat thumped with great anxiety from the memories of his long-seen eyes that could look down on her like she was, but a flame to be snuffed out if she blew in the wrong direction.

  Holding the limited-edition history book to her chest, Adena closed her eyes, conjuring happy thoughts that would flood in without a moment's notice. Wincing Adena buried the memories that caused her father's piercing eyes to look upon her volumized head with disgrace. 'Felix, Waffles, running, clouds' anything to keep the bad thoughts away. Before she could sing a line from her favorite K-pop boy group. The words, "Fucking idiot," came from her left ear in a condescending whisper without warning.

  “Shut up,” She mumbles to herself. “You're not going to ruin my day.”

  “Fucking idiot,” A whisper echoes from the dark shadowy tunnel that is her mind.

  Adena blocked a scowl of disdain from forming on her face after the intrusion on her train of thought. She raised her dainty legs one knee at a time from the cold red oak of the perfectly leveled hardwood floor to store the book in her dresser, a walk away from her bed and a meter away from the rectangular glass window, showcasing a world she couldn't wait to rejoin, for her father had hidden her away from society for the last time.

  “I’m going back to bed.” She decided.

  Impatient upon a new day's arrival, a day like the last but not the next.

  =

  A yawn escapes the putrid tunnel of unwashed mouth, scraping past the slightly unusual, elongated k-nines of a teenage girl. A girl helplessly entrenched in the white bed sheets, and four plump pillows with a touch unknown to the average man. Jumping out of bed with renewed vigor. I rejoiced today was one of the two days out of the week that Father allowed me phone privileges. It was an odd occurrence in 2021, but a girl does what she can with the best she has.

  "Huzzah!!!" I roared, walking to my window to pull back my pink curtains to reveal nothing but well-kept land and green grass in sight. I was high on life, ignoring the landmass that had encroached on the night.

  Be it dust or poster residue from last year's K-pop boy band. I was, how can I put it nicely? “Over it.” Not over Stray Kids, never! I’m over the specks.

  Specks and flecks galore lay across my bed, covering the hardwood floors, and every other surface gone untouched by the living. The different arrays of specks had conquered my room, and I’d made it my job to run around, hands waving madly in the air to send the critters back scrambling to where they came from.

  Shades of various colors lie around in piles without reason. I'll wriggle and worry about my least favorite “mild irritants” later when the day ends.

  “Nope,” not if I can help it.

  Over time, I’d gouged one small observation. Hints of black specks were on my bed, only slight traces of black were on my hands, and only small hints of black specks came out of my mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and pores. Anywhere with a hole. Paula probably thinks I'm crazy. The sheer amount of times I’ve fussed over her, not shaking them off before entering my room.

  These shades of black specks were unique to me, and you guessed it, maybe you didn't, "Adousa Mabtali," the chronicle father himself. I always thought it was odd, but you learn to live with it. I'm learning to live with it.

  After washing off the world's feces. Laugh all you want. Yeah, that's what I call them if not bugs.

  I brushed my teeth, grabbed my phone, and exited my cozy prison cell.

  In my defense, it only feels like a prison, because almost no one ever visits me. Isolation is fun until you lose track of time and your sense of self. That type of stuff. One time, I walked out of my room completely naked. Can you believe it? It’s wild… Very wild incident indeed.

  Anyway, I put on some black joggers and an oversized white shirt with a huge smiley face on its front. Fluffy socks to boot, don't judge me. I'm not going far if I can help it. Gliding down the staircase with the reflexes of a spry cat.

  I momentarily thought about sneaking into Papa's room, but he hates it when I see him in that state.

  He's not weak. "I'll fucking kill you," Adena mouths by mistake, the words having escaped her.

  It's just not a pretty picture. Papa's respirators beep every five seconds, tubes tucked away into his once spotless brown skin. Wiping a tear away at the image, I conjured the will that had fled me in the previous seconds.

  After an exercise routine in the workout room, "nothing too strenuous," recalling Father's words of wisdom. "The first two days of the week are for relaxation," he would say in his suave voice. I head outside to greet the sun and its hive of orange, white, and yellow specks that occasionally rain down from the sky with the sunshine. But the sun was bearable today, so that was good news.

  To think a star so far away would send down its fighter specks to give little ole me rash and sunburn. Nothing a bit of sunscreen can’t fix. But honestly, I was happy to get out of the house. Better to go outside than get in trouble for breaking another vase. I would do well not to break anything again. There’s no stern talking to, like an art collector's outtake on “the importance of respecting art.”

  I’m recalling a few moments that weren't my brightest, nothing too traumatizing. Oh yeah, I almost forgot my birthday, it’s in a few months. I wonder when Father will drop by. I barely see him in the morning. Well, this entire month.

  "It's fine. I'm fine!" It's not so bad…is it? I've been talking to myself this past month… more than usual.

  “'A lot.”

  Papa used to call Father his, “Nocturnal Animal," hopefully because of his love for the moon. Anything besides that thought process is -

  "Ew, Gross!”

  I know it seems like I'm all alone, living the whole Rapunzel, princess locked away never to be seen again type of life, but Papa checks in on me almost every night when he finds the strength. I know I make him out to be some old Hag, locking me away in a tower. That’s how it sounds. I promise you that’s not the case.

  “Papa knows best,” doesn’t he always. I’m sure I’ll get a reward for being the obedient, house rule-abiding daughter of the month.

  I could see his specks even with my eyes closed, the unique pattern that distinguishes Papa from everyone else, "I've remembered it by heart" one-of-a-kind. My mind may play tricks, yes, but never with specks. I could say that seeing specks gives me the upper hand in life. But I’d be lying.

  “Hand,” what was I thinking about again? That's right! Specks. If you focus on the shades, you notice the patterns. Papa and Father's specks both feel at home though opposites, “sun & moon” I would surmise. I miss my parents. I miss their bedtime stories. The way Papa held my head to his chest when the world became too much to bear. When I'd focus on the ever-flowing lush light in his eyes, watching the gentle soft blues run through his veins, earthy greens caress his skin, the sound of his strong and constant heartbeat against my ears but past the color. I miss his presence, I miss their presence, and I hate to say it, but I miss Father's presence, even the bone-chilling specks and flecks that come with him.

  This month's almost been the worst month of my life, but there are better days to come. I know it.

  "I can feel it!” Shout all I like, but that wouldn't make me any less nervous about attending high school. The crippling anxiety that'll come with being around people my own age. “Everyone can't be as nice as her.” She mutters trying to shrug off the notion of being delusional, “I'm not delusional.”

  Not always.

  (AUTHOR NOTE: latest edit: 2/27/2025)