Chapter Text
Look, I didn’t want to be a demigod. I don’t think anyone ever wanted to be one. It was something that was out of our control. Like how you can’t control who your parents are. You can’t wish that someone was your parent just like how I used to do because I absolutely despise my father. I hated my absent mother. I hated how I would pray every night for my mum to come back out of nowhere, apologising for disappearing, hugging me, telling me how much she loves me, and how she will finally take me away from my father. Or maybe that her return will make my father love me again.
Unfortunately, that never happened.
It never will.
Although, I do wish that was what happened instead.
My life was a whole ‘nother level of a mess. Or that’s how teenagers would usually describe their life which I always thought was an exaggeration because their life always seemed so much nicer, more peaceful.
This line sounds so cliché, but it all started with, well, self-awareness. Like, literally being self aware.
There was this guy whose therapist told him he was too aware of his actions to the point he understood and knew why he does the things that he does, but he just can’t help himself.
However, this is different.
Wait, I know I said it started with being self aware, but that might’ve been wrong now. Well, it’s correct, but it also started with my parents . . . You know what? Let’s just start from the beginning.
My name is Ezekiel Lloyd Gallagher, but my father calls me Azarael, saying that that’s what my mother wanted to call me. Whoever she is. But, my grandparents called me Lloyd. Irrelevant, but I just wanted to let you know, so that you’ll also call me that.
In my early years, as in when I probably shouldn’t be able to remember, which I don’t, just a few tiny bits of them, my father was nice to me. Like a father should be to his child. He truly acted like a father. He played his role bloody well. Until when I was around five. He started to change. He acted differently. More cold, more distant.
My father Ryan Gallagher is a successful businessman. His business had branches everywhere throughout the United Kingdom, sometimes even the United States, but most of the time we, or I, mostly lived in Manchester, sometimes in London whenever I’m left in the care of my grandparents while dad is usually travelling all over the country. Thankfully though, he enrolled me into a virtual school.
That was when he was a bit tame, though. Over the later years, he was getting worse. Coming home late (as usual), then immediately going to the bar we had in our house and drinking until he was incapable of thinking right. And if I try to talk to him when he’s drunk, he takes his anger out on me, most of the time he gets violent, but on good days he only screams verbal insults at me.
There were also times when I would ask him for help with some of my assignments and he would get mad at me for having a hard time reading the questions. It wasn’t my fault they looked like gibberish to me.
Everything that happened to me was never my fault.
My father refused to get me diagnosed with dyslexia, or even ADHD. I was finally diagnosed when I was seven, when my grandparents secretly brought me to a child psychiatrist. I ended up having to go weekly because I had a “problem.” My father didn’t mind that I had a problem. In fact, he wasn’t even surprised about it. It was as if he blamed all of his problems on me when I hadn't even done anything wrong.
Well, am I surprised? He always treated me as if I was the problem anyway.
I told my psychiatrist so many things, and he encouraged my “imaginations.” My grandparents did as well. They were really supportive, I loved it. Grams would always listen to me rant about how I saw this flying horse with wings and draw with me. Nana would bake a cake with decorations about these little water faeries. We would also shape cookie dough the shape of a man-horse thing I saw one time when my dad brought me to America with him.
I had a blast every session I had with my psychiatrist. He even managed to find toys about my “imaginations” and bought them for me. He would even let me touch his horns. Wait, horns? Oh, yeah. Now, I remember. He would always dress up as a man with legs of a goat and play around with me. He would also draw with me every session. He would even visit me at my grandparents’ house whenever I was there and spend time with us. He was a fun bloke. I always imagined him as my dad instead. I miss him.
When my actual dad found out, he destroyed all of my drawings by ripping them, throwing them all into the fireplace, stomping on a few. Then he yelled unforgivable words at my grandparents and dragged me out of the house as I wailed and cried, calling for them to stop him from taking me away from them. I even tried holding on to the door frame as an attempt to stop him.
Obviously, I failed.
I didn’t see them again after that hell of an event.
My dad stopped letting me visit my grandparents in London and made me live in Manchester permanently. He hired a nanny to take care of me and enrolled me into a private school. I argued with him every chance I got. I talked back, I gave sarcastic remarks, I yelled at him, I cursed at him, I despised him. I hated having to see his stupid face.
He was rarely home anyway.
In school, I could’ve been at the top of my class. My only problem was that I couldn't quite read the questions, and the teachers were okay with that. Only my classmates weren’t. They would always send rude remarks my way about it, about how both my parents were absent, how my mum abandoned me and left me to my dad who also abandoned me. I don’t know how they find it funny, honestly. They should be grateful they have two present parents in their life. I would do anything for that.
They went on and on about it. About my dyslexia, about my ADHD, about how my grades were so low even though I was basically great at everything. I won awards, I won the swimming competition, I won the spelling bee, I won the race, I had victory everywhere. I never lost. But, that didn’t matter to them. I was still a loser in their eyes.
Until they found out I was rich.
Suddenly, everyone wanted to befriend me.
I was getting so much attention. They were finally paying attention to me, they were praising my work, how smart I was, how I had no problem in Physical Education, etc.
I didn’t know how to react to it.
It felt... weird.
I was suddenly the popular kid. Always surrounded by new faces.
Everyone would praise me if I answered a question correctly.
Everyone would sit at the same table as me during lunch.
Everyone would want to hang out with me.
Everyone greeted me whenever I walked by.
Everyone always tried to talk to me.
Everyone would give me a gift when there’s a special occasion.
Everyone was the same two-faced character.
It was like that for a few years.
Then, when I was 9, my father suddenly brought home a baby.
I was at school when he dropped by. Like, literally just dropped by. He rang the doorbell, Nanny Teresa opened the door, Father gave Teresa the baby, and left.
I was furious when I found out.
I hated how he just left a baby at our front door.
I hated how he didn’t even stay for a cup of tea and perhaps even a scone.
I hated how he didn’t even stop by at my school to say hi.
I hated how he started to leave just like mum did.
I hated how he never spends time with me anymore.
I hate how we always fight.
I hate how he hired a nanny because he didn’t have time want to take care of me anymore.
I hate how he enrolled me into a private school because he didn’t have time to teach me want to waste his time on me.
I hate how we can’t just be a normal family.
I hate how easily he left.
I hate how I always woke up with new-found hope that he would come back and fix everything.
Sorry, I got ahead of myself there. I’ll try my best not to do that again.
Teresa kept apologising as tears made their way to her chin. I couldn’t understand why she was sorry. I was angry, she had no right to apologise. She had done nothing wrong. I blamed everything on my father. I stared at the baby in her arms who was wailing. As if it understood it was abandoned, simply left at a doorstep. I doubt she was even given a name.
I took the baby from Teresa, and it calmed down, stared at me, then fell asleep. As if I was something comforting.
The nanny stopped speaking, but I didn’t notice. Like how I didn’t notice I was crying as well. When I had her in my arms, I didn’t realise how much it broke my heart to see her cry.
I don’t know how, but I could tell she was a girl. At least, she looked like a girl. Again, I don’t know how I could tell when all babies looked the same to me.
The baby was wrapped in soft, pink linen, which is probably another reason why I could guess she was a girl. Instead of snoring, she was cooing.
She reminded me of a baby kitten I found that was the runt of the litter and was simply abandoned by its mother on the streets. It was wandering alone, it was so small I pitied it and brought it home. We had to bottle feed it every two hours. It was tiring, but I was happy to have saved a life.
That happiness ended a bit too early, however. He died after two weeks. He was a black kitten, mind you. I named him after me, Azarael, because he reminded me of me, abandoned by his mother at such a young age, and the black sheep of society. His appearance was also quite similar to mine, black hair and blue eyes. He was pretty. He was, by far, the best thing that came into my life.
Anyway, we’re straying a bit too far from the topic.
The baby’s eyes were a beautiful shade of indigo blue, just like mine. She resembled me and my dad. She was definitely my full blooded sister. An uninvited thought entered my mind, what if dad met mum again? No. If they did, wouldn’t she at least visit me? Ask dad how I am or where I am? That's the least she could do as a mother. Not just give birth to children and then abandon the family she started with my father.
I rocked the baby gently in my arms, unintentionally humming as I did. I named her Vanny, short for Vanessa since my dad didn’t tell Teresa if he named her.
The next day, Teresa fetched me from school and headed to the store to buy the necessities for Vanny. I tried picking clothes for her, but Teresa kept taking them out of the trolley. Were the clothes I picked bad?
We bought a beige pram, toys, some bibs, milk bottles and formula, and wet food for babies that looked absolutely revolting. Seriously, one of the food we bought looked terrifyingly close to vomit.
There was this nursery crib we bought, and this table thingy for changing her nappies, which you won’t find me doing in a while. Teresa also bought a wardrobe for Vanny’s clothing, which was so small. The wardrobe had different colours on its doors, yellow, blue, green, and red. But the rest was simply white.
There was also this, uh, what was it called again? Its name is pretty complicated . . . Oh, yeah. A Fisher-Price Sit-Me-Up Floor Seat. Who named it? He should not be proud of himself.
Back at home, we decorated an unoccupied room in our house just for Vanny. I didn’t think it would be so tiring, we kept having to take care of Vanny throughout the process as well. Sheesh, now I'm set on not having any children in the future.
Her brand new (well, it’s her first) room was decorated in pastel colours, one wall had a pink polka-dot wallpaper, another was plain yellow, the wall where the crib was had a blue wallpaper with waves on the bottom. The window was decorated with curtains that had a cat pattern, wish it was mine instead to be honest.
In her crib had a bunny plushie, and the drawer nearby had a twirling ballerina that was playing a lullaby.
She even had a bedside table with a cute Toy Story themed lamp. Basically a hand-me-down lamp from me.
I was going to make sure Vanny would have the most luxurious life ever.
I would do anything to make her happy and content with life.
A few months after Vanny's arrival, we decided to take a picnic at this public park where you can hike.
The spot we picked looked like a normal garden in someone’s back lawn. Well, a castle’s front lawn because it was enormous.
Teresa laid down a yellow picnic mat while I held Vanny in my arms. She was wrapped in a beige loin cloth with a sunflower hair clip pinned close to her face. It makes sense because she’s a newborn and she doesn’t have any hair yet, you know what I mean? Of course you knew that. What am I rambling on about?
The chilly breeze brushed my face, the trees surrounding us rocking along with me as I attempted to keep Vanny from waking up. Our spot was near a waterfall with a little pond, so I was a bit worried the loud splashes would wake her up.
The sun was hot on my skin, but the cold wind managed to balance it out. The flowers on the bushes and surrounding us were blooming, probably because it’s the middle of spring.
When Teresa was done setting up the mat she started bringing out the food from the picnic basket that was decorated with blue ribbons. She took out some macaroons, sandwiches, strawberries and some other fruit cut in a cute manner. Like, the apples were sliced into these bunny looking things, the strawberries were hearts, pineapples as stars, and so on.
She also baked red velvet cupcakes, my favourite. Well, to be honest, everything I liked was red. My preferred fruits are red like strawberries, apples, pomegranates . . . except raspberries. They taste awful.
When I was sure Vanny wouldn't wake up crying again, I laid her back on the pram and started helping Teresa lay out the food.
She also brought powdered donuts, another of my favourites. There was a vessel filled with biscuits. More specifically butter cookies. There was another food container but with cake pops. I brought out a jug filled with orange juice. Don’t ask me about Vanny’s food by the way. We have a whole separate bag just for her stuff, and it’s also got milk bottles. So, don’t worry about her. Pretty sure she still can’t eat any solids, considering she’s only around five months old.
The sweet aroma mixed with every food present was wonderful. The atmosphere was lovely, the flowers surrounding us, this was going to be those ‘what a memory’ memory. It was like paradise.
The blooming yellow, red, and blue flowers on the grass and bushes around us, the trees swaying with the wind, the clear blue sky with the sun shining on our faces, the people I loved and cared for were with me, the waterfall splashing onto the pond nearby, it was as if a lovely painting came to life. Everything was perfect.
Speaking of painting, there was an upcoming art contest that I joined. We were to submit a painting that would then be displayed in the gym, then students would vote for the ones they liked the most. The winner would be prized with an award. It may not be much, but I would really like awards and trophies and honour. Maybe that way dad would notice me, and if mum ever comes back, she’d be so proud of me and hug me and–Sorry, I almost got carried away there. Where was I? Oh, yes.
Fortunately, I brought my art supplies in case we were to stumble upon this beautiful scenery.
After quite a feast of some snacks, I took a stroll around the area to find the perfect place to place my easel stand and start painting. I found a spot that captures both the pond and our picnic.
So, I got to painting. Or, er, well, sketching.
I started drawing the outline of everything on the canvas beforehand.
I finally made progress on sketching, my arts teacher would be proud, and Teresa. I didn’t even get to show it to her.
Then, I got to painting.
My surroundings were truly mesmerising, it’s a shame the garden was probably destroyed.
My artwork looked ethereal, the way I portrayed the garden was like paradise. I attempted to copy the art style like it was the 1700s.
Teresa was playing with Vanny in the background, her small giggles filled the air.
I was happy for once.
I wanted to be an artist when I grew up, and with the money I made with my artworks, I would buy whatever Vanny wanted.
She didn’t deserve to be born into this family.
All I asked for was her to grow up healthy and well.
I just wished for her to be happy.
But, I guess the world said I was asking for too much.
Even the gods didn’t want me to be in happiness for long.
Not soon after I heard screaming from Teresa, I turned around to see what was happening and found a monster towering over her, she was shielding Vanny with herself.
