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Mibba

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My Prince Loki

Chapter 14

WARNING: This chapter contains Animal Cruelty

After the funeral I was taken in to my Mother’s lawyer. After the usual greetings and the, “I’m sorry for your lose” phrase I had heard continuous of times that day, I was told that my Mother had left every one of her belongings to me.

The house I had lived in my whole life had been sold along with all the furniture with all the profits going towards me. This was the same with, “Sarah’s delights” which was sold to a local couple whose names I don’t care for. Although I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the money as her condition in her last Will and Testament was that all of it had to be put towards my college fund.

The only things I was allowed to keep were was her jewellery, her music and limited soft toy collection. The photographs of my childhood and her’s I also kept.

Her other condition was that I had to live with my legal guardian till I was eighteen. On my Mother’s last Will and Testament though my legal guardian was outlined as my Grandmother, so they had to found another living relative I could live with. My Mum had specified she didn’t want me living in an orphanage or through the foster care chain if she was to pass away.

It took about three long months to find a relative that would take me in. Through those three months I felt sick all hours of the day. Because I knew that my Mother’s side of the family were all gone. I knew I was practically alone in this world. I had been told over and over again after my Mother had died that I wasn’t alone. I still had a group of supportive friends like Billie and Jenny, which I value to this very day, but it wasn’t the same as having a Mother or a true family of my own.

So when they did find someone just near the start of the forth month I was relieved along with being a little confused.

I met her the day after they had told me they had found her. She was my Father’s Mother, Janet Miller and she seemed like a lovely lady. The first time I met her I was brought into a tight embrace with a promise that she would care for me as if I was her own. She held my hand and helped me back up my things into boxes with a kind smile that always seemed to be larger when there were people around us.

But as soon as I left my foster family, as soon as I pulled out of that driveway, she was cold and told me she didn’t want to hear my voice or ever be in her presence. I was told to stay in my room when I was in her home and to only come out when she was asleep, outside or watching television.

I was told I had to buy my own food and clean my own clothes, I wasn’t allowed to eat her food or was I able to use her washing machine.

I was told I needed to find some sort of job as she would not support a “brat” like me.
And that was my life from that day forward, my life with what I grew to refer as The Other Grandmother or The Other for short.

All my good grades didn’t mean anything to that woman and neither did my rebelling. I wasn’t loved by her at all. Whenever she looked at me with those aqua eyes all I saw was jealously and hatred.

This look at the beginning confused me rather than hurt me. This was mainly due to the fact that when she would take out me to church (the only thing the two of us did and was what I grew to realize was her grand performance) she would smile at me, talk of me to her fellow Christians like I was the best that had ever happened to her.

“She’s a gift to me.” She would say.

No one would notice the looks she would give me after she said this or how her eyes seemed to darken in hatred.

“Satan’s curse.” Was what I heard in her stare and when she was talking to her out of wedlock affairs. That’s what she really thought of me.

And I took comfort in that title. To me it reminded me I was still seen. I wasn’t that invisible in the prison I considered myself in. Like a prisoner I used to celebrate every passing year till I was eighteen, till I was out of that hell.

I became oddly numb to the pain of her neglect. Affection was a distant thing in the past I used to relish myself in, things I used to escape to.

It was one of the reasons I really started to read more.

Granted I wasn’t allowed to mainly due to the fact her books were her’s, but every night after she fell asleep I would pinch a book out and quietly read it for two hours before going back to my mattress on the floor. Reading for me was like a plane ticket out of my cold empty room to a place where there was adventure I wanted to face. My favourites at the beginning were the Narnia and the Lord of the Ring books mainly because they were such different places from where I was.

I never got into Harry Potter because to me his world wasn’t really that different from my own. He was ignored while he lived with the Dursley’s and treated like shit and his only escape, like me, was school where people loved him. But unlike Harry I kept my sadness to myself, I knew no one could help me, I had to help myself.

Although at the very beginning I did turn to people for help out of the hell I lived in. At first I talked to the child welfare people but The Other of course orchestrated it all. I was deemed just a typical teenager complaining about everything. I then turned to her church, again another mistake on my part as I got the same result as the first time. I then tired Billie’s Mother. She did believe me and was nice enough to send Billie with extra lunch on days I let her know I was struggling.

But I wanted to get out, not helped.

My Mother’s Will was stuck in place along with the promise of going to college in the future. At the beginning though, I didn’t care for college, I just wanted out. I actually resented my Mother and her stupid Will, it was her stupid rule that kept me here.

Some days I considered contesting the Will like Jenny had suggested but I didn’t want to try. I knew the result. The Other was too good of an actress and would screw the system over just as her son had.

And then there was the other question of where I would go. Billie’s family was stuggling, Jenny had no room in her small house, Mike had too many people in household and Christine’s family life was as shit as mine when I was five.
I was stuck.

I think it was one of the reasons why I looked out for Loki again. While I did have some support from my friends group at high school, I didn’t feel it was enough. I wanted my Prince back so desperately. It started off with me praying desperately every night for Loki to come get me before I went to sleep. I would do this, not by grasping my hands together glazing up the roof.
I would pray to the rose Loki gave to me.

The rose still bloomed and changed its petals to the changing of the seasons. The rose didn’t need any water or light to survive as I grew to realize as it spent its days with my other possessions in the cardboard boxes I used as storage. The pricks still didn’t harm me when I touched them. I believed, because of this reason, he still cared for me where he was and, if I talked to it enough, he would come and save me.

I believed he would take me away from her to Asgard, just as he had said all those years ago when my Father and Mother were yelling. Somewhere where I believed I would be safe and people wouldn’t hate me for just existing.

I did this so much that I began praying to him in my dreams.

The dream setting would always be in a pitch black empty room with The Other’s vile and croaky voice echoing off the walls. I would always be spreading my arms in front of myself trying to outrun the noise and found an exit. I would yell out to Loki to let me out, to save me from her. At first I got no answer but after a while he started replying although the phrase never changed.

“I can’t.”

At first it would be spoken with such plainness but as I got more frantic with my pleas, they got nastier. He still said the same phrase but it came out in snarls of angrier then to shouts that would always wake me up shaking wanting to cry.

But no tears would come.

I became obsessed with wanting to get out that I would research Norse Mythology and Viking history. I found out that the way to get the God’s attention was to sacrifice an animal. The Vikings mainly used livestock, but since I didn’t have any livestock, I did what I thought was the next best thing.

I got so desperate that I killed The Other’s next door neighbor's cat by throwing stones at it.
I’m not proud of it; I cringe every time I think about my actions. When I was doing it I flinched the whole time not wanting to look, not wanting to hear the impact sounds as I chased after it. The cat’s cries faded after a while and when I was finished I set it on fire shouting to the Asgardian Gods for my God of Mischief to come back and take me somewhere safe.

And when I got no reply I just felt extremely hollow kicking the remains into her rose bush. When The Other’s next door neighbour came home I lied telling her some stranger had killed her cat by burning it alive. I felt hollower when I saw the elderly woman fall into a mess in front of me and how much I wanted to cry with her…

… But for all the wrong reasons.

My Loki dreams dried up after that and like that, I gave up. I decided then that I needed to stop thinking people were going to come and save me. I needed to keep my head held high and just get on with life.

No one in my friends group was missing meals, none of my friends knew what it was like to be ignored and treated like anything, They may knew how it felt to be treated like nothing which was always something someone could explore in, but not how I felt. I don’t even think there’s a word that I could describe how I felt.

I grew, like with my tears, to bottle up my feelings and cover them up. I would go at the world with a smile or with a sarcastic wit never letting myself ever look back at my past or fully at what I had to deal with.

It was the reason why I cut all my hair off. My long black hair was attached to memories where my departed love ones stroking it or telling me how beautiful it was. I wanted to leave it all behind and by cutting so it was just black shaven pricks on my head I felt at the time was a way of starting a fresh.

I’m not anyone’s Princess, I’m just Louisa Miller and that’s what I want.

I thought I had everyone fouled and I was going to continue being independent in my ignored silence but clearly it wasn’t meant to happen. In my final years of senior high my English teacher decided to assign me a counsellor through the school. This counsellor wasn’t like the ones I dealt with when I was nine who wanted me to draw my feelings out. Nor was this counsellor like the impatient one I dealt with when I was five.

She didn’t mind sitting in silence or being yelled at and she saw straight through what she considered my ‘shield’. I gave in one day and spilled things up like the abuse my Dad put me through, thinking and knowing that would give the psychologist her dose of, “poor hurt Louisa.”
I didn’t want to talk about Loki, but because I half-hearty gave her permission one day to look into my files, she found out about my Prince. I didn’t like talking about him as it made me feel extremely hollow so when I did talk of him it was just short impatient answers.

When it came to the sixth session I actually walked out because of how much attention she wanted to have on him.She was so focused on looking at my imaginary friend and analysing him, I felt she wasn’t looking at me how I was.


As I stated before, I didn’t want to look back at him. He just made me feel sick and sad; I didn’t want to see that part of my life again. I felt and still feel that my childhood with Loki was confusing and had felt like a rollercoaster.

There were points where I felt everything was fine and our friendship was prefect. He was supportive and loving; he let me cry and would always appear to have my needs first.
But other times I didn’t like him at all. He never stopped my Father’s fists; he never appeared to others to prove I wasn’t delusional. He’s presence caused me to put on schizophrenic pills and he disappeared without even saying goodbye.

I never went back to that counselor for those reasons. I was too scared and over the past or present to look at it.

I just wanted to focus on what was in front of me.

Notes

Notes:

SO SO Sorry for the long wait! But this chapter REALLY needed two re-writes before I believed it was ready.

I hated writing this chapter so much, mainly due to the animal cruelty thing.

I’m a massive cat person and I like to believe Louisa is too along with being an all-round animal lover. So to kill a cat was just as painful and dark for her as it would be for me.

I’m sorry if I’ve offended or angered anyone by making Louisa do such an act but it was there to show how desperate she was to have her ‘Prince’ back.

After this chapter such cruelty will not be in this story.

If you have any criticism, please let me know.

The next chapter will be, I hope, a lot less depressing then the past four chapters. It might also take a while to be uploaded as I haven’t written it yet :/

Scratchet xo

Comments

I love this so much. It is so good. :)

Natasha Barton Natasha Barton
10/25/16

I LOVE IT! Pretty please update xx

DaisyChain DaisyChain
5/11/15

Pleas update! I've read this so much, it's become a part of me. I feel like louisa is my long lost sister of sorts.

Arianna Arianna
2/19/15

I stumbled on this one night back in April and didn't stop until I finished reading all your posts at 5am. Love your writing, really looking forward to your next update :)

Golden Ebony Golden Ebony
8/16/14

Holy crap I've spent all day reading this story. YOU SIMPLY MUST UPDATE SOON!!

SerenitySpeaker SerenitySpeaker
7/20/14