Happy Fuckin' New Year (Part B)

The climax at the house of horrors occurred after New Year’s Eve. I had returned home from spending it with friends and Burt was suspiciously in a good mood and wanted to know about my night. “Did you have a fun New Year’s Eve?” he questioned me with a smile.

“Yes, it was great, thank you.”

He continued, still smiling, “Did you toast in the New Year with some bubbly?”

Of course, I got absolutely shit-faced, but since drinking was against the rules, I would have never revealed that detail, yet still I stupidly replied, “Just a sip, ya know, for the toast.”

His smile instantly turned into an angry frown. “That’s it! You have crossed the final line!” (I was trying to think of the other lines I skipped to get to this final one.) “You are going to be on the next plane home! I am calling your counsellor right now!” It was so utterly bizarre that I wasn’t sure what just happened; it was like entrapment by Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. Margaret had the most despicable smirk on her face, as if watching her husband try and ruin my life turned her on. Luckily, my counsellor was amazing and was quick to extinguish the fire on that phone call. I could tell that Burt’s lack of power to have me sent home annoyed him to the greatest extent. He looked up at me and ended with, “You are grounded until further notice!”

About 2 long weeks had gone by – being grounded during school holidays was torture in that house, especially when Margaret was there ALL-THE-TIME, ready to degrade me whenever it suited her needs. I actually began to develop suicidal thoughts after awhile. I felt like those 4 months would never end and it would be easier to just kill myself. All I did was get up, eat, check the mailbox, and then go to my room to lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling; I had way too much time to think and I went a little nuts.

Did I mention it was my 17th birthday? Right... it didn't exist, really. Apart from my parents calling, I spent it in my room. My boyfriend delivered flower to the house, which was sweet, but I'm sure that was some kind of punishable offence as well.

After the third week, the student that had gone to my school back home (and became one of my good friends), was arriving home – which happened to be about 2 hours from where I was staying. I mentioned to Margaret that my friend was coming home and she actually sat down with me and helped me plan out how I was to get to my friend’s town. It was probably the only time Margaret ever showed interest in anything I did.

The morning came when I was to go; I had gotten ready early and was on my way out the door when Margaret cut me off. “WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“To my friend’s welcome home party; it’s today.”

Her triple chin wobbled like a rooster as she yelled at me, “I never said you could ‘actually’ go! Get back to your room! You aren’t going anywhere today!”

WHAT THE FUCK? This woman was seriously sociopathic! I honestly thought that she must suffer from split personality disorder, or something! I couldn’t explain why she got off on being so evil to me. Something inside me snapped that moment. I didn’t get to go see my friend that day, but I did run out of the house and down the street. I could her Margaret yelling at me to get back in the house. She was so furious that her warbling voice was cracking. I needed to breathe fresh air. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t remember ever experiencing such anger and detest for anyone or anything before; it was over-whelming. It must have been a panic attack. After about 10 minutes of pacing around the block, I was able to calm down enough to return back to the house and go to my room. Margaret must have heard me return, as I slammed the door as hard as I possibly could, but she never came after me again... that day.

The week after that, school started and the last few weeks of my sentence with them went a lot quicker. When they delivered me to my next family, I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. The new family offered them to stay for a coffee and my eyes widened in panic. Luckily, they declined and if was up to me, I would have never seen the pair of those fucked up people ever again in my entire life.

The drama with them didn’t end that day, however. Their vendetta against me continued long after I had left their house. Why? Where their lives that pathetic? Apparently so! When I was away on a school trip, they had gone behind my counsellor’s back and called an emergency meeting with the Board. They told the Board that I was a dangerous person that tried to stab them with a knife and threw furniture at them! I’m not exaggerating – these were real people! My counsellor had revealed all this drama to me after I returned from my trip. Luckily, only the two of them were insane, and the Board didn’t believe them, nor did they appreciate their sneaky methods by going over my counsellor’s head, but still – what was wrong with these people?!

I had to see Burt every week at the club meetings, but I only ever saw Margaret once more. It was at a dinner function and usually she was very calculated at hiding her true nature in public, but I guess she hated me so much that she slipped up this time. I was sitting at a circular table with 7 other adults from the club when she came over and forcefully flicked some letters right at my face - trying to physically hurt me with paper. With a tone of repugnance, she simply snarled, “Here’s your mail!” Everyone’s jaws at the table dropped in silence. FINALLY! It took her own doing, but finally there was proof (apart from the hearsay sobbing of a 16 year old) that this woman was deranged.

Sometimes I think that having to live with them was karma punishing me for falling in love with my host-brother at my previous house. Does it work that way? Who knows! What I did know was that no one knew about my relationship with Jim – not even my counsellor (at that point), so I still had no explanation as to why this certifiably insane couple agreed to take me in. I was going to mail them some pamphlets on schizophrenia as a joke, but I chickened out. I told my counsellor that what was done was done, but that he had to promise me that they would NEVER be allowed to host another student, NOT FUCKING EVER! He undoubtedly agreed.

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Re-posted for Wicked Wednesdays, Dec 29, 2010