Perfect Storm

27- Tawny

Seventeen, fourteen, and six years old.

Unfuckingbelievable.

I always said I had the worst luck of anyone, and with all the information Ian told me tonight, it tells me just how badly I've got it.

None of what Ian told me tonight made any sense to me, and I've been trying to process it all ever since he dropped me off.

I can't seem to grasp that my father always claimed he loved my mother dearly. And ever since I was a child, he always said how he wouldn't know what to do without her. So, if my father loved my mother as much as he so claimed, then why did he go out sleeping with other women? If he knew his actions were causing her to be depressed, why didn't he stop and live by the vows he promised to abide by when they said their I-do's? The promise to be faithful?

I don't understand it.

I don't understand any of it.

Twenty-four years, I wished to have siblings and was jealous of anyone who had them. But now, after hearing the unexpected and shocking news that I have three siblings, I'm deeply regretting that wish.

I can't help thinking about what went through my mother's mind after finding out my father fathered three other children after me. It obviously devastated her; otherwise, she'd most likely still be here. But seeing a young girl, a child claiming to be my father's needing to talk to him, had to have shattered her heart into a million pieces. She longed to have more children, and I always assumed my mother's depression was caused because of my father not being able to give her any more youngsters.

Boy, was I ever wrong...

Now it makes me wonder why my mother lied to me? All she had to say was that it was her who couldn't give my father more children.

Why blame him?

I have so many questions, yet I'm afraid to ask and hear the answers.

I know I shouldn't be upset with Ian. But I am. All-day long, he avoided questions I had. Then, instead of answering them, he beat around the bush by telling me how much he loved me, how much my father loved me. How much he wanted to see me happy. And how he had been out making sure he didn't have another hurt and pissed-off woman in his life.

Well, Ian? What you didn't want happening, did.

Because rightfully so, I'm one furious, pissed-off, and extremely hurt woman.

Instead of Ian being honest with me about what he was doing and who he was with, he chose to make sure I was in a good mood before dropping all those bombs onto me.

Who does that?

However, as observant as I am, I did notice something was off with Ian and sensed he was struggling with whatever he had on his mind. But all the same, it still hurts and upsets me with the way and how he chose to inform me about my parents.

My mind felt like Ian, and I was still on the go-kart tracks where all it wanted to do was race. And the longer I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my mother, my father, the siblings I never knew I had, and how my father helped contribute to my mother's death, the more my mind refused to allow the checkered flag to come out—ending the race.

My racing mind, my devastated heart, and the uncontrollable tears that insisted on drenching my face kept me awake. And my body telling me it had zero intentions of falling asleep any time soon.

With a heavy, saddened sigh, I reached over to the lamp, turned it on, then slid myself off the bed and walked over to my easel.

If I can't sleep, I might as well get through the rest of the night by doing something I know that'll help take my mind off my rotten, shitty life.