Chapter Text
You knew who you were
Ever since the moment you were born, you knew who you were and what you wanted. Every aspiration, every goal, it all became yours. Your family never went to university, so you got your Bachelors and Masters. Your father could never keep a job, so you secured a CEO position. Your family couldn’t afford a house in a good area, so you moved to the hills. Every little aspect of your life needed to be perfect, unlike your upbringing. Every job position, house, car, woman, man, whatever you put your mind to, that's what you got.
That’s what the world perceived as powerful.
But deep down, you felt weak. It was never enough. You were slowly drowning the audience in your brain telling you nonsense. “You’re a whore like your mother”, “You’re abrasive like your father”, “You are never going to amount to anything, you’ll end up dead, amounted to nothing, just like your folks.”
The world saw a powerful woman standing before them in business meetings and lavish restaurants, but when the employees clocked out, the people went home, and the lights of the city went to rest, you were alone. You trekked home in your ‘56 Thunderbird to a house with pearly white gates, only to hold you within it—only you. You walked through the empty halls. The walls, rather than filled with photos of family, pets, or friends, were filled with paintings and pictures bought at auctions just to say you could. The floors that should be filled with memories of dancing were stained by the tainted thoughts of those nights you had too much to drink alone. The beds that should be occupied by children or perhaps a lover were filled with the past of one-night stands. Did they come home with you because they liked you or just your money? Their intentions would forever remain unknown, as you had pushed them away too quickly out of fear.
You made your way to the wine cellar. The walls were filled with hundreds of aged wines, from full reds to sweet whites. You glanced at the bottle that had sat there the longest, a bottle of Chateau Pichon Cabernet. The bottle had been sitting there for ten years but had been aging since 1941. It was a gift from the only man you’d ever truly loved. You reached up to the top shelf where it sat on display, presenting itself as a trophy to others, but an eyesore to you. Gripping the glass of the vessel, it felt oddly warm compared to the rest of the wine cellar. You brought it down and walked it to the kitchen.
You placed the bottle on the counter, grabbed your corkscrew, and began screwing the metal into the oaky cork, each twist tiring you out. Once the cork popped out, you took a sniff of the wine. The hints of licorice and chocolate violated your nostrils with each smell. Fuck a glass, you drank straight from the bottle. Not like anyone was in the house to judge you anyway. You made your way to the living room, bottle in hand, and moved the needle back on the dusty record that hadn’t been played in well over seven years. The sound of a crackly piano broke the silence.
I’ll never smile again until I smile at you.
You placed the bottle to your lips once more, feeling each gulp of wine enter your stomach.
I’ll never laugh again, what good would it do?
You placed one foot in front of the other, repeating a dance that would be perceived as mediocre by anyone else, but moving because it was you. You spun around in the empty room, each step echoing along with the music.
For tears would fill my eyes, my heart would realize,
The wine, made to be sipped and savored, was being choked down quickly as if you were a dying man in the desert who had just discovered a reservoir. You gasped for air between gulps, continuing your depressive solo waltz.
I’ll never love again- again- again-
The record began to skip. You whipped your head to the record player. Its sad attempt to play the music continued.
Again- again- again-
You threw the bottle, causing the bottle to shatter against the horn above the player. The music stopped. Not a sound escaped your lips. You stood in the silent dark room, eyes locked on the wine-drenched record player. How much longer would this house be silent? Would it ever hear laughter? Would it ever see a smile?
You made your way back down the museum-esque hallway to a dark guest bedroom. You eyed one of your father's old relics you’d put on display. For whom to see? No guests had ever occupied the room. They served as a boast that was never boasted about. You wiped the dust away from the glass case atop the dresser. There it was, your father’s old Luger Pistol.
You placed your hands against the glass, lifting the encasing slowly. You placed the glass down, grabbed the gun, and cocked it. You placed the barrel between your lips and shut your eyes.
Boom.
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Within my heart
I know I will never start to smile again
Until I smile at you.