Nat☆

(TW: sexual abuse, physical abuse, suicide attempt, nausea/vomiting mentioned, dead body, illnesses or various sensitive topics…NOTE: Jar uses he/she pronouns! Just to prevent any confusion:))

Jar stood in front of the courthouse building. He limped up the stairs with the help of his walking stick. It was rather cold outside. The wind pinched her cheeks and made them red, blushed. Jar rolled up his sleeve and looked down at her watch. He was there a bit earlier than she should have been. He didn’t like being late, and despite the circumstances that made him meet with a member of the Willis family today (which she rather despised), were unpleasant – the factor, the discussion, even the meeting of her, it was all no fun. But she still made sure that he was on time. Having a few minutes to spare, Jar lit up a cigarette. He was a quick smoker anyway, puffing down a lot of cigarettes in a day, during his breaks, in the morning, in the evening, anytime. He was quick with it because she smoked so much. His wife constantly scolded him about it.

“This way, you’ll just get cancer.”

The mention of “cancer” always pinched in Jar’s heart. But maybe that was Jar’s destiny. If she didn’t die like his father, then maybe he’s supposed to follow his mother. Though it was a saddening watch, to see the life from her mother’s body slip away, slowly, but surely, her face getting so pale, eyes so teary from constant sobs and whining out of pure pain, and her cheerfulness breaking down every day. The tumour was eating on her brain, quickly, impossible to stop it with surgery, and all that could be done was soothing of her mom’s suffering. Otherwise, everyone, especially Jar, just had to watch her die, slowly, painfully.

The brain tumour was like a lobotomy. It ate her soul, her healthy mind, and the spark in her eyes. It was gone.

Jar wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

His wife insisted on going with him to the court, but he turned her down immediately.

“It’s no fancy act. You stay home. I’ll just take the money and go.”

“But I would love to meet your aunt.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t. It’s also no show-off show. My stepfather is dead. I’m getting the inheritance. It’s no party, Huong.”

“Call me Donna.”

That was the last thing he heard from her before he limped out of the apartment, cigarette in her mouth. Jar grew immune to Huong’s mores. The best way to stop her from continuing was cutting her off.

As he finished smoking while standing in front of the court, she could make up a blurry figure in the distance. Jar couldn’t see much, even with glass prescription so high – but the walk, short steps, elegant, quick and thigh from a skirt, the way the person swung one of her hands by her hips yet kept her other hand up, holding a small purse, it all made him figure out who it was – Camilla Jane Willis. Jar’s aunt, who isn’t related to him by blood in any way, only related by Jar’s adoption into the Willis family. They don’t even share a surname – Jar insisted on keeping hers. After all, she despised the family. She was rather his sister’s aunt – Cyntia was the only person from the Willis family that Jar liked. But then again, he hadn’t seen her in so long, he can’t even tell you for sure if she didn’t fall into a pit of absolute corruption of her persona, if the cultist ideals didn’t eat her brain – like their mother’s tumour.

When Camilla climbed up the stairs, Jar wasn’t too bothered to greet her or start a chat. Greeting or being polite wasn’t a big part of Camilla’s personality, either. But she insisted on conversing.

“Dressed in all black, I see,” she looked Jar up and down.

“Don’t take this as mourning. I’m usually dressed in black.”

“You do look like a walking depression. Your eyes look sick.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“And what the hell happened to you?” Camilla tilted her head up and down, addressing Jar’s walking stick.

“Stop pretending like you care.”

“I don’t have to care to be interested.”

“I was in Vietnam.”

“A-ha.”

Jar looked down at his watch again. It was time to go inside. She walked in, not bothering to hold the door for Camilla. He heard her scoff, but followed right in.

“What have you been eating? You look thinner than I remember you.”

“The last time you saw me I was a kid, you could have figured out that maybe I was going through stuff.”

“Ha? What kind of stuff? You packed your stuff and left and never bothered to look back again. What could bother you so much?”

Jar quickly stopped and turned down to face Camilla.

“Oh, maybe the fact that Lincoln used to rape me almost daily?! Or the fact that you, YOUR FAMILY, all of you sitting there, forced me and Cyntia to eat the flesh of OUR BROTHER?!”

“Stop shouting. Don’t you dare to bring this stuff up now.”

“If I wasn’t so scared, so, so…pathetic, I would have come to the police.”

“Nobody would have believed you.”

“Even if they did, to what good is it now that the fucker is dead?!”

“You named it. You’re pathetic.”

Jar scoffed.

“Just shut up. Don’t talk to me, okay? I’m too sick for this stuff.”

Jar sure looked sick. He wasn’t getting much sleep, despite doubling his sleeping pills dose. Ever since Lincoln died, she couldn’t feel at peace. Her heart raced a lot, his leg was restless and he could barely focus on anything, ever. His work, her lovers, his wife. Nothing could tear him out of the constant bubble of anxiety. And besides sleep, he wasn’t eating much anyway. And if she was eating, he was usually immediately throwing up.

“Are you sick? What’s up with you?” asked Norman one morning, holding his hair. Jar did everything he could to avoid throwing up in his or Lahn’s presence. She didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or worried.

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s just– I’ll be fine,” Jar said, in between coughing and gagging.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Jar looked at Camilla again, “Other than being related to Lincoln, you aren’t inheriting anything from what I know.”

“Do you see your sister anywhere? That should answer your questions.”

“You’re inheriting my sister’s inheritance?”

“I’m gonna hold it, most likely. Lincoln left no will. We have a lot of stuff to figure out today.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jar rolled her eyes, obviously bothered by having to spend more than an hour with Camilla, discussing Lincoln, thinking about his missing sister.

When Jar and Camilla sat down in the court, the official stuff having started, her vision got so blurry, so blurry he couldn’t see his own hands, and all he could hear was a high-pitched noise ringing in her ears. Jar could feel being present, responding to questions, all the usual stuff, but he couldn’t feel it. His mind got so blurred, all she could think about was the past he had with this family. One of the first major memories she had with them was his mother and Lincoln’s wedding. Jar was sitting in the first row, in Camilla’s lap. Right next to Camilla, were her and Lincoln’s parents. Jar couldn’t recall their names much, not even years later, because they barely ever showed up, and just weren’t as important to him as they were to his sister. Jar only remembers the woman’s middle name – May. His sister had the same middle name. Cyntia May.

The wedding took place in early spring. Jar could clearly see in the back of her memory how beautiful his mother was. She had her pearl earrings, her pearl necklace and a gorgeous flowing long white dress. Her short curls twisted around her face and she looked like a fairy. Jar remembers telling her that. He didn’t speak much until he was 5 years old, and even after that, it was truly a blessing for her mother to hear her speak.

“Mama, ty si ako víla.”

Marianna just smiled at her child, squeezing him tightly and neither of them wanting to let go.

“Ľúbim ťa.”

“Ľúbim ťa” is also the phrase Jar heard the last from his mother. Back on her wedding day, it was cheerful, melodic, but on her deathbed, she sounded raspy, unwell, sick.

Jar watched his mother walk down the aisle, down into the hands of the man of pure horror. But both of them were so unaware at the time. Both of them just wanted to find some safety. In a new country, a country so unknown. They could barely speak English. They needed a guardian to help them, to guide them. And that was Lincoln. Charles Lincoln Willis.

The wedding had a lot of traditions, religious ceremonies and rules going on. Jar thought it was interesting, but confused him. She recalls hearing a lot of Latin. And he also recalls how anxious it made his mother feel, as she stood there in front of Lincoln, who tightly squeezed her hands, as if that was already a foreshadowing, a pure sign of “I’m not letting you go”.

On the other side was Jar, sitting in Camilla’s lap, tightly holding onto the poor child.

As if she and her brother were trying to symbolise the same thing.

They’re never letting go of them.

After the ceremony, there was a little celebration, a little chitchat, mingling. Both Jar and Marianna were mostly cut off from the conversation, as they barely understood English. But they stood there, anyway. Jar clung onto Marianna’s leg, but slowly, without her paying much attention, he moved to Lincoln. He grabbed his leg. Lincoln looked down, seemingly a bit shocked by this expression of affection, especially from a child who won’t talk to him or cry every time someone other than her mother leaned in for a hug. Lincoln just ruffled his curls and let him hold onto him. Jar stayed there for a long time. Now that he thinks about it, it makes him shiver. A lump formed in her throat. But he was just a child, a child seeking attention from a fatherly figure. Jar never knew his father. He died in the war, earlier than Jar could ever meet him. From what she heard, he was a good man, a brilliant one, a lot similar to her. But to Jar, he was just another unknown stranger who couldn’t, unfortunately, provide him any comfort. How can a cold, dead body offer your lovely warmth? Impossible.

The second major memory Jar has was the birth of his twin siblings – Cyntia and Samuel. Cyntia was younger by a few minutes, but she was definitely more beloved. Samuel was born completely blind. It devastated Marianna and made Lincoln enraged.

“I wanted a proper son!”

Is what Lincoln would say a lot. Samuel was blind, so he was definitely improper. Jar was autistic – not very social, nonverbal, touch sensitive, texture sensitive, everything that falls under the umbrella. He was “barely properly working” in Lincoln’s eyes.

“That boy is never going to make it.”

Lincoln’s last chance was Cyntia. A bright child, social, talkative over the moon, always smiling, always perfect, always good. In looks, she was the exact copy of her mother. The kindness in her might be from Marianna as well. But the sassiness, the uncontrollable urge to always fight, yell and then cry about it was from Lincoln. Maybe not even him as a person – but what a spoiled life of a rich family makes their children into. Cyntia was “just perfect”, as her father would often say. However, when she didn’t behave up to his standards, she was immediately belittled, humiliated that she’s “just like her mother”. Cyntia barely knew her mother. She died when she was very little. When she was dying, for months, all she could remember was how her father often times scoffed, calling her insane, a freak.

Despite Cyntia’s occasional flaws, like her problems with anger or extreme mood changes, Lincoln saw the potential in her. That was his most powerful child.

“Masses will know you, and they’ll worship the ground you walk on, praise your name. That’s your life duty. Be praised. Be better than all of us. Be better than every mortal.”

Well, years passed, and Cyntia fell out of touch with her father – before Jar left, he could see that. And what happened after she left for college? God knows. He hasn’t heard anything about his sister since then. She stopped sending letters. Lincoln burnt them, both Jar and Cyntia, unaware of such doing. So they fell out of touch as well.

Second, a much less pleasant meeting of the Willis family that Jar was included in was a dinner. A feast, even. They all met one disgustingly rainy afternoon. The weather was as unpleasant as were the circumstances. They all met back in the orphanage. Every time Jar thought of the orphanage, a shiver went down her spine. He remembered that one day, that one moment so well. It was horrendous. Painful. Jar could still feel the scratches on his skin that she made back that day when he went to the shower, trying to scratch off the dirt. Jar shook his head. He recollects the dim light of the orphanage, the thick smell in the air of the freshly cooked flesh, which expanded in the big room, around the long, circular table, where everyone sat. Lincoln, Camilla. Little Cyntia, Jar and Cyntia’s grandparents, that he couldn’t remember the names of, no matter how much he squinted his eyes, as a manner of searching in the back of his mind. And there was a good bunch of strangers. Technically, they weren’t strangers. Jar has their faces in her mind perfectly imprinted, but he never knew their names. They knew her name, though. And they weren’t the nicest company to have. The Willis family was treated well by them, on the contrary. And they loved Cyntia. And Cyntia loved them. Cyntia was too young to see the hypothetical danger in someone, to see how the cult around her is eating her mind. All she saw was a pleasant treatment, praise. They all had their hopes up, for the little child. Jar ever wondered if the “weight of responsibility” they put on such a small child didn’t bother little Cyntia. She seemed fine, but it must have been tiring to be everyone’s face. Everything everyone looks up to. The one.

The dinner went well. There was a long, Latin prayer that Jar still couldn’t understand, but got used to it. Everyone enjoyed their meal as expected. There was a strange mood among everyone that only Jar had sensed, it seemed. After a long-lasting prayer, little Cyntia sat in Lincoln’s lap and everyone dined. It looked like a usual family dinner, except someone was missing. Samuel, Cyntia’s twin. At first, Jar didn’t think much of it, little Cyntia either, because Samuel was often not included in the cultist activities. Besides, he had been sick for quite a while now, kept locked in his room by their father. The atmosphere kept tightening around Jar. She couldn’t stay inside the orphanage any longer and excused himself for a while. Jar wishes he could forget what he saw next, outside, in the trash. Something suspiciously bone-shaped peeked out of the trash. It wasn’t packed in anything, still quite bloody. Jar’s curiosity despite her nausea didn’t let her not peek inside. What he saw made him almost throw up right there. He gasped and slowly tried to walk away from the trash.

“Jaroslav.”

A voice of a man, as disgusting as hearing nails scratching a chalkboard, sounded from the background.

Jar turned around, her face stained in pure horror.

“That’s not……..right….?”

“Come here.”

“FATHER, WHAT IS THAT?” Jar didn’t scream much. But she was truly shaken, afraid and didn’t want to approach the man.

“Stop fucking screaming,” Lincoln started to approach him, while Jar was purely frozen in her place. Lincoln grabbed her by his wrists and pulled her close to his face.

“Now don’t you DARE say a word to your sister or else I’ll beat you both to death. Understood?”

Jar’s lips were shaking, tears rolling down his face. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. Lincoln seemingly waited for her response, a nod, something, but he really looked like he was about to barf. Lincoln pulled him away and let him drop to the ground. Lincoln tightly pulled on his hair, in a sense of helping him out while he let it out.

“This is your only chance to vomit, so hurry.”

Jar didn’t wait any longer and couldn’t hold in anything he ate that terrible evening. He cried, barfed and coughed until she couldn’t anymore. She was shaking so much, he felt like her heart was about to explode from anxiety. After he was done, Lincoln forced him to go inside again.

“You won’t say a word.”

Jar couldn’t look him in the eyes; a close eye contact made her uncomfortable. She sobbed.

“…no.”

To this day, Jar got nauseous thinking about the setting, the orphanage, the dinner, the horror he saw in the trash. And to this day, his sister doesn’t know. How could she know? He promised not to tell. He feels terrible about it. But it took her quite the time to deal with the death of her twin brother, anyway. Knowing that she was forced into the act of cannibalism by her cultist father would be too much on a child like her. But it bothered Jar, anyway.

“Mr. Gre….gr….”

“It’s Greguš.”

“Right, right, can I have your attention please? Sign this. As we discussed.”

“…of course.”

Jar was ripped away from his remembrance of the past, but luckily, the session was over. She got the inheritance money, no part of the house, no part of the company – it all goes to her sister, if she comes, if not, it’s passed onto her offspring. For now, Camilla holds it all.

Jar and Camilla walked out of the courthouse at the same time, but not together. They didn’t say a word to each other until Camilla spoke up.

“You know Cyntia is the main suspect of Lincoln’s murder?”

“…that old hag could have died on his own.”

“Didn’t you hear? Or read the newspapers? He was beaten to death. Robbed. I doubt that just happened to him, all on his own.”

“Look. I don’t care about him. Don’t bother to tell me anything, at all, okay? Bye. I’m out,” Jar left, lighting another cigarette, limping with his walking stick.

Staying all alone with his thoughts was Jar’s least favorite thing. He still could feel shivers coming down her spine each time he thought of Lincoln. He sat in the subway, silently drifting his way, but as the train moved from one side to another, she could feel nausea build up in her body. Before reaching his stop, Jar had to jump off early. She couldn’t hold it in anymore and threw up right into the nearest trash can. An older lady was quick and came up to her.

“Are you alright, young man?”

Jar looked up at her, his eyes visibly tired and teary.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

Jar was quick to push the lady away from him. He hadn’t felt this worthless in quite a while. The lack of eating, sleeping and too much thinking surely took its toll on her. Jar still felt too sick to jump onto the next train, so she just walked home, to Norman’s. Fresh air might have helped her to calm down a little, but the pain has moved to his legs.

“Knock knock, I’m back,” said Jar, actually knocking on the door as well.

“Oh, hello, you’re back earlier than I expected.” Norman was rummaging in the kitchen, cooking dinner.

Jar took his coat off, then his shoes, and walked down to the kitchen, hissing with every step. She came up to Norman to give him a kiss on the cheek, but the sudden wave of smelling the freshly cooked meal made her nauseous, so he was quick to walk back, sitting down on the nearest chair.

“Ouch, ouch, you bastard,” Jar scoffed, immediately taking down his prosthesis.

“You should get that prosthesis checked. I don’t think it’s a right fit. It shouldn’t hurt that much,” Norman turned around, face slightly worried.

“I will. I don’t have the time now.”

“You always say that.”

Jar shook his head.

“How was the court meeting?”

“Bad.”

“Did you not get your half or what?”

“No. But I had to interact with my aunt. And think about Lincoln. Enough to ruin my day.”

“Fair enough. Lincoln was a dick.”

Jar nodded.

“I think I know very well.”

There was a bit of a silence between them, only the clacking of the pans and cutlery sounded in the kitchen.

“…you know, meeting with the Willis family in a way made me think of everything again.”

“What exactly?”

“My sister. My past with them. How much pressure they put on my sister and…what they caused. How they harmed me.”

“How did they harm you?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

The room went silent again.

“I wonder how my sister is. She’s gone. Main suspect for Lincoln’s murder,” Jar sighed.

“I miss her a lot. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen her,” Jar started counting on his fingers, “it’s been like 17 years.”

She sighed.

“I’m sure you’ll reunite someday,” Norman came up to Jar, kissing his forehead, but then swiftly went back to his cooking.

“You know, I always wondered why the hell Lincoln sent my sister to Texas for the whole summer.”

Jar vividly remembers little Cyntia holding onto him, in his room, and not wanting to let go.

“I don’t want to go away for the whole summer again.”

Jar just caressed her hair.

“It’s going to be okay, Sinny, don’t worry.”

“They’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“And I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Jar could feel her heart pinch. He didn’t want to be left alone with Lincoln either.

“I’ll be fine.”

Cyntia spent many summers with her grandparents and her aunt in Houston, Texas. Her grandparents were rich company owners, just like her father. He didn’t come from poor conditions at all. Well educated, well raised, rich. That was her father.

Spending time with the Willis family was rather an unpleasant experience for Cyntia, always, despite being Willis herself. Unlike her father, who praised her and saw a saint in her, Cyntia’s grandparents and Camilla usually aimed at putting her down, belittling her, and completely shaming her family roots. Spending time in Texas was almost like a punishment for Cyntia – but Lincoln said it was for her “own good”. She studied a lot there, as she had nothing else to do, and she tried to make herself busy so she didn’t have to interact with her family. Her Latin was almost perfect each time she came home, back to Boston. But her mood was always so blue.

Jar always tried to figure out if they’re hurting her physically also – but he didn’t see much bruising on her. She did confess once that her grandmother slapped her, but that’s about it. Either way, not a good message and such an action possibly aims for repetition.

Both Jar and Cyntia were hurt as kids. Praised and loved, or hidden and hated, neither of them were perfect either way and became enemies of the family quite quickly.

“I would believe that your sister got abused, in a way. That fucking man and his family make me sick,” Norman shook his head in disbelief, trying to recollect what Jar just confessed to him about Cyntia’s stays in Texas. Jar didn’t have the guts to tell him anything else – like the sexual abuse, or the cannibalism. Jar felt sick even when she just thought about it, let alone talk about it.

“Wouldn’t be the only child to get abused by that family. Everyone under the Willis influence has to be hurt.”

“Right,” Norman nodded, having his own experiences with the man himself, Charles Lincoln Willis.

“Did they hurt you?” Norman asked, turning around and facing Jar directly. Jar was quick to look away.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You always say that. But I think you should.”

“It’s not healthy to force someone into talking about something,” Jar scolded him.

“Right. Sorry,” Norman rubbed his neck, focusing on the cooking pan again.

“I just don’t want you to hurt, all alone, on your own. Maybe you would feel a bit at ease if you let it out.”

“…I think I’m good.”

The dry conversation about the past faded quickly, and everyone gathered around the table for dinner, except Jar.

“I’m sorry. I feel really sick today.”

That was an excuse Norman heard a lot. He still didn’t know if Jar said that as a perfect lie, or if she was always so on the edge with her nausea. Actually, the truth lies somewhere in between.

Jar couldn’t spend not even a minute around the dinner table, with food all around her. He got up immediately and excused himself to take a long, warm shower. She locked himself in the bathroom and before dropping his clothes off herself, he took some pills. Then, he curled down into the shower and made it as warm as possible. She couldn’t help it but scratch her skin again, and again, and again, using litres of soap, his skin getting almost bloody. The pills couldn’t calm him for the love of god, and it made her even more nervous. While showering, she took some more, even more, and stayed in the hot shower for quite some time. The water hissing was such a relaxing white noise, a nice tingling sensation on his body. It usually made him feel better, but not today. Today, she had way too much on her mind, and it all sank to his stomach, wanting him to throw up constantly, or feel like her heart is going to rip apart, from the constant pinching. A knock on the bathroom door disturbed his “peace”. That’s when she realised that he was stuck there for a little too long. Jar got up from the shower, a bit drowsy from all the warm water that could absolutely boil a man. He gathered all his clothes, stuck in the bathroom a bit longer, trying to recollect herself before heading to the bedroom. A good hour has passed. A tingling feeling spread around his body. Norman was lying in bed, his eyes focused on a book, but he put it down for a second when Jar came in.

“There you are. I was starting to get worried.”

“…sorry.”

Jar sat down on the bed and sighed. She took a deep breath, and his lungs felt so heavy, like they were made of iron. It made her panic a little. The grogginess didn’t pass at all, and soon enough, it made him gag. Norman didn’t seem to notice at first. Jar tried to stand up and get back to the bathroom, slowly and shakily, again.

“Are you okay?” Norman asked, while Jar could hear him as if he spoke in an echo.

“…yeeah…hm..”

Jar held onto the walls of the house while crawling back to the bathroom. Once he saw the bathroom, she threw herself on the floor and committed to actual crawling, right to the toilet. Just as she got there, he started barfing. It didn’t take Norman too long to be in the bathroom, holding his hair again. Norman’s expression was both worried and caring, wondering what was up with Jar. She kept going for quite a while, gagging and coughing, unable to make any comprehensible speech for a while. Only after a good while, Jar had stopped.

“How do you feel?” Norman slowly lifted her head up, caressing his hair.

“…I think that was an overdose.”

“What?”

“I took some pills.”

“On purpose?”

Jar didn’t say a word.

“…did you try to kill yourself?” Norman looked even more worried than before. Jar felt so weak, yet she started sobbing, burying his face into Norman’s shoulder.