“You are useless,” I heard a voice say. “We don’t love you,” a female voice I recognised as my sister, Bianca’s voice. “What a fucking idiot,” I heard Percy say, “To think you like me. It’s disgusting, you creep.” “I thought I was the outsider, I was wrong,” Leo said, “It’s obviously you.” “I was wrong to defend you,” Bianca said.
Slap!
I felt my face burning and saw in front of me, my mother, Maria di Angelo. “M-Mother,” I tried. “Quiet.” I tried to talk, but I no sound managed to leave my mouth. Tears entered my eyes as I remembered my mother. While my brain always tried to remember her good times, it was hard to forget the things she did to me. Especially after a bath in the River Lethe.
My mother slapped me again.
“You’re wrong, Nico,” my mother said. A memory returned to me from back when I was younger, I grew feelings for a classmate of mine. I remember the humiliation I got when I outed them. I remember the weird looks when I, a boy, liked another boy. I remember the way my mother’s almond hand hit me when I sought guidance. “Ti sbagli, Nicoló,” she would say, “I ragazzi possono amare solo le ragazze.”
(Translation: You’re wrong, Nicoló. Boys can only loves girls.)
“You’re too much like your father,” she would say. Back then, I believed my father was a creep, who left my mother alone when she became pregnant with me. Afraid of the responsibility that two children came with. Unable to do his catholic duty of getting a big family.
My mother hit me again. And again. And again. And again. Sobs kept coming out my mouth I couldn’t withhold.
“I-I” “You, you, son of Hadrian. Think about me! About my reputation with the famiglia! You greek piece of shit!”
My mother hated my heritage. Before World War Two Italy was a fascist country. The xenophobic community would see people from outside of Italy as lesser than themselves. Also, me and my sister were atheists among a catholic majority, including our mother.
My mother hit me again. But now she wasn’t my mother, now she was Bianca. And then she was Percy. And then she was Hazel. My half-sister of the Roman version of the family. “You’re gay!? Don’t you even understand what marriage is!?”
I yelled out.
“Nico!” I heard someone yell. My eyes didn’t generate vision. I could only feel tears burning down my cheeks. I braced myself for hits.
“D-Don’t hurt me! P-Please!”
Jason immediately took this behaviour as a sign for past trauma. Parental Harm, he guessed.
“It was just a dream. Nico, I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Nico heard the voice and asked, “Y-You promise on the River Styx?”
Jason was confused, “The River S-” But then he decided, “I promise on the River Styx.”
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