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 Meg's past

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Posts : 574
Join date : 2011-06-16
Age : 31

PostSubject: Meg's past   Thu Jun 23, 2011 10:43 pm

ooc: ok, this is my first FF about Meg (that just thanks to xnightkissx has an acceptable english :p thanks hun!!! <3) i'm re-uploading it because this explain a lot of things about Meg, about her past and... even about her future Razz
Hope you'll like it Very Happy

Where are we, Meg?

In that little space of your unconsciousness that never wants to open. In that little space in the corner of your mind that keeps your memory. In that little piece of your hurting heart that protects your humanity. It doesn’t matter if you pretend with everything you have that you’re not anything but a simple whore, no matter what you tell yourself, even if you pretend that I, your conscience, doesn’t exist… this place exist. And after all, you’re still human.

I know you don’t want to listen to me. After all, why would you? Life didn’t give you anything but pain and suffering. To pretend that everything is ok is far better than to face the hard, awful truth that tells you everything in your life sucks.

Why aren’t you afraid now, Meg? You’re in the hands of a crazy psychopath, isolated in an empty room with no one but a little girl you won’t even talk to. Why aren’t you trembling in terror? Why aren’t you begging to get out? Why are you so quiet? Instead of fearing your kidnapper, you flirt with him?

Maybe it’s because your entire life hasn’t been any different. It’s hard to accept it. It would be so much easier to just run away from me and your memories. That’s all you want.

But don’t you remember? You’ve always been alone, ever since you were a child. You still remember your childhood home, don’t you? It wasn’t that different from this room, was it?

Oh, shut up you! Whoever you are, this isn’t your business!

Oh, you’re so wrong Meg. This is exactly my business.

So what do you want from me? Don’t you think I have enough problems as it is? I’m closed in a room with the baby version of Sleeping Beauty, I have nothing to do but sleep all day, and, gosh, I’ve never slept so much in my whole life! And now I can’t do anything but stare at the ceiling all day, bored to death, with nothing else to do but listen to your stupid voice in my head! What do you want? You want me to start remembering my story? My life?

Yes, it would be a nice start. Maybe your first steps towards accepting this situation.

Oh, shut up! If this is the only way to make you shut your pie hole, I guess I’ll start talking. What do you want to know about? My childhood? That’s not interesting. It’s rather boring, to be honest. Can we jump to the present? It might not be appealing, but it sure is interesting.

Don’t play this game with me, Meg. You know that you can’t fool me. Start from the beginning. Tell me about your parents.

My parents, huh? You mean the mother I never knew and the father who pretended I wasn’t even his daughter? You mean them?

Yes. It would explain a lot of things.

Ok, whatever. My mother was a Russian singer. I don’t really know a lot about her other than that she was young, pretty, that she had a beautiful voice and that she screwed my father. I seriously don’t know why she didn’t just abort. I guess, by the time she realized I wouldn’t die from a miscarriage, it was too late for an abort. So I was born. She died just a few months after my birth. Not because of me though. She was sick. End of story. I don’t remember anything about her, obviously, I was just an infant. It can be the same, I’m not interested in her anyway.

Please… continue.

Fuck you, ok? What now? My father? Ok. My father was a dick, ok? I didn’t even know he was my father until I was like… 10, I think. I just remember that he was an old, rich man who came to see me once every month. He used to ask me what I’d learnt the past month, and if he was satisfied with my answer, he’s give me candy. That’s it. I didn’t even know the house on the countryside where I lived was his property. I spent 11 years in this house in Great Britain, and I spent almost all that time alone in my room. Trust me, that wasn’t a better place to be than here. Well, my television worked, and I had a few books, but other than that it wasn’t any more entertaining than staying here. Gosh! 11 years this way! Only thinking about it makes me want to throw up!

Please, don’t stop…

Sure. What now?

Talk about the house. Were you alone?

Maybe that would’ve been better, but no, I wasn’t alone. There were 7 servants, and Miss Minchin. I think she was my father’s older sister, or something similar. She didn’t really have a life of her own, so my father made her take care of me. I spent my whole childhood with her, but she was never like family to me. She was just the woman who looked at me with contempt and disgust, telling me that my mother was a whore, and that there was no way I would turn out any different. Everything I did was wrong to her. She was the leader of the house, so even the servants looked down on me the same way she did. I really hope that’s enough of my childhood, because I really don’t have a lot more to say.

That’s ok. Go on, what happened later?

When I was 11 I was sent to a college in France. You know, one of those colleges for good girls? I really didn’t know why I was sent there. I was a fucking whore’s daughter, and everyone there knew it. All of them hated me just as much as I hated them.

No. Not everyone.

You’re right. Not the boys in the boy’s school. They often came over to look after me. The male teachers didn’t hate me either. They loved to look at me. They loved to listen to my voice. It was like that I discovered I was beautiful. Good thing for me, life suddenly became simpler after that discovery.

You’re lying again. It wasn’t that simple.

Fuck you! You want the truth? It wasn’t simple at all. Not the beginning at least. Not the first time a teacher made me fuck him to pass my exam. Not the first time a boy offered me money in exchange for a little bit of fun. I felt guilty. I felt dirty. But the people around me… they treated me like a slut even before all of that happened. So why should I care about their opinion? I could have money, jewels, high grades. I regret nothing.

Go on…

I was in college for 4 years. I made a lot of scandals. Then, when I was 15, I ran away. I had a lot of money with me, the money I earned by fucking guys. I left college in the middle of the night unseen. I never heard from or about them after that. Not my father nor my teachers. I arrived in Paris a few days later, and there I met Antoine. If I ever loved a man, it would’ve been him, which is funny, because I never had sex with him.

Antoine met me in a café. There were 4 or 5 men around me, trying to court me. Antoine immediately saw what kind of person I was. He saw the real me and the bitch I was, and he wasn’t disgusted by it. He sent my admirers away, offered me a drink and started talking to me. I was fascinated by him. He told me about women’s power. About how my beauty could be a weapon. He told me that we, the world’s black sheep, the ones born under a bad star, could fuck the world. Literally. He showed me a new world. He took me to his whorehouse, and he taught me everything. He made me a star.


So what? You want to know if I was happy? No, I wasn’t. I simply stopped caring. I started to enjoy sex. Whenever I couldn’t enjoy it, because my customers were violent, ugly or old, I started drinking alcohol or doing drugs. It was so simple. I started to act, I became a character, and in my own little world I could pretend to be happy. Men loved me. They loved my body, my skills under the covers, my voice, my ability to listen to their pitiful problems. I always pretended to be interested in their lives. Many of them would give their own life for me. I’ve received so many gifts, flowers and sweet words. Maybe another girl in my place would give in to one of them and get married, but Antoine guided me. A whore is a whore, and she can’t be a bride. He told me my rightful place was in this small world where I could reign. In any other place, I would once again become the forgotten girl I once was.

Is that it? End of story?

Yes. That’s it. End of story. Until now. Until I was kidnapped and brought here.

You’re lying again, Meg. You jumped perhaps the most important thing in your sad story.

Shut up!

Because you and me both know there’s more. Because we both know you’re still going to die!


Face it, Meg. You’ve always known you’re sick. The same genetic illness that killed your mother is now killing you as well. How many years do you have left to live? Three? Four? Maybe five?

I don’t want to listen to this!

You have no choice, Meg! Time is slipping away from you! Tick-tock, Meg, tick-tock! Don’t you see? You’re running out of time!

SHUT UP!!!!!!!! SHUT UP!!! I don’t want to listen anymore! I don’t want to think about it! I don’t want to care! I choose to live my life in the present! Look, I’m still here! Why would I care about my future? The baby that sleeps next to me has no disease, but she’s probably going to die anyway, in the hands of that crazy psychopath! And you know what? I’m probably going to die the same way! So shut your mouth! Shut up! Leave me alone! Let me sleep! I want to pretend everything’s ok. I want to pretend I’m alright. Because the truth doesn’t change anything! NOT A THING!
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