Sweet Little Lies (Dirty Little Lies Duet #2) - J.D. Hollyfield
Hazel
“Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies…more, Mommy, more!”
I sit on the park bench, watching a mother and daughter bond over a stupid nursery rhyme. The happy cries of a little girl soak into my mind, and I lose myself in her laughter. Her eyes shine bright with joy as her mother spins her round and round in anticipation of them falling into the soft grass.
“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” she screams in delight. Their matching dresses fluff as air takes flight up their skirts, and they playfully fall to the ground. Their happiness is a sharp reminder of the life I never had.
When the woman cups her little girl’s cheek, my eyes stay glued to her lips. Three little words fall off her tongue—I love you. Another ping to my chest—a reminder of my mother and her cruelty.
“Can you sing me the London Bridges one, mommy?”
“Grow up, child. Don’t you know nursery rhymes are evil?”
“What does evil mean, mommy?”
“It means they aren’t meant to comfort you; they’re meant to scare you. All your silly pleading to sing to you. Three Blind Mice? It’s about animal mutilation. Rock-a-bye Baby? It’s about killing children. Oh, and your favorite, Jack and Jill? That one’s about murder-suicide. God, Hazel. Be more like me. Close your eyes and dream about finding a man who will deal with all your neediness. Lord knows you’ll need a brave man to handle you.”
That was my childhood. No warm embraces. No dates at the park. No bullshit endearments. Where other normal kids were full of love and affection, I was running on empty.
The lack of affection from my alcoholic mother. Lack of attention from my workaholic father. Rejection is a hard pill to swallow—especially when it’s from two people who should be suffocating me with it. The only thing I was suffocating from was loneliness.
Growing up, I didn’t set out to be a wild child. I was just so desperate to be loved, I went and searched for it in all the wrong places. Gaining Daddy’s attention by getting caught underage drinking. Flaunting my young body in front of anything and anyone who would take notice. Acting out was the only way I knew how to get them to notice me. And so I kept doing it.
Did my parents love me? It depends on which one we’re talking about.
My dad has always shown me love through materialistic ways. When I was young, he would load me up with all the limited-edition dolls. Buy up the entire world of all things pink. Get ponies and every princess alive at my birthday parties. His material love was endless. And still is.
My mother’s love, on the other hand, was nonexistent. I was the vacation disruption, the sobriety killer, the brat who took her youth, the child who ruined her body.
Family of the year, right? Far from it. I couldn’t stop landing myself in pile after pile of shame, choosing the wrong friends and the wrong boyfriends. I found myself so desperate for affection that I allowed my private yoga instructor to fill my head with such sweet words that I gave him my virginity at the young age of sixteen.
I should also mention that he had been fucking my mom at the same time. Probably the only thing she and I ever had in common.
It wasn’t the worst news to get slapped with. My dad caught wind and instantly kicked her ass out. The funny thing is, she didn’t fight. Just left without a goodbye or a smidge of regret.
I can’t paint my entire life as a sob story. I did have my dad. He just struggled to show me affection in ways I desperately needed. After mom left, things got better. I think it just took some time for him to notice anything outside of work. And I guess finding out your wife is cheating on you will do that.
And things did get better. Dad stepped up. It was the two of us against the world. The amount of pizza and ice cream nights were endless. The only problem was he was on conference calls ninety percent of the time. I couldn’t fault him for who he was. He worked very hard to create a life where we would want for nothing. It’s a shame the only thing I wanted was priceless.
Congrats on the birth of my daddy issues. It’s a boy.
And boy do I have issues. They seem to be a problem these days because it’s not