GUILTY 2

BEFORE Danniella Waters November 13,2015 I was a devilish child. The phrase ‘never judge a book by its cover’ could be accurately applied to my life. Everyone I knew was hoodwinked by the raven black hair and Bambi eyes, thinking I was this innocent angel who could do no wrong. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I used to roam around the neighbourhood with a hardy look of malice in my eyes. To this day I’m still not able to pinpoint the exact origin to the madness that was in my soul. While the rest of my friends played contently with their dolls, I had a craving for trouble and conflict. I got high off the fumes of disaster and punishment. Something about the feeling of rivalry and revolt left me almost intoxicated, constantly wanting more. I would plan out events in my little pink diary, noting which of the neighbourhood children were going to suffer the wrath of little Danny each week. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was my looks that were the core driving force to my behaviour. I was small and petite, the subject of ridicule, the one easily pushed around. When you’re small and a female, people assume things about you - that you’re gentle and kind. That you can do no harm. I guess I wanted to prove that I was more than just a stereotype. My family lived in a rural - suburban neighbourhood where everyone was accessible and easy to locate if you needed them - usually lounging on the front porch with a drink or two in hand. In the summer time, our house was the meeting place for stray cats. Numerous felines would wander into our yard, squat out for a while, breed, reproduce. My emotions were fairly neutral towards the strays. I didn’t despise them, but I wasn’t fond of them either. This one day, a stray who we called Tim - Tam, had somehow made his way into our house. He was an orange tabby - a brave little thing. The rest of the clan remained outside, afraid of the trouble that loomed if they dared enter our home. But like I said, Tim - Tam was a brave one. He was clearly oblivious to the lack of authority he possessed. He strutted inside and perched himself on our kitchen table. I remember walking into the kitchen one afternoon only to lay my eyes on the orange tabby sitting there, staring at me. Squinting his beady eyes at me in defiance, it was a show down, determining who possessed more power. I must admit, I had to give the cat some credit for challenging me out of all people. Me! The one relatives referred to as the craziest of the Cruze children. After moments of periphery battle, I lunged forward and grabbed him, his tiny body struggling as I held him tight. His claws lurched towards my face, aiming for my eye. I swung open the door to the backyard, and in one quick motion, threw him into our little blow up pool that my mother would set up for us kids every summer. It wasn’t a large pool, but it was deep enough for Tim - Tam to go in head first and spasm out just as fast. I remained standing at the door as I watched, smiling. I was the victorious one that day. Until my mother called me into the kitchen later that night to ask why the pool was leaking. Over the years, I found that I could get away with anything. The black hair - inherited from my mother - and large brown eyes were often the key in the hole to my getaway. I could manipulate people so well that they didn’t even realize they’d been manipulated. My parents thought I was an angel. I was their only daughter, born between two rowdy and obnoxious boys. Liam, the youngest, shares a particularly similar aesthetic to me. Both of us all heads of black and eerily similar facial structures. However, contrasting to my dark brown eyes, Liam inherited my father’s deep shades of hazel. Their eldest child, Collin, did not look like us at all, with his dark brown hair, skinny chin, and brown eyes. It was an ongoing joke between Liam and Me that Collin was adopted since he didn’t resemble us in any way. My father, maybe a little. The facial structure and the hair, really. But other than that, people often didn’t realize he was our sibling. Anytime the three of us went anywhere, it was obvious to everybody in the room that Liam and I were brother and sister. No questions asked. Collin, on the other hand, was not a obvious to pinpoint to our family. I often took advantage of my fortunate genetics and used my angelic face to fuel my agenda and get what I wanted. The newest My Little Pony set was only a tilted head and batted eyelashes. Renovating my room in the 9th Grade, getting my own car when I was sixteen. It all came without protest or consideration. Little did they know that beneath the cute face and polite enquiries was a determined girl seeking equilibrium and vengeance. Growing up with two brothers, I was rough - housed on the daily. Most of our fights ended in a scraped chin or a bruised cheek. While the boys took their aim through punches, and settled scores by yelling and tackling each other, I took a different approach to getting even. Before I knew better - how to get revenge, that is - I would fight dirty. I’d throw pens at their face, aiming for the eye. I’d kick them where I knew it would hurt. I ‘d pinch their nose so hard that I drew blood. Eventually, I graduated from rough - housing to scheming. Like the time I poured drain cleaner in Collin’s drink. He must have smelt the toxic chemicals radiating from the glass because he immediately dumped it down the sink and never drank from on open cup again, always carefully eyeing me when I entered a room. Living with boys taught me to be tough. I didn’t want to be weak, allowing kids at school to push me around and have their way. When I was in high school, there was this girl name Lacy. You know the type - pretty, popular, adored by all of the boys. One morning at school, Lacy approached me to inform me that my outfit looked like that of a welfare child. While she stood there with her hand resting on her jutted out hip, a sly smirk on her face, I remained silent, my mind swirling with possibilities. Later that day during P.T class, I snuck into the change - room and gathered up all of her clothes. I flushed them down the toilet, which obviously did not go down smoothly, clogging up in their center and bobbing up and down as water filled to the brims and spilled over. It’s safe to say that Lacy didn’t bother me again after that. My mother was a stay - at - home mom who spent her days cooking and cleaning. A beautiful woman who I admired at most, but didn’t want to be remotely similar to. If anything, her stay - at - home - mom ways inspired me to work harder in school and find a career that would support me financially, all on my own, without a husband to rely on. I was independent. I could thrive on my own. And with the toughness from my brothers and I lack of a strong - headed female role model in the home, I was well on my way to becoming everything I ever dreamed of. After four years at university and two years in a Master’s programme, I officially had a Bachelors in Arts and Science and a Masters in Computer Science, which then proceeded me to my career as IT Manager at District Systems Inc. I oversee projects, analyze market trends, increase profitably for the company and develop communication strategies with other networks. It’s perfect for me, due to the fact that I’m a perfectionist Type - A. Extremely organized, ambitious, relish being in charge. Something I thrive in. Not to mention the pay, which is more than reasonable, Winston brings in over a hundred and eighty grand a year, and I bring in one twenty, so we’re more than comfortable, financially. Winston. We met during my first year at Uni. He was in the third year of his undergrad, and would ultimately move on to four more years at UWC to receive his PhD and DMD. Though I was a mere freshman and he was a junior, we clicked instantly and before I knew it, we were head over heels for each other. We Married in 2012, just shortly after he graduated from UWC. I was twenty - five, he was twenty - seven. Compared to my parents, twenty - five was late to be getting married. They were married and expecting Collin at the age of twenty - one. Winston opened his orthodontic practice a year later. Lucky for me, his practice is only a twenty minute drive from our home here in Davenmore, so he makes it home by five o’clock for supper every night. It’s interesting how drastic things seem to change over the years. Such as, how my parents married straight out of high school and celebrated my mother’s pregnancy, looking forward to the day their first child arrived into the world. Today, sixteen year old’s are still getting knocked up. But they either get an abortion or remain frowned upon until that child turns six and nobody really remembers how old the mother was when they were born. Some couples wait until they’re in their late twenties, early thirties - a time they are most certain and one hundred percent ready - before settling down and preparing for their first child. I turned twenty - eight in July. I would presumed I’m at the prime age now; the age that most women would look at me and decide, well she’s ripe and fertile, might as well make a baby! Twenty - eight is a perfect age. Not too young and irresponsible. Not too old and dried out. Winston and I have a healthy marriage - four years next June - and a more than steady income to provide for a baby or six. But you see, that’s not my problem. Age, income, fertility - none of those are an issue for me. My issue is that I don’t want children. I don’t want a baby. Period. Only thing is, my belly is bursting and my due date is tomorrow,,,,