AND I MIGHT BE
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The kind of child who knew how to stay silent - especially in a house where truth was punishment and perfection was demanded. Upper class, Christian perfection - at least on the surface. Always sat front pew every sunday, donating generously to church causes and hosting fundraisers in their marble-lined estate. Behind closed doors it was another story, where love was conditional. Son of a rich businessman with ties to politics and the church board, believing discipline is love. Rarely speaking to him, unless it was to correct, lecture or compare him to his older brothers. Youngest of 5. 3 brothers, 1 sister. They never liked him, always ignoring or bullying him, when he asked questions or acting out. Only his sister saw him.
Morning prayers, religious schools. Every mistake was a sin. Every doubt was a threat.
At 12, groomed and assaulted by Father Benedict. A charismatic church leader - and highly respected in his family. Lingering too much, touching too much, inviting him home for a bag of candy. Of course he fell for it, and he kept returning. Liking the attention, not knowing it was wrong. When finally telling his parents, he was met with disgust and anger. Being called a liar, told he was ruining the family, before getting locked inside his room.
Graduating high school, it was expected for him to attend a prestigious Christian university, like his siblings. And he did, for 1 year. Playing the part: the obedient son, the polished Dencourt. Suffocating underneath the surface. A drastic change, stopped believing in anything, any God. Christianity became an illness, a virus in his body as the trauma started to overwhelm him. Sneaking out to smoke, drink and engage in anonymous affairs - anything to make him in control of his body and mind again.
Briefly returning home for his sister's funeral, a mysterious death, it was told. He knew better, this was a suicide. Watching his parents deliver rehearsed eulogies about forgiveness and grace, while hiding the truth of their abandonment, he felt disgusted. He didn’t cry, he didn’t speak. He simply left the church mid-service. And never came back.
Emptying his bank account, changing his number and vanishing from their lives. Moving to the more busy area of New York and got a job as a servant at a fancy restaurant. White shirts and a black butterfly is his uniform.
At 25, still young, but already dangerous - the kind of person you notice when you enter a room, even if you don’t know why. Mastering the art of charisma and trust, until you realize you’re playing a game he started before you even showed up. Always in control, kissing your hand one day, breaking your heart the next. A cursed soul, everything he touches, breaks. Just like the one girl who had his heart.
Jealousy runs deep in his bones, it’s a part of the control. The need to know everything about everything and everyone. A repulsive liar, especially when it comes to privacy. He won’t even tell you his parents' real names. Never trusting anyone, that’s his one rule. Never shredding a tear, never getting excited. His emotional world is muted - only rare flashes of anger, when hypocrisy or manipulation reminds him of his past.
Manipulation. It happens without him even realizing it. The constant fear of not being in control. Be manipulative or be manipulated. He grew up with one thing, now the roles are reversed.
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