As a general rule, rarely do I bother speaking of truly personal matters. The things that hide within my cerebral cortex tend to, quite frankly, scare and enrage others when spoken aloud. Not that I feel ashamed by that, in point of fact I'm rather proud that people place so much stock in the ideas that I have that they would let me affect their lives. And if I'm being honest, I enjoy pushing buttons. I have always found it entertaining to take people to the brink of sanity and jerk back quickly, leaving them foundering. Many people cannot understand that I am joking, a select few get it and have stuck around, God bless them.
Throughout my existence, I have very rarely taken anything seriously. Life is a lark so why not enjoy it. There are, however, a couple of things I take very seriously, and when something or someone comes in and fucks with those things I tend to get become very aggressive. And while the things and people I care about are the catalyst for my aggression and passion, I have to admit that any of my actions serve as self-preservation. I look out for my own interests first, and others second. Not to say I don't care about others, I do, but I love myself ever more so. And such has been the case of late.
June was busting out all over, the early throes of summer harkening forward and the promise of a fruitful season was on the horizon. At the time, I had been allowing my kid sister to take up habitation with me in order that she might educate herself without the worries of paying rent or bills. As a former poor college fledgling myself, I knew how difficult things could become and I was glad to help. The understanding being more beneficial for myself in that I essentially had a live-in maid and cook, so life was pretty posh. Round about this same time, a demon entered in the form of a spineless, archaic, waste of humanity. My kid sister began fucking about with a less than reputable fellow whom it was learned was called...
He was, supposedly, an electrician with his own company. This seemingly upright homosapien began to poison the mind of my young kin, filling her mind with fantastic stories of happiness and joy. I had no qualms with this as the two of them were, as I was told, friends who frequently would Skype back and forth as this John character lived well south of our location. One night, I discovered things were not as they seemed and caught my sister in a lewd act of self-gratification whilst in the midst of a Skype session. Fine by me, I'm not one to stop others from doing something they feel like is necessary. But I began growing evermore suspicious of this lecherous bastard and initiated an investigation to satisfy my curious nature.
Due to the nature of my financial gain, I have certain privileges and connections which I quickly put to use. Come to find out, this wonderful specimen who had to this point convinced my sister that he pissed happiness and came gold, was a full 12 years more senior than he had previously led her to believe. In fact, while he was claiming to be 26 he was actually a mere ten days from his 39th year on this earth. Additionally, it was brought to light that he was the father of 5 children from 5 different women. He was not allowed near any of his children save one that he was in custody of because of restraining orders by the mothers for domestic abuse and child endangerment. The real cherry on top was that this asswipe had done stints in federal, state, and local incarceration facilities for domestic abuse, fraud, and conspiracy to manufacture with intent to distribute.
One quiet night at the old homestead, there comes a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping on my chamber door. My sister bolts past me, shoving me into the refrigeration unit, to get to the door. I had been on my way out to pick up some food and take a quiet drive in the country. The door opens and in walks this sunken-eyed, pallid, hulking figure who looks as if he has just finished smoking a lightbulb. The guy looked like a depressed badger. I shove off past him, and the small island he had brought with him by way of a woman, and continue my quest. Not a smart move on my part, as God only knows what this fuck bag would steal from me in my absence, but damn it all I was hungry.
Upon my return, my departure cut short by the fact that some meth addict was in my living quarters, I find the apartment desolate and abandoned, and all my sister's belongings have been removed. This asshole had come to my house to remove my sister having talked her into his lies and convinced her that she should move away because her family was a useless bunch of unsupportive garbage. The requisite phone calls to the parents, who live down the road a way, were made to inform them of the goings on.
A couple months pass, and kid sister is somewhat in contact with the family, mother and father, complaining about how her brother and sister will not speak to her. And that she is going to continue living her fucked up existence, which now consists of a modern Chuck Manson harem. This John fellow has begun amassing women in his brothel. I hear from mother that there are no less than this guy, my sister, the mother of one of the other children he has spawned, and a couple other bitches all living together. None but my sister work to support all this as the rest sit around smoking, drinking, fucking, and planning God knows what. In addition, sister is now knocked up with a devil child.
My mother begs and pleads with me to do something, speak to my sister, almost daily. I continue to inform her that the only sister I have is happily married and in South Carolina, that if this bitch who has upset me so much after housing her for free to get an education and a good stable job wishes to speak to me that she can find me face to face and apologize and maybe we can start working on something. That's not to say that I do not care about her or what is going on, I do. I actually hate it because I care for my sister, but if she does not want to act rationally or be a part of a family that has been there for her for so long, why must I be the one to put out any effort. I didn't do anything to fuck up, that whore did. Bridges have been burned, relationships broken, and I am not going to cobble up anything new when it is not my responsibility to do so.
Needless to say, I have been and am still conflicted. Part of me says fuck it, that's the part I like. The rest of me knows I need to do something, but the only thing I can come up with would see me rotting in prison and this fuckbag is not worth that to me. I would rather see my sister fester in her own shit than offer help to someone who repeatedly curses her own mother for caring and will only contact her father if she needs money because this bastion of upright and moral decency has blown all her income on booze, titty dances, and meth. I am doing all I can to remain rational and calm, but the more information I find on this piece of shit and the heresy from my mother about the situation is beginning to overwhelm that. I care, but I don't want to anymore.