Chapter 2 - Expectations

As I lay in bed, the relief I felt was second to none, I was sweaty, and my body was in pain from the usual training sessions. I desperately needed a shower but was too exhausted for that right now. Training usually took place multiple times a week and could go on for hours and hours, my tutors never took a chill pill with me.

The halls were quiet, dimly lit, holding secrets and lessons from years down the line. Finally getting up to get a bath, letting the water run down my body washing off the evidence of my hard work, my mind slipped.

Flashbacks from my childhood to my present painted pictures that were deeply intertwined with the mysterious world of the Mafia. As I began to understand the world around me, I discovered it wasn't like other kids' lives. Instead of the usual play and innocence, my days were about learning combat and survival strategies, lessons that weren't part of a normal childhood.

My teachers were secretive figures tied to our family's history. They didn't teach me light-hearted things but focused on serious skills, like wielding guns, weapons of destruction, and understanding how power works in our world. I was first introduced to Master Lee when I was barely seven.

Master Lee was a strict and puzzling figure, he had to teach me martial arts and the complications of the power dynamics within the underworld.

Initially, I had a tough time keeping up with his demanding training because after all what could the body of a seven-year-old endure? I remember crying myself to sleep most nights hoping I could get sympathy or hugs from my parents but received none. I had to endure as I got older.

Notwithstanding the challenges I faced, I was determined to prove myself, spending countless hours practicing and pushing through moments of doubt and exhaustion. Gradually, I began to understand Master Lee's teachings and the complex art of combat and strategy.

With time, I got used to it all and finally saw my hard work pay off, making me not only his equal but, in some aspects, not seeming too proud, I could even say better.

Despite all these, still a kid, I recalled longing for a normal childhood despite my rigorous training days. I yearned for playful moments and friendships that my upbringing denied me. On some days, I remember sneaking out to the park two streets down from our household, hoping to connect with other children and experience the carefree joys shared.

My disguised appearance as a boy made me different, making others not able to relate to me. I wanted to play with dolls and sparkling stuff like other girls but was treated differently, sensing that something about me was not quite the same as them. No matter how hard I tried to blend in, my disguise as a boy kept me distanced from the friendships and connections I craved which still leaves a dent in my heart.

But amid all this, I kept something secret - my true self. I had to pretend to be a son, hiding who I was to fit the Mafia's traditions.

Attending public functions was a struggle for me, concealing my true self, keeping my femininity hidden beneath layers of disguise to fit interactions with other people showcasing my almost perfected persona of a son.

Being invited to the annual grand award ceremony was a big deal in the Mafia world where nearly everyone would be present. It was my first major appearance as a substitute for my brother and in case of any sudden threat on my family, I was to be the victim as usual.

During a fleeting moment, caught up in the festive atmosphere, I almost let my guard down twirling a bit too gracefully in a borrowed suit, forgetting to act like a boy. But my slip was noticed by a few keen observers and my parents, and rumors began to circulate.

On getting back home, they were furious, enforcing strict punishments, and restricting my movements for almost a year, and even if I had to go out, I had to do so with someone watching over me. My training sessions were increased and made tougher, all to remind me of the consequences if I failed to hide my femininity in the future.

This incident left me feeling afraid and unsure of life as a whole realizing the severity of this mistake and the consequences of letting my guard down. From then on, I had to become even more vigilant, burying my true self deeper beneath the guise of a son to comply with my family's expectations and protect myself from further reproval.

The facade of being a son became a crucial survival tactic for me. Emulating Dion, and adopting a masculine appearance were essential aspects I had to work on. I often think about how pretending to be a son was like wearing a cloak to survive not just in our Mafia world but also as a ruse to save my brother's life. I remember when I started imitating my twin brother, Dion. I copied the way he walked and talked, trying hard to be like him, never growing out my hair, and styling just as he would. It was tricky at first, but I kept practicing until it felt natural. I wore clothes that hid my true self, always trying to look and act like a boy.

Sometimes it felt like I was playing a never-ending role in a play, a conscious nightmare.

But in our secretive world, this disguise was like a shield, protecting me from the rules and expectations that demanded I be someone I wasn’t. It wasn’t easy. I had to be extra careful, making sure I never slipped up. People expected me to act like a son, not a daughter. So, I learned to speak less and observe more, keeping my true feelings and identity hidden beneath the mask of a boy.

Living this way was tough. But in our world governed by strict rules, being seen as a son was my only way out, to fit into a world where being a girl meant I was less powerful and less important. So, I carried on, playing my part and blending in, all to stay safe in a world where revealing my true self wasn’t an option.

Despite yearning for love and companionship, I had to avoid engaging in romantic pursuits due to the strict expectations and dangers lurking within the family's sphere. Day after day started the same - donning the disguise that was expected of me.

While others had the freedom of self-expression, I cloaked myself in a costume of secrecy. It wasn't just about dressing the part; it was about becoming someone else entirely. Each day was a delicate act, a play where I had to be the perfect illusion.

My interactions and communications were guarded, my actions calculated, all to uphold the facades of the life I was supposed to lead. At times, I longed to discard this cloak, to embrace the person I truly was.

But in a world where being a girl was seen as a vulnerability, revealing my genuine self meant risking everything my family had worked for. So, I trod cautiously, living in a world of pretense and secrecy, knowing that every step had to be in line with the expectations imposed upon me. The burden of concealing my true identity weighed heavy, a weight I carried in silence, trapped in a world where being myself was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Coming back to reality, I rushed my shower and decided to get food as I was famished, the sun had long gone down and the moon was up there illuminating my room.

Stepping out of my room, silence engulfing me, I suddenly felt uneasy, something had to be up. I always had this feeling when something was about to happen it came as a sixth sense at this point.

I wasn’t alone in this house!