My name is Lord Sirius X, son of the late Sir Sirius IX. The only thing we take more seriously than Taylor Swift’s lyrics in this family is celibacy.

 

Things haven’t always been so celibate-centric in our family. Believe it or not, our progenitor—Sirius VIII was quite a Romeo who found his Jeevansathi at the ripe age of 24 and lived a long life filled with love and intimacy. His secret? A palm tree to his name and a ✨ Government Job ✨.

“Lungi game so strong, I put the wind to shame.” — Sirius VIII

 

So how did we go from a strong Lungi game to loins on lockdown?

 

It all started off with an over-protective Momma who was determined to protect her precious baby from all the wretched women out in the world. Growing up, I was never allowed to hang around women my age. My Momma went to extreme lengths to make sure this law was strictly enforced. She started teaching at my school just to keep an eye on my delinquent ass.

 

When I was in kindergarten, I had a best friend named Lily. Lily was the sweetest friend I ever could’ve had. She’d share her chocolates with me and…uh… Well, that’s pretty much it. I PROMISE I WAS NOT A CHOCOLATE DIGGER !!!

 

Life couldn’t have been better. The days were filled with fun shenanigans with my rose-cheeked comrade, and the nights were spent dreaming about Omnitrixes and being a Power Ranger (I was the pink one, and she was the red one, cause she decreed so).

But, fate just had to teach me my place. One fine afternoon, my momma caught me playing Chor-Police with Lily. She just swoooooped right in to protect me from the Lady Singham (or so I thought) and took me home. She didn’t speak much of it. However, The next day, when Lily and I were busy plotting an invasion against the ants that bit her, the Headmaster walked in with his bald head and paunchy stomach and dragged Lil Sirius X out of the classroom. Before I knew it, I found myself surrounded by snotty little twerps scribbling Illuminati symbols on paper. The only thing I could decipher was the giant “ 1 ” on every textbook. 

 

I was promoted. 

 

PROMOTION, THEY CALLED IT. 

 

I, Lil Sirius X, who had to copy off Lily in a drawing test and who literally filled her name on top of my sheet because I didn’t know what my name was, was promoted. My Momma’s eyes sparkled with triumph against a formidable four-year-old red ranger. Thus began my solitude. I would only catch a glimpse of Lily during the intersection of our breaks, which lasted only five minutes. Soon, these brief meetups too became infrequent.

 

Lily’s family moved the next year.

 

. . .

 

15 years later I found myself in her bedroom. Dust danced in the faint sunlight that filtered through the closed blinds. The floor, strewn with glass shards, exuded a foul stench of stale memories. In the heart of the room stood a lone study table, covered in soot and half-smoked cigarettes. Amidst the clutter, one item stood out in particular — a mobile phone. The screen flickered to life as I picked it up, revealing Lily’s smiling face.

 

“They killed her,” Lily’s mother whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow, punctuating the somber atmosphere of the room.

 

My heart pounded as I scrolled through the phone’s contents. Lay there were the people who drove my Lily to her death. Every text, a cruel reminder of the torment she endured. Every picture, a stab at her identity. These were the people she chose to trust. The ones she wished not to be rude to. Yet, they had no trouble stripping her away off her dignity. They threatened to hurt themselves if she didn’t comply, if she didn’t reply, if she didn’t send them pictures. And when she wouldn’t, they dared to hurt her. They exploited innocent pictures of her, twisting them into explicit images that defiled her very essence. Passed them around. Flooded her inboxes with vile, lewd messages. 

 

I’ve always turned a blind eye to the choice words those around me used to dissect and degrade a woman’s body. I didn’t care about the pictures of my teachers and classmates they’d pass around. I didn’t care about the dozen or so fake profiles they made to “express their love” to the next one that caught their eye. It didn’t affect me and I just couldn’t care less, as long as I wasn’t responsible for someone getting hurt.

 

Everything should’ve been fine as long as I behaved. As long as I didn’t hurt anyone. But it isn’t. Maybe things would’ve been different had I stopped them. Maybe someone could’ve stopped the one’s who hurt Lily but didn’t. I hate myself for all the people I could’ve helped but didn’t. But I know none of that matters. I have no more lilies, nor any tears to spare.

 

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