A/N: I own no elements of the Repo!Verse.
The morning of her thirteenth birthday, Carmela Largo wakes up in a pool of blood. She screams and screams until one of the servants comes and cleans up the sheets. She's steered to the bathroom by another maid, who instructs her to shower. But as she stands there and watches the blood swirl down the drain, all she can think is that this is all Luigi's fault. Somehow.
He likes blood, her oldest brother. Likes to make things bleed. When she was ten, she had a puppy. A cute, little cocker spaniel, worthy of its own Disney film. And then one day Duchess – that was the dog's name – came scampering in with a nick in one of her curly ears. Freshly cut. Carmela tended that puppy and nursed her back to playful health.
Three weeks later, Duchess cowered behind her as Luigi chased the pup with a knife.
A month later, Luigi stabbed the puppy in a fit of rage.
And that's the last time Carmela had a pet.
He does that kind of shit to girls he brings over. And thirteen year old Carmela knows better than to believe him when he says they're "just playing". She's not a baby. She knows that nobody screams like that when they're playing. Nobody.
His sheets are so often stained with blood that Carmela has come to associate the color red with Luigi. And so when she goes down to breakfast to join her family and he greets her with an effusive, "Happy fucking birthday, sis!" She can't help but be suspicious. She implores her father over Luigi's shoulder using only her large, brown eyes. Rotti Largo doesn't notice. He instead tells his "little princess" that she's "almost a woman".
That afternoon, the blood is slick down her legs. Her abdomen aches in all the worst ways and Carmela thinks she might be dying. It's internal hemorrhaging. Clearly, her number is almost up. She writes her will. To Pavi, she leaves her extensive collection of books and the piano Daddy bought her for her eleventh birthday that she doesn't play anymore. To Daddy, she returns her jewelry – all of which she understands to be a loan. To Luigi, she leaves nothing.
Her clothes, she instructs in what she thinks is a noble gesture, to the cook's daughters. There are three of them; the eldest is twelve and taller than Carmela is already. But that's okay. It's the thought that counts. And since she's dying, Carmela will have no use for the clothes either.
She picks out the outfit she's determined to die in – the white satin dress Daddy has been saving for her Confirmation. The way she figures is that she never had the chance to be glamorous – not yet in this short life – and the bloodstains will look like a rose garden against the white fabric.
She lies on her bed like Sleeping Beauty and awaits her fate.
But she doesn't die. Instead, her legs get sweaty and sticky and slick with blood and her back gets stiff from holding still for so long. Luigi knocks on the door and she ignores him. He comes in anyways. And when he sees her, he screams.
Serves him right, Carmela thinks. I bet he's sorry for what he's done to me.
But he doesn't act like a guilty murderer. He calls for Rotti with his wrist communicator and sits on the bed, holding her hand and stroking her hair. Worry creases his brow and he says, "I'm gonna find whoever did this to you, Carmela, and fuck him up."
She sits up. "Don't call me 'Carmela'. It's 'Heather' now. That's what I want on my tombstone. 'Amber Largo'."
"Carmie," he says. "Don't be so fucking dramatic. You aren't changing your name and you ain't gonna die."
"I am!" she protests. "I have internal hemorrhaging."
Rotti appears in the doorway with Pavi hanging over his shoulder like a shadow. He steps in the room and wordlessly points for Luigi and Pavi to leave.
"Carmela, baby," Rotti says, sitting on the bed beside her. "Look at your nice, new dress…"
Her cheeks flush as she studies the bloodstains. They don't look like flowers at all. In fact, the blood is blackish red and ugly.
"Someone's killed me, Daddy," she pouts. Tears spring to her eyes. "And you say 'Look at your nice, new dress'!"
And then a spark of realization crosses Rotti's face. His expression softens and he wraps an arm around her shoulder. He never is affectionate. Carmela looks up at this godlike man, now a manlike god. And she sucks her tears back into her face.
"I've been so busy keeping the boys out of trouble," he says softly. "That my little girl has become a woman right under my nose. It's time we had a talk, Carmela…"
What Rotti tells her keeps her up that night. She doesn't feel like a woman. She doesn't have boobs or pretty hair or big pouty lips. She sits in front of her vanity and prods at her face. She's still Carmela Largo, with long brownish hair and a Roman nose and a flat figure just like Pavi's. She looks stupid and she knows it. So instead, Carmela pulls out her sketch book and starts to draw.
When she becomes a woman – she refuses to believe this is it – she's going to have curves. Swollen breasts like the ones Daddy says are "36 C, silicone. Starlite Model." And a nipped in waist like the women who advertise GeneCo on the large screen. And long, lush lashes like Blind Mag…
When she becomes a woman, Carmela is determined to be beautiful and not some bloody and pathetic little stick girl.
And if nature doesn't give her what she wants, there's always surgery.
Surgery…