I have to be the unluckiest person in the world. I had no friends, nobody liked me. I had virtually no family, my mother and father didn't love me like I thought they should. I couldn't laugh, or smile, my life had no light. No darkness either, for I didn't frown or cry or anything of the sort. It was a state of in-between, a state of equality, where you can't feel because of the perfect balance. You were neutral, the world payed you no mind. That was my childhood, nothing. Nothing at all.
When she was just a little girl, a tall older boy with spiky red hair that went back in all directions, gave her a doll. It was a pretty doll, with flawless porcelain skin that flushed at the cheeks, a simple white dress that ended close to the knees, blue sandals with fake pink and white flowers, and pale blonde hair that swept to the side and over its shoulder curling up. But none of those things that made them twins counted. What counted were the two grey eyes-lifeless, glassy, and unseeing. Her father didn't seem too happy, but the man persuaded him by bringing up her mother. One day, while she was reading a library copy of Alice in Wonderland, her father snuck into her room and took the doll. It couldn't scream for her, it had no mouth. Though she swore when it was locked up in a cage swinging back and forth on a hook, it cried. Too bad she didn't see the warning of a future to come in its watering eyes.
People in my hometown, Twilight Town, say that there's always going to be an object to represent you in the long run. They say you never know what it will be or when you will find it. The old woman who gave me little peppermint sticks on Christmas told me that I should keep my heart open even though nobody might come. People say to me many things, out of pity for my existence. With this doll, I can share that pity with someone.
Long before this doll ever came her mother, with short blonde hair brighter than hers and with antennas, joined her on the terrace. Her mother's green eyes were warm and bright for once, making her slightly uncomfortable. The mother giggled as she shifted about, nervously fidgeting. "Aw, doesn't little Namine want to know why her momma's so happy?" She looked up from her lap and watched as the mother skipped around the white room, a shock of color in the skimpy red clothes she wore. "Well?"
"Uh... um..." she bit her lip hard enough that she was sure it bled. "Okay."
"I'm leaving!"
"Leaving...?" Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Leaving...?" she repeated, slower than before.
"Yes, stupid. I'm leaving, for good. Axel said I shouldn't and I shut him up when I mentioned Xemmy and the kids."
"Kids? Like me?" she asked.
"Stick to the point. I'm leaving this house, your sociopathic dad, and this backwater town forever!"
"Am I going with you?" she asked, biting her lip again. The laughter that followed was the worst part. The mother left, like she said she would. All her skimpy clothes were gone from the walk-in closet, all the priceless jewelry, and some of her father's credit cards. They never spoke about the mother again, not once. On occasion, she wouldn't be allowed to go down to the table to eat her dinner which was a blessing considering how uncomfortable being under the cold glare of her father's blue eyes was.
He hated me, and he still does to this day. Whether it's because I remind him of my mother or because he regrets me, I will never know. He was a ladie's man yet he chose to stay inside and hurt me all the time. Not physically, but emotionally. I never forgot the torture of living my own childhood. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
And long after the doll came, she sat in her room with a single piece of paper, thinking about drawing a fallen angel with crooked wings bleeding her heart out onto the dying grass of a cemetery. She was eleven then, so her drawings still had childish touches to them. She hummed a tune to herself, drifting off into fantasyland populated with other kids that didn't think she was too skinny, or that her eyes were too big, or that other than those two she was too plain. She got to go to public school instead of sitting in the living room discussing seventh grade algebra problems—she was in fifth grade for crying out loud!
Drip, drip, drip
She blinked at the break in the silence, realizing that her last piece of paper was soaked through and that tears now leaked from the corners of her eyes, or had she been crying this whole time without realizing it? The second one seemed more likely for how else would her paper get so soaked?
"Hello, Namine." Her tears stopped abruptly. He knew, he knew, he knew, how could he know? She hid her paper and her completed drawings were... oh no, this is terrible. Why is it so terrible? Because. Recently her father got a phone call from a private number in California. How does she know? Eavesdropping came in handy when you weren't involved when you should be.
"Hello?" her father had asked in that eerily calm voice.
"Marly?" She heard footsteps and the click of the lock.
"Larxene, you left. I don't care why, but you left me with a child that is not mine. I don't know what to do with it and..."
"I called to tell you that she's all yours. Do that career choosing thingy, make her rake in the dough, you know how it works."
"As interesting as that is, she looks like you so she must be like you, into acting and the arts. All that trash." The caller was silent on the other end.
"She's quiet, withdrawn, from what you raised her to be. If she were like me..."
"You know what, I'm finished. Don't call here, don't email me, don't text, don't anything." he said, raising his voice just a bit.
D::D
"Your mother called here and its final." he told her after throwing the last of her wonderful drawings away. The tears had stopped already; you know what they say, "Nothing lasts forever." Not her art-world, not her family, not anything. She wasn't even eleven for that long either. She managed to pull myself along, just giving up only a few times. She was eighteen before she knew it, and her "father" was always inviting boys her age over to their house. Of course, each boy only showed up for money or because they thought they had gotten a shot with a hot chick. Then again, not all of the boys were the ones of her fantasies. The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She put her pen down and closed her math textbook, then saw the caller was a private number in California. She sighed and reluctantly hit the "talk" button.
"Namine White."
"I don't expect you to, but do you remember me?"
"Yes, you're my mother."
"Look, my life's calmed down and Axel's stopped telling me about you. Can you fill me in from when you were eleven?"
"Why should I?"
"Namine, please."
"Answer me. You left me with a man who's not even my father. You never called to see if I was dead or alive. Never. You didn't care, and I had to grow up with no real parents. Marluxia, I can't call him my father, all he wanted was power over what's-his-face."
"Xemnas?" She didn't care to know his name, he made the only father she had ever known go insane over power, talking about real estate that his "Organization" owned, and how Xemnas was picking favorites for the company that did who-knows-what.
"If you want to know what my life is like," she paused. Olette passed by her open door with her arms full of clean laundry, giving her a concerned look. She waved her away, and put the phone back on the charger and went back to her homework. She finished 2x + 8y = 10, yawning. Olette came back in, arms empty.
"Really, Namine? Cramming at this time?"
"No, I'm doing next year's homework assignment." She giggled when her jaw went slack. She was known as the school nerd until Namine showed up after arguing for days with her father over what school to go to. She had a very bad feeling she'd be disowned."Kidding, I'm kidding."
"Aw, Na-mi-ne!" Olette whined, using a nickname she had grown fond of. They heard a thud in Xion's room next door and knew they were in for it. But she smiled anyway, enjoying what she knew wouldn't last long.
So, I decided while Sacrifice and NSNL are on hiatus, why not work on something new? I wanted to try my hand at tragedy and hurt/comfort so I'll warn you that this story has very dark themes, but it sometimes has a little romance in-between. No more spoilers! Also, Namine was humming "Tourniquet"
(UPDATE) I thank everyone for the hits, the reviews, the faves, the alerts, anything you did involving me or my stories. I LOVE YOU ALL! -FK
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