Lena knows she's haunted, taunted by a painful past. She often finds herself drifting inside those grim memories, between sharp business meetings when sat idly behind her desk or at night lit up by moonlight already in one bourbon too deep. Vehemently attempting to remove those distasteful edges that always seemed to linger… but unable to stop questioning, unable to quash the cemetery of childhood skeletons and those broken promises that still exist inside a beautifully crafted analytical mind. Instead she roams the hallways examining the variety of gravestones, each with their own disheartened meaning. Quietly she ponders the ones reading 'Here Lies Lena Luthors Innocence RIP'.
Of a morning covered in bubbles and soap suds as she valiantly rubs at her pale complexion, scrubbing just a little too hard as she tries and tries and tries desperately to strip away layers of sickness and anxiety. Perilous thoughts convincing her that sludge was buried somewhere underneath. Knowing that as unmarked, unblemished and surprisingly unscarred her 'pretty' outside form maybe, if you where to peel it back ..take just one tiny peak there'd be no flesh, no blood, no marrow... no humanity left at all... that mud only covers the indentation of the place where Lillian's fist had soiled and sold her soul...
...leaving scratch marks where her kind childlike essence had been torn out oh SO brutally.
Lillian likes to hold things captive, she's already kidnapped her life, held it hostage - she's enjoyed filling Lena with chaos and anarchy.
Yes Lena was more than a little haunted, but no one could know…
She was a Luthor after all.
Thus she retained a stoic, somewhat cold demeanour. Not letting anyone close or anything near… because it was just better that way. Or so she told herself day after day, secretly pining for a way out of her own self inflicted isolation. Watching with neglected bleary green eyes, a little too curious as yet another glance was stolen at two mothers playing 'Disney princesses' with their six year old child. Thinking that it should have been her…. that if only fairy god mothers or genies even existed... to grant her that wish, to make it real... to turn back the clock long enough...that the Luthor manor hadn't made her twisted.
...Made her fear them. Made her stomach clench at the unfamiliarity of the word family.
Merely wanting something she'd never been lucky enough to have or to treasure.
A loving mother, a normal life ….someone or something to depend on or hold on to forever.
...To not be so alone in all of this immorality. To not be the only one to drag cumbersome weight of screaming inner demons, aloft a set of tragically bruised black and blue shoulders.
A picture of professionalism, sleek lines and manicured hair… that was the mask and persona she allowed the whole world to notice, the one she'd taken almost two decades to call perfection.
It hadn't always been this easy, to fool them into thinking everything was more than simply 'ok'. But she'd outdone herself today. There's been those few moments where she's broken down suddenly, when people would look down at her in sympathy… pity back when a young teenage Luthor had failed 'family' spectacularly.
At who she was molded, manipulated and meant to be...
Those who scoffed in disbelief, when all she told was the truth. Those who judged, dismissed and accused saying it was only lies.
The ones who just stood by and did nothing, they where the absolute worst kind.
So Lena learned the hard way that no one wants to hear of your pain, that you should hide. That they didn't mean it when they happened to ask 'how was your day?' 'Are you okay?' 'how are you doing today?' or 'are you fine?'
Lena understood that you are meant to grin and bear it, smile miraculously and pretend like your inside world wasn't burning. That you didn't still imagine holding a gun fully cocked and loaded, to your pristinely painted face everytime your phone chimed with the words 'mother dearest' asking you whether you had yet to finish working.
Yes Lena Luthors life was a ditchomy of both luxury and abundance…. depravity and despair. She had people yelling at her because... she was meant to be 'happy' as a Fortune 500 billionaire.
Lillian had always been cold, uncaring... albeit prone to bouts of rage hidden under that snarling 'Luthor' facade. Before Lex's madness took hold handing them all over to notoriety. The family somewhat well-known always seemed the picture of stability... painting a beautifully regal portrait at least from the outside looking in ... and tragically that was in fact not the case or an accurate depiction of the Luthor familial line.
On paper they looked like perfect rich high class proprietary dominating the scientific realm... a multitude of geniuses holding each other up high on a pedestal. Lena bore the brunt of that big fat lie living on the inside. Always more than a little problematic...unstable, Lillian especially... she was sadistic and cruel... enjoyed tormenting others Lena most of all, it's probably what drove Lex mad... considering mental illness seemed to ravage the family bloodline. If not Lena's suicidal ideation or Lex's lunatic ravings.. it was Lionel's depression induced drinking added to Lillian's erratic mood swinging that likely brought the grand Luthor household tumbling down.
She'd always wondered whether her mother would be considered bi-polar if she wasn't in such stark denial but aside from bouts of anger and erratic-hyper behaviour dancing the line between aloofness and mania, her symptoms never seemed to add up exactly. Using her own skills of scientific observation Lena had concluded she certainly retained some sort of disorder and anger issues that was for damn sure and doubted she actually had the capacity to physically process certain emotions, at least... the way most humans do... side effect of said personality disorder maybe? Lena wasn't one hundred percent sure.. she wasn't a medical doctor, she really didn't know all that much at all.
Counteracting that however... allowing Lillian keep her equilibrium, to peruse the outside world easily, no matter what the deficit.. flaunting herself warts and all, without blinking, without turning heads was her sharp sharp intellect, her innate ability to manipulate and to regain control. Like she had an inherent need for control, power. She was calculating... everything was one move on a chess board... and I've always been the goddamn fucking pawn.
Narcissistic Cow.
Alone in her office building, outside on the newly built LCorp balcony... high above National City. Breathing in the scent of fresh cool morning air... Lena felt calmed by the view surrounding her... the solitude it afforded to think slowly or to not think at all. The way out it provided if she only stepped forward. Brain often addled by flashbacks, nightmares... even dissociation it was an indulgence... a break from the bubbling of emotion or expectations of a family name...
One Lena doesn't get to enjoy that often.. only in those tiny narrow windows were everything is momentarily frozen. In between raindrops falling, the sky clearing or a rare flower blooming when she finds a single unwinding thread of peace. Or what's closest to it…
In the 24 years Lena's been alive she's forever been on guard, always waiting for the next shoe to fall. It's not a matter of 'if' but a matter of when… knowing the next punch is coming… that's what leaves her so totally on edge, the waiting… the terror it builds inside, the feeling of the pressure continuously rising. It's comforting really… the wall that is... not the persistent pest of anxiety.
The one she built with her own blood, sweat and bare hands. It's the only thing that she's found herself proud of, the one thing she's gave her everything..her all. Ever since she'd stopped crawling and started walking, it was the one place to keep her most vulnerable and raw materials safer.. the puzzle pieces that still don't like to stick together so she can block it all. Not that she's ever understood the term safety…. her life has been anything other..
One of her earliest memories pertained to a rage filled mother pushing her to the ground… just flashes, blurred really… though so ingrained into a barely five year old child.
Moving further forward it only continued… those moments were clearer, Lena still relives them daily, can recall it quite vividly. She can pinpoint the precise set of events spread out throughout time and history were self awareness struck her and thus the inbuilt parental idolisation slowly started waining. Understanding dawned eventually, a realisation from a ten year old girl that it wasn't normal….
That being dragged down the stairs by your ankles wasn't the correct course of action or a reputable form of punishment for any witty childish comeback.
See Lena wasn't allowed to question, to voice out a difference of opinion. She grew up without sound or sturdy solid ground… only egg shells of a fragile ego cracking with every foot left on her surroundings. Quick to sour or turn violent, Lillian was always one to play the blame 'Lena Luthor' game.
Because everything with Lillian was a game as previously mentioned... she lived for the hunt, breathed for the blood of a good ol' hearty round of emotional fencing.
Between a duel of two swords or that of a chess board either way the problem being.. was that you weren't only moving heavy marble pieces or two sharp blades of equal measure. They were remnants of your inner psyche... a wooden toy no match for Lillian's well refined and crafted slicer. Your body a pawn, if your mind a ruck….. the bishop your moulded and disassembled personality. She'd left you without your own queen usually already captured and detained, thus having your king checkmated before you'd even woken up that tormented fucking morning.
Defending yourself was always considered answering back... because clearly I should just have a zipper for a mouth… one that mother can open and close when warranted.
Maybe she should just use duct tape for efficiency..
Either way your expected to let yourself be taunted, be just fine with being manipulated and okay with the prospect of continued bullying. Because who the fuck are you…. for all your worth... your someone to be owned according to her.
Looking out to the sky, a familiar red and blue line stood out darting among the clouds. Lena smiled watching as the famed hero of National City barrelled through her sightline as she passed by.
Muttering a 'hey supergirl' to herself, forgetting for a moment she could be overheard... that red and blue streak turned abruptly coming to a stop directly in front of Lena.
Gaping for a moment, somewhat caught out. Lena couldn't help be mesmerised by the picture displayed before her... it didn't seem real, The Kryptonian looked like one of those poised photoshopped magazines. Hair highlighted by the sun, golden curls shimmering, flecked and reflecting the light. Face and body completely shadowed... but what stood out the most was the contrast between the blue of the suit that seemingly matched the brightness of her uniquely sparkling eyes. Hovering a few feet above the balcony, cape billowing, skirt blowing, leg to one side she greeted smiling happily "Miss Luthor!"
Leaning forward Lena glanced upward somewhat coy "Supergirl!"
Noticing the bourbon in her hand at ...8:30 in the morning Supergirl frowned cocking her head like a puppy dog. About to speak her head shot up abruptly- obviously hearing something distressing in the distance. Looking back to Lena Supergirl sheepishly smiled...
"Duty calls?"
Nodding Supergirl responded "Duty Calls..." about to fly off Supergirl hesitated before quietly commenting "I hope your doing alright Miss Luthor." With that she was off in a flash...
If only she knew. Lena rolled her eyes and couldn't help but wonder what exactly would happen If she did... probably nothing it's not like she can wipe away past motherly indiscretions but Lena couldn't help but pine after that sense of hope she projected to the heart of National City as its golden girl... Jealous much. They'd only met a handful of times, but something about her made Lena wish for more, for something to be different... to be inspired.