Rocking back and forth on the plastic seat of a park swing, a girl mumbled softly to herself. She ignored the tears slipping down her cheeks, wetting the teal blue hoodie that hid her from any passers-by and clutched the chain of the swing. Her other arm was crossed over her chest, creating the illusion of a hug. She didn't know how long she had been there, rocking and quietly sobbing, but she didn't care. Why does no one care...What did I do wrong?...I try so hard to keep everyone happy... She thought, mumbling soft, kind things to herself. The more she thought, and the more she said, her tears fell faster and her breathing became more ragged.
XxXxX
Walking down the dark street, absently listening to the steady click of his boots on the concrete, Mason stared ahead at the long path. He checked his watch for the tenth time, and looked around. When his glance turned up no other people, he sighed softly and returned his attention to the dark path. No one would be out this late anyway...
XxXxX
Madeline pulled out a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose, still ignoring her non-stop tears. No one ever hears me cry...No one ever sees me...Why am I still here... She grabbed the chain again and wrapped her arm around herself, leaning on her hand and squeezing her eyes shut. She wasn't bothering to be quiet, no one ever heard her. Who would be out this late anyway? She wouldn't care if some stranger came across her anyway, they wouldn't help her. They wouldn't be the one to give her what she needed, and knowing that only made the dark pit in her stomach grow.
XxXxX
As he came closer to the city common's park, Mason could hear the faint whining of a swing set under the sound of crying. Who would that be anyway? A drunk? He followed the sound to a children's playground. He passed the slide that wound around a pole, and looked around, spotting a figure hunched over on one of the three swings attached to the set. They were covered with a teal hoodie that covered their face as their shoulders shook slightly. He stood there for a moment behind the playground a few yards from the swings, debating whether or not to approach them. ….Why should I care...I don't know them...I should just go home...
XxXxX
No one ever comes...No one ever cares... She moved the hand crossed over her to her other arm. She dug her long nails into the bicep and closed her eyes at the satisfying wave that accompanied. Pain. Inside it always plagued her, but no one truly knew. I wish someone would come...Someone I haven't lied to...But that never happens... She thought bitterly, digging her nails more roughly into her arm. She wouldn't care if anyone saw her now. What kind of normal person would aid the crying girl anyway?
She knew that anyone who was able to look at her and know what was going on would have to have felt it as well. She knew that they would take it upon themselves to help her because when they needed it they didn't get it. She knew because she'd done it for more people than she could recall. However, doing that for others came with a price. It meant holding yourself up for them and taking up their pain on your shoulders. Everyone would look up to you and think that you're strong and that your life is better, but on the inside you're in more pain than anyone.
XxXxX
Mason wanted to help her and hated it. All of his instincts were telling him to help her and be what he knew she needed, but he'd done this before. He'd been selfless for long enough, why should he keep doing it when he never got anything in return? Why should he bother and make an exception for a stranger? He was already responsible for his stupid, drug-addicted brother, and giving up everything he had didn't return anything good to him.
He wished he didn't remember so much.
He could remember his parents before they left. A crazed shadow of a mother, Olivia had been her name, who impossibly fell in love with an abusive drunk of a father, Francis. He remembered his little brother Albert depending on him for everything his parents didn't provide. Affection, someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't bruise him. He was the older one who was expected to take everything without complaint, get the best grades, do all the chores, be a role model for his little brother, and not have any problems. That just showed his delirious his parents truly were.
He remembered how even as a small child, everyone feared him. They didn't know that his constant frown and attitude of contempt spawned from his broken home. They didn't know that his mother had been on more medication than he was sure was healthy to make up for her lack of sanity. They didn't know that his father had submitted him to more injuries and pain himself than any of the other kids could take. They didn't know anything, so why should he waste his time?
But he'd been small way back then. He'd still tried his best to hold out for his tiny brother, who he knew wouldn't be able to take it. He had to be strong for the one not-evil person in his life. And he did have one friend, one ray of sunshine that had been truly his. He'd had a small black lab, a stray he found out in the woods he so often retreated to. He'd named him Scruffy because of his fur, and spent every free moment he had with him. His parents didn't care for the dog, so long as Mason didn't let it mess anything up. Scruffy had been what he needed to take everything else. Scruffy had been his one and only friend.
However, just as all good things must come to an end, so did the small bit of light in his miserably dark life.
When he was ten years old, three years after he'd first found Scruffy, he'd made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Francis had been yelling at Olivia again, no doubt due to his heavy alcohol consumption, and had knocked her to the ground. He'd gotten on top of her and had been about to punch her when Mason came out from the doorway to run, He'd let go of Scruffy's collar and the now-relatively-well-sized dog had attacked Francis. Mason was too slow in catching him and paid the price.
Francis grabbed the knife lying on the kitchen counter and stabbed Scruffy in the chest, holding him up for Mason to watch as ribbons of blood cascaded from the velvety black fur of his friend to the tile of the kitchen, "That." Francis shook Mason's dead friend," Is what happens when you disobey your father. Now get out!" Francis kicked Mason in the stomach and threw the still-bleeding Scruffy to the corner.
Mason had held his tears until he was in the dark woods. Running with his hands pressed to his furiously throbbing stomach had taken it's toll. He was sputtering and panting when he stopped to crouch against a tree trunk. He sobbed himself to sleep, all the while whispering,'Why. Why must I be the one in pain? Why must I be the one facing everything alone? Why me..? what have I done to deserve this?'
He knew this unknown person on the swing was feeling the same way. He could hear them mumbling, and didn't need to go closer to know what they were saying. He watched as they once again dug their fingers into the arm leaned on the chain, and something struck a nerve inside him. This person was different. He didn't know how, but they weren't like others he'd sheltered in his time away from home where the only family he had was his brother. No, this person was, as much as he hated to admit it, like him.
XxXxX
Oh how much she wanted to give up now. But, she had a responsibility, her little sister Amelia. She knew that the two of them had not been enough for her mother, and that events leading up to their current situation left a mark on her little sister. She couldn't let herself slip away, as much as she wished she could. But the weight of every event made a strong impression on her.
Her childhood had been relatively normal, except for her father liking to drink. When she was very little he didn't drink that much or do anything particularly out of the ordinary. She'd had good parents she thought. Francine her mother, and Arthur her father, and her little sister Amy had been her whole world. She had never been the kind to go out looking for friends, no, that had been what Amy did. Now she wished she would have gotten out more, maybe she would have better support if she had. Her current 'friends' only ever came to her when they needed to vent frustration, or take advantage of her book smarts when they were behind on something. She had no one to go to, for they all only ever went to her. They thought her quiet demeanor meant she never had anything to say, but they were all wrong. She had more to say than most of them could handle, and she knew that they won't take take her seriously. Why bother?
Her father didn't always hurt her mother. He was wonderful when she was little, and even after she began to observe him having problems, later when she was about nine, he did relatively well. She had loved her father before he was taken away. As much as she wished it was forgotten by her she could remember nights spent trembling in her bed and hugging her sister tightly. She couldn't let her little sister get hurt, even when she could hear her mother trying to fight back. She could remember her mother always covering up bruises and in extreme cases, cuts.
"I just slipped and fell, Dear don't worry." She would coo softly, brushing Maddie's blond bangs out of her violet eyes. "I just bruise easily." She would say as she took something sweet out of the oven. "Don't you worry about Mama, just go play with your little sister." She would smile and gently push Maddie into wherever Amy was.
Her mother tried so hard to shield her, as if the tiniest bit of pain would kill her. She'd enjoyed being sheltered so much then, but looking back on what happened after she wished Francine hadn't guarded her so closely.
When she was eleven years old the neighbors had begun gossiping about her parents, some saying her father tried to murder her mother and others saying her mother cheated. The night her father had gotten word of it he didn't come home until three in the morning. She'd been up late that Friday night with Francine, talking and watching movies. He stomped into the house already mumbling some crazed rant about workers or the union.
Francine immediately stood, and straightened her nightgown. She set her hand on Maddie's shoulder," Petit amour, go to bed. Just go, Mama will be fine." She smoothed her wavy blond hair, and turned to Arthur.
The room was dark except for the tv, so Arthur couldn't see all that well. He stumbled over to the standing Francine, but Maddie couldn't see his expression. She backed up on the couch and curled up in the corner of it, away from him as he turned to face her. "What are you doing here with my wife?" He slurred, stomping to where she was and glowering over her.
She wound one of her hands into the plushy couch cushion," P-Papa? It's Madeleine...Please d-don't be angry...Mama hasn't d-done anything." Her violet eyes widened with fear as he stood silent for a moment. She curled up into a tighter ball when he turned back to Francine, murmuring something.
"Mon amour, please, just go to bed. I'll go with you." She reached for his hand and he smacked her across the face.
"Don't you dare touch me!" He shoved her to the ground, raising his foot over her.
"No! Papa!" She pulled him back from Francine, but used too much force and he turned to hit her.
A siren sounded outside the house and an officer stopped them, "Hey! Get away from the child!"
They took him away that night. At the hearing he was sentenced to ten years in prison. Her mother changed that day, seeing her husband dragged away broke something inside her. Madeline knew her habit of faking strength for others came from that time her mother did it for them.
XxXxX