Author's Note: This is my first "South Park" fanfic. I'm still working on the details, plus studying for final exams, so chapters will be coming along slowly (but surely, I hope). Since Henrietta (or any of the goths) isn't given a last name in the show, I made one up for her. Critique and flame me all you want, just be smart about it. The song "Precious" belongs to Depeche Mode (or more specifically, Martin L. Gore). So don't sue me!
Black Day
Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give
Excerpt from "Precious," by Depeche Mode
Chapter One
"Sweetie! It's time for school!"
"Go away, you conformist bitch!"
Shards of light pierced through the suffocating darkness that engulfed Henrietta's room. A quick glance revealed the environment of a purposely isolated lover of all things dark and dreary, most commonly misunderstood as a "goth." At the doorway stood Mrs. Belden, Henrietta's mother, and the source of the unwanted illumination.
"Now, now, young lady," Mrs. Belden chastised her daughter. "Don't you remember our little talk about using 'colorful phrases'? It's not nice."
"Like I give a shit," Henrietta retorted, burrowing deeper beneath the covers.
"Oh, my! That sassy mouth of yours just earned you a--"
"Let me guess: dinner without desert. How freaking original."
Mrs. Belden was stunned. "… W-well, what I meant to say was you're grounded."
"Grounded? That's the best you can do?," Henrietta said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Puh-leeze! It's not like it matters. I'll just wait for that piece of shit you married to get smashed, then for you to take your so-not-hidden valium, and walk out the front door." Irritated, she threw back the covers and got up, gathering her toiletries and standard garb for the day: a black dress with lace adorning the shoulders and back, black shoes, and black fingerless gloves.
"You should treat your father with respect, young lady. And stay out of our dresser drawers! It's impolite to go through other people's belongings," the usually-cheerful woman snapped, appalled by her daughter's accusations. Henrietta smiled inwardly; her mother indirectly admitted she'd been taking valium. 'She must be slipping…'
"…he is the most caring, most hard-working man I have ever met in my life, and you should be thankful--"
"—that he's my dad, blah, blah, blabbity-blah," Henrietta finished for her mother, pushing her way through the entrance, and went into the kitchen. Clutching her necessities, she grabbed a Hershey bar from the fridge and headed for the bathroom. Her mother was right behind her, following her upstairs.
"I don't know what's gotten into young lady, but this nonsense needs to stop!"
"It's not nonsense, it's the goddamn truth!" Henrietta yelled as she reached the top stair, walked down a short hallway, and violently flung open the bathroom door. She hung her clothes over the back of a nearby chair. "He's a drunken bastard who uses you for a doormat and kicks puppies for fun!"
"Take that back!" came Mrs. Belden's shocked reply from the hall. She emerged at the doorway seconds later, her face pale. "You know he's never done anything like that!"
"Oh, yeah?" Henrietta sneered, searching through the sink cabinet. She produced a pack of cigarettes, opened with only two sticks left. From the medicine cabinet, she removed a cigarette holder and makeup. With expert speed, she brushed her teeth and managed to comb out most of the tangles in her hair. The black dye was beginning to fade. Beneath it, strands of strawberry blonde were visible. 'Ew,' she thought absentmindedly.
"Then how do you explain finding Puff laying on the kitchen floor with a boot-mark on his ribs? Or where that ugly bruise on you back came from?" Henrietta inquired in a calm but unnerving tone as she carefully applied her makeup.
"You're lying…that's not true, it's not…"
"Yes, it is. Stop lying to yourself; it's getting old."
"Why would I lie to myself? I, as do you, know perfectly well that your father is a good man."
What?!
"Fuck this. I'm leaving," the young goth hissed, giving her mother a vicious look. The black eyeliner enhanced the effect; Mrs. Belden stepped back a bit. Henrietta reached for the door knob. Her mother tried to stop her, but was too late.
"Henrietta, listen to me! I'm not done talk--"
SLAM!
"…Fine. If you want to be a Miss Sourpuss, go ahead. But, just remember that mommy loves you very much," Mrs. Belden said, fighting back tears. "I-I wish that things were better between us. I know that your father can be difficult at times, but he doesn't mean it… Are you listening, dear?"
Silence.
"Henrietta, dear, do you hear me?" Mrs. Belden asked, growing concerned.
No reply.
Fearing the worst, she turned the handle and opened the door. Much to her dismay, it was locked.
"Unlock this door right now!"
Nothing.
"Oooh, you are in so much trouble, young lady!" Mrs. Belden said, frustrated. She backed up, preparing to break the door down. "I'm coming in! 1...2..."
"...3!"
BANG!
The room was empty. Henrietta was gone. The only way out was through the window, now wide open with its curtains rustling in the brisk October wind. Before it stood the chair where Henrietta's clothes had been. A rope of knotted sheets was tied to one of its legs, leading down and out into the backyard.
"My God, what have we done to you?"
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