I don't own Wreck-it-Ralph or it's characters. I own Malcolm, Jeremy, and Louise.
"YOU LITTLE WITCH!" A rough hand slapped Tamora across the face. The small girl stumbled and fell onto the ground. She tearfully wiped the blood from her mouth. "Get up," he growled, pulling her up by her blue T-shirt.
"Daddy?" She mumbled, scared for her life. He threw her to the ground, causing her to cry out in pain. Her cut face, stinging from the tears, made sure to look down, refusing to meet his eyes.
He grabber her already bruised arm and swung her, screaming, across the room. She cried out as she made impact with the tiled-kitchen wall, but knew better than to let him see tears. He would know he was hurting a human baby. His human baby.
His breath reeked of alcohol, a stench she hated. Sometimes he was fine when drunk; when someone made him mad, when he was sober, he was bad. If he was mad and drunk...pray for your life, because you never know if it will be snatched from you.
He panted, regaining his energy. She dared to take a quick peak at her unconscious mother. Louise was surrounded by blood, and she knew that her unborn baby brother was dead.
"Mom, wake up. Shoot him, already," Tamora thought. "He killed Jeremy. Daddy deserves to die."
Her thoughts were interrupted by a kick to her stomach. She bit back a gut-wrenching scream.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He picked her up by her hair and Tamora screamed, forgetting the punishment for admitting she's in pain. "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"
"DADDY, STOP! PLEASE!" The young blonde begged him.
WHAM! Uppercut. Her head flew backwards, nearly snapping her neck. Blood spilled from her mouth, and a white baby tooth escaped in the red liquid. Malcolm dropped her, picked up his bottle, and stumbled into his room. Keeping her sniffles quiet, Tamora wet a washcloth in the kitchen sink and wiped up all of the blood from the hardwood floor. When she was done wiping, she sneaked to the guest bedroom and brought down a blanket and pillow. She propped her mother up, slid the pillow underneath her, and covered her with the blanket.
A six-year-old Tamora limped up the stairs, wincing when her leg hit a wooden stop. She wiped her black eye, still keeping her sniffling quiet. She tried not to groan as she moved her sore muscles to change into pajamas.
She slunk into bed, but her tense body refused to relax. She didn't know the meaning of the word. Relaxation was not a luxury she could afford in her house.
Rolling away from her closed door and her father, she fell out of bed. "AAH!" She screamed.
"AAH!" Tamora screamed, bolting about of bed. She panted, trying to calm her still heart.
"Tammy?" She heard a soft and sweet voice call her. He turned on the lamp next to his nightstand. "You okay?" Felix stood up to meet her full height.
"Just a dream about cybugs, Fix-it. I'm fine." She pretended to smile at him. He shushed her and held her. Her fake smile dropped as he whispered reassurances that no cybug could hurt anyone again.
She fooled him once again. She fooled everyone.
I don't know why, and it breaks my heart to, but for some reason my favorite fanfics to write are always abuse fanfics. This one could be a prequel to "I'm (Not) Okay", if that's what you prefer it to be, but I will leave that up to you.
I left the ending the way I did because I wanted to show how easy it is to fool everyone around you when you have been or are being abused. And if you are, I cannot stress this enough. CALL THE POLICE OR A HOTLINE!
And to justify why I always have her as a survivor of abuse, she is very tough, strong, and mistrusting even before she meets Brad. I feel like, while Brad's death was absolutely traumatic, it doesn't really explain her. It explains her intense hatred of the cybugs. It explains, to an extent, why she may be scared to get close to someone. But I feel like there is just so much more to her character that Disney doesn't explain, and we are left to interpret.
So, this is mine.