What does the expression in her eyes mean ? Is it betrayal ? Os it disappointment ? Is it confusion, maybe wonder ? Or does it simply express the feeling taking over the heart of a mother when her daughter lies ? What does it really mean at the end ? Will she cry ? Will she yell ? Will she forgive ? Will she cancel the wedding ? What does it really mean ? Is it good or bad ? It promises, yes, but what ? Momo's lost, so confused, drowning in her mother's eyes, tangled by her blond and curly hair, deafened by her soft yet quivering voice. What does she want ? What does she need ? Since when is it so complicated to only read through her eyes, through her words, through her gesture, her posture ? Her mother shakes her head, eyebrows frown, exasperation in her voice. Momo thinks she can hear a pitiful undertone, but she's not sure.
"We won't cancel the wedding," her father spits, "just because she suddenly feels like it. It's already planned, your future husband is coming, he'll stay at our house while you work. After that, you'll come back home, and that's it. you'll live with us."
"Are you sure you really want that ?" Aizawa asks, an hint of distress in his voice, mouth partially hidden behind his scarf. "She already reacted badly, her mind as much as her body took too much pressure at the same time. She doesn't need nor want it."
"Listen," Momo's father cuts him, eyes glaring at him. "We're not here to listen to what we should and what we shouldn't do, alright ? We want Momo to marry a man we trust, a man who can protect her-"
"I can protect my self on my own !"
"And what, fall on the arms of the first stranger you see ? You'll just bring shame to the family's name because you're not married at twenty."
"Since when is it a shame ? Since when ?"
"Since forever Momo !" Her other whines, putting a kind hand on her the young girl's shoulder. It's warm. "Don,'t be like that, your father and I were married at respectively twenty-four and sixteen years old and look at us, we're happy, we built a family !"
"And always screaming at each other in my face, that's what yo are. If this is your definition of happiness, then I'll better be sad by myself. Keep your happiness for you and leave me alone, I don't want it-"
"Momo-"
"I don't want your stupid name, I don't want your money nor your love," she stands up, tears forming at the edge of her wide eyes. She looks straight into her father's stare, ignoring her mother's cries. "If I have to be ashamed of what I became, then so be it. It doesn't bother me, as long as I can become a hero. A greater hero than you'll ever be."
"We never wanted to become heroes !" Her father stands up too, yelling louder and louder. The walls seem to quiver behind his back, under his voice. He puts his hands on his wife's shoulders and sighs. He calms down, a soft look on his face. His voice is weaker. It takes Momo aback, she winces. "We only want your safety, we love you," it's barely a whisper. Momo's weakness. "We just want you to be happy. We sacrificed our career for your own sake. Please, listen to us, Momo-"
"Stop that," Momo cuts him, hands almost ripping her skirt. She shudders, a sudden headache seems to block her vision. It's all stained, all so deformed. "What career did you sacrifice ? Always away, praying my quirk but not my name !"
She takes her breath back, looking deeply into her father's betrayed eyes. Now she can read it. She can read them, understand what's hiding silently behind those dark pupils. They yell at her silently, quietly judging, quietly praying. A shame, a liar, a traitor, not worthy, maybe, of their education, of their time. But love nonetheless, hope, even some sort of admiration and patience, what their words don't and can't translate. Is it just ? Did we do good ? Did we do her harm ? Momo winces, rips her skirt a little more, listening to their voices buzzing in her head. She tears up her skirt completely. Nudity isn't a problem anymore. It doesn't feel like her body anyway.
"I don't want to-"
"Please, Momo !" Her mother begs, whipping away her tears gracefully. Her expression is torn, confused. It hurts so much. "If you marry him, we'll pay for your next school years, we'll let you become a hero. Please, we'll help you. We'll let you be free."
Momo's taken aback. She wants to stay here, she only wants to become a hero, one of the best, fighting to save lives, to bring peace in a world so unstable. She wants to achieve her dreams, more than anything. More than her freedom. But what an irony, a hero fighting for every citizen to be safe, to be free, but being imprisoned herself by grudges so thin, so weak ? What freedom would it be, to be married to some stranger she would never love ? What freedom would it be to not marry the one she truly loves ? Stupid. A hero hold back by her own demons can't save anyone. Demons made out of money, of familiar faces.
"I-I don't..."
"Think about it dear, please. We'll let you one more weak, okay ? Next Friday, we'll come back and talk about it. Think, please. For us. We believe in you. We always did,"
Her father's voice soothes her. Memories flood back. He reads a story, one of trust, one of love, one of bravery and dreams. His fingers stroke the pages, stroke her small head, while a piano plays behind them. His voice is strong yet so familiar, so calming. At the end, the daughter always stays with his parents. And the drawings if his happy face seems so charming, so poetic. All the colors, the precise contours of the stick figures, the beautiful backgrounds, the castle, the loving husband. Every word is written with love, with attention, with hope. Illustrated books for young children, ignorant yet again of the world outside of their rooms, with a moral telling them what's good, what's best. What they should always do. Was it all planned ?
"We love you, you know that."
"Goodbye dear," her mother whispers as she kisses her forehead softly. So much memories.
They both leave, not paying any attention to Aizawa. Momo stands here, part of her green skirt in her hand. She feels naked now, betrayed, let down. She wants it more, more than anything, to just become a hero, more than her own will to be free, but… There's always something wrong, something missing, a piece at the wrong place. A lie. Oh, she'll say yes. This girl wishes too much. She wants it. She wants too much, maybe too little, standards too high or too low, but she wants to know. She chokes on air. There's not enough. She suffocates. She falls on her knees, face against her palms, against the teared up piece of her green skirt. She coughs. Aizawa puts his hand on her shoulder. Reassuring, brushing paper clips away from her neck. There are so much gray paper clips, shining under the the harsh light above the dark wooden desk. It's incandescent, too strong, it burns her iris, too frontal, but at least it's not the sun. She deserves to be burnt by the sun.
"Sir, am I a bad daughter ?" She mutters, letting her tears soak the ground. If she cries enough, maybe she'll drown.
He doesn't answer, only patting her back awkwardly. He must be confused, reassuring a young girl he knows he can't help. And, really, there's no answer to this question. It's rhetorical. You can't be bad or good. Not a daughter. There's no answer. But she needs one, just one. Just this time.
"Please, say it, say it."
"I can't."
"Can't what ? Can't tell the truth. Say it. Tell me how terrible I am, how selfish I act. They love me."
"But do you love them ?"
"I don't know. Yes. But it hurts. No. But it hurts, too."
"Think about you first. Not them. You."
He stands up, taking her elbow carefully. His tired and dried eyes look at hers, scanning her entire being. He nods.
"Think about what you want the most. And please, don't forget that there is always a solution," he whispers, voice quiet and sure. She wants to be like that. Sure. But she's so lost. "There's always someone that can help, something that can change."
He pats her back and leads her outside of the office. She looks at him in disbelief.
"Go to your room now, it's getting dark.
She nods and tiptoes to her room. Her skirt is teared up, microscopic scratches cover her thighs, her gaze lingers on everything, insignificant objects cover her view.
"Momo ?"
She jumps, alarmed. Todoroki stands behind her, a sympathetic gaze on his traits. He walks cautiously to her and puts a hesitant hand on her trembling arm. He doesn't look at her thighs, doesn't pay attention to her teared up skirt that covers nothing now. He just looks at her, warm hand carefully heating her skin.
"… Do you want to stay with me ? I can't sleep."
She nods. Just nods. He smiles. Second mistake. But it's too late now, she feels like falling apart. What a shame, really.
Pour Une jeune écrivaine, merci pour ta review ! Tu peux écrire en français, je suis française après tout, hé hé. Merci encore pour ton soutient, et ne t'inquiète pas, il y aura des chapitres plus longs, les nuits sont juste plus courtes que les jours. Après tout, le monde dort quand la nuit tombe. Hé hé.
And thank you everyone for staying with me, I'll do my best for the next chapters ! Thanks again, always !