Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and OCs
This is the second part, also super past heavy. Also kind of important in terms of character development. This will probably be the last chapter in a little while that will be so past heavy. There are some more to come defintily, but none off the top of my head that are relavent soon.
Most mentions will be somewhere between 100 and 500 word themed summaries at the beginning or end of a chapter like this one and the last one has. All of these things unless stated otherwise, DFB will already have the gist of.
Unedited ramble one more.
Also English spoken is underlined as usual.
Thank you so much for your awesome reviews, as well as anyone who faved or followed! Let me know what works, or what doesn't work so well for you, as well as prompts going forward.
Chapter 21 - The Dog Days Are Over: Part 2 - Perpetrator
I could admit to myself without embarrassment or discomfort that emotionally I was my dad's replacement wife as I grew up, during childhood. I didn't see it like that at the time. I just knew that dad relied on me emotionally in a way he didn't with my sisters.
He would tell me unhesitatingly that I was his favourite child- I disapproved, but I also secretly liked it. He was the most open with me verbally. His lies worked less on me and so he tried to lie less, he respected me for the criticism I gave him, the leeway I wouldn't let him have, and he loved the way I was into poetry and writing like Mother was.
He could allow himself to be more feminine with me, softer, more affectionate, more doubtful of himself, more intellectual. He ran through girlfriends like I did book series, and with each one I was a part of the bait he used to hook them. These young hopeful women saw a 'bad boy' covered in tattoos who lived slightly on the wild side of life, and when they met me they saw a man of responsibility and maturity. When he doted on me they melted.
I played my part unquestioningly; smart, sweet, polite, small, adorable, smiley. Behind my smiles I watched them with contempt, knowing they would run screaming the moment they got a good look at the real man.
And then my step mother showed up. She was the first to be university educated out of his interests. She had an ex husband, three boys about my siblings' ages, she was cold, with a politically incorrect sense of humour, and worked as a secondary school teacher. She put a very respectable face on amoral.
She was far better at mind games than I was at the time. Before my eyes she emotionally and mentally leashed him. In me she saw a threat I had tried desperately not to show myself as, to dad's various romantic interests. She was jealous of me, although I didn't know it at the time. While I was too busy trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was here to stay, she was bringing the world I knew down around my ears.
For the first time in my life with the games I had learned to play, I had a losing hand. Dad had a real wife, and he didn't need me anymore.
I peeked dully through my eyes at the blurry, dim view of DFB's dark blue shirt, as I thought of the next part of my story. Biting my upper lip, I reminded myself that this wasn't my old life, where I was surrounded by privilege and people who's exposure to violence was generally a few drunken scuffles, or the occasional lashing out as a teenager. This was DFB, who's mistakes and anger filled behaviour had led to people dying. He wouldn't judge me for my missteps. The thought was helped by his soft but firm, consistent rubbing up and down my back. His other arm supported my butt so that I could reach higher on his chest and I didn't have to worry about speaking up for him to hear me.
I breathed out slow, with a few hitches in my breath, as he waited for me to continue patiently.
"My step mother had years of practice at winning arguments against feisty, angry, smart teenagers. I didn't anticipate how practiced she'd be at using her words against me. Everything was fine at first, just like with the dogs I allowed my scepticism and doubt to be washed away by my Dad and siblings' excitement for a new family. I got along best with their eldest son, who was thrilled at the idea of having a little sister.
"They married shortly before my eleventh birthday, and we moved in to her house while dad renovated the new one. I had to share a room with Rue. She was... going through a really difficult time, and it was hell for me. She was angry, bitter, and had the sharpest tongue I've ever seen in someone. She consistently only took it out on me, because she was jealous that I seemed to have it so easy compared to her. No matter what I tried it didn't work, and more than once in the six months before we moved into the new house, I had to leave the house in tears.
"She had become a bully when she hit puberty, and I was her easiest victim. She was having such a tough time with it all, I tried to be patient and understanding. But that only lasted so long. I discovered that the eldest son, Jack, had anger issues, and didn't know how to handle someone as small and... fragile, I guess, as I was. He didn't know how to spend time with me without hurting me, and then he'd get angry and call me names when I was upset. I got used having bruises.
"The middle son, Michael, had a cutting and sarcastic sense of humour I didn't understand- he used it to be judgemental of other people's lifestyles, opinions and choices. I had a thin skin to people teasing me, thanks to my only exposure being Rue. I experienced it as mean, not funny, and felt ostracised when people laughed. I avoided him mostly.
"The youngest, Fenn, was a real charmer. He always seemed to know the right thing to say, how to tease without it hurting anyone, he was gentle and showed an appreciation for my writing, drawing pieces of art to accompany it. He was sort of like a haven during those times. But he still didn't understand. He fit into the new family, he was confident of his place. He and Michael were nine months apart, close as anything, and everyone called them twins.
"Caspian laid low, just trying to get through the last two years of school, have a social life, get a job, and play video games. Dad was busy getting up at 5 o clock in the morning, and coming home at 7 at night, working his first full time job. He was mostly exhausted, and handed over the running of the family to Anne- my step mother.
"I was teased for the way I spoke, the way I ate, the things I was interested in, the things I liked to talk about, my little habits, how long I took to wash, the sort of television I liked to watch, the words I spoke. She called me 'the lesbian'. I don't know where she had gotten the idea from, considering I had never shown an interest in anyone, and wasn't particularly masculine.
"The others, apart from Caspian, dad, and Fenn, called me Rat. She locked Jo out of the house on account of him being too big and unpleasant to look at, and allowed her hyper, skinny, short haired, slightly bony Jack Russell on the table after dinner to lick the plates clean. Rat used be the dog's - Mandy's- nickname. They decided it suited me better.
"Mandy was hyper, and annoying. She was fairly young, and misbehaved all the time. They would throw her at me in the mornings to wake me up because they knew I didn't like her. She was allowed on my bed despite it being against the rules in the rest of the house. They laughed at how rough she was with Jo because she was so small. They made her my responsibility because she was the smallest dog and I was the smallest person.
"When she barked and wouldn't stop it was my job to get her to stop. It was my job to walk her. I was told to walk her apart from everyone else and take a different route at a different time. They thought she was cute and sweet, and let her get away with everything. Then one weekend Anne told us she was selling Jo because she didn't want a big dog. The other dog, Ben, was too old to do much more than sit in his dog basket.
"I felt heartbroken on one hand, but on the other hand I told myself that Jo would be safe. I felt so isolated. The rage I had built with no where to go. I got into one argument with Anne, and dad came to my room that evening looking like he was going to kill me. I didn't dare do so again. Everything I said was twisted by her, when she repeated it to the others it would inevitably offend someone. She didn't technically lie, but she always misrepresented me in conversation.
"I started to hate Mandy. She never stopped being annoying, and whenever something went wrong with her I got the blame. I got back from a rugby match late one evening, and I was told off terribly for having made Mandy wait to go for a walk. I defended myself, that they all knew I would be back late, and anyone could have walked her. I can't remember how the rest of the conversation went, but I remember it hurt. I was so angry, I felt my rage boiling up and over.
"I'd never hated anything before. But I looked at hyper, annoying, misbehaving Mandy who everyone doted on- but Anne the most- and I despised that dog to an overwhelming extent. I felt so powerless, alone, hurt and unloved. I walked Mandy in the dark, wanting to hurt something like I never had before, and then Mandy walked in between my legs- she had a habit of tripping me up- and tangled the leash. It yanked on her a bit and she turned around and nipped my ankle.
"It caught my skin in between her teeth, and that was the last straw for me. Suddenly I wanted her to be so desperate to leave me alone that they would take the responsibility of her from me. It was like this haze draped over my thoughts, and I kicked her. She yelped, but it didn't put her off much, and somehow that made me more angry. I had learned from the best, and I used that knowledge to hurt her.
"I punched her in the head, and kicked in her the side, she didn't wear a choke chain, but I used her collar to strangle her and drag her about. Even then, I was restrained. She was small and I didn't want to do permanent damage to her, I didn't want to leave a mark for proof against me.
"She went quiet for once, and still. She ducked low and shivered and cowered. It wasn't enough for me, and I kept on doing it. I had months of built up emotion, and I took it all out on that little dog, who was treated better than I was, and seemed to rub it in with everything she did.
"Even then, my hatred didn't go down. I was so angry. I dragged her along onto a wall she had a habit of going up on during walks and everyone knew it, but had a sheer drop down the other side about fifty or so metres. I looked at her, pathetic and scared for the first time in her life, and I remembered how desolate I had felt, knowing dad had killed Bo, and feeling like it was my fault.
"Mandy was Anne's little baby, and I imagined the look on her face, how she'd feel if I came home and told her that Mandy had fallen off the wall and died. She'd know the truth, just like I knew the truth whenever she completely misrepresented me, but just like me she'd have no proof. She'd know she placed Mandy in my hands to punish me, and in turn I took Mandy from her.
"She'd know it was her fault, and that I had killed something she loved. I wanted to. So badly. I wanted to kill that dog. At the time it felt like I had never wanted anything as much. So I took a step forward, and I looked with complete disgust and hatred at Mandy. And then I pushed her over the edge.
"Mandy squeaked and scrambled at the rock but she went over regardless. She made these horrible squealing noises as she did, and in that moment I felt this awful sick sinking feeling, as well as triumph. Then the end of Mandy's long leash got stuck in between two loose rocks, and she dangled there in her harness. The whole time she'd been mostly quiet, but as she hung there, she screamed.
"She sounded so terrified. All of a sudden this wave of regret hit me, and I frantically scrambled for the leash before it came loose. I carefully lifted Mandy from where she was hanging over the edge trying not pull too hard in case she came free from her harness, and when I had her in my arms, I collapsed against the wall in that thin creviced pathway.
"She was so... happy to be saved. After she shivered in my arms for a few minutes, she began wagging her tail and licking my face. Holding what I'd done against me didn't even occur to her. I realised then, how innocent she was. I realised I was my father's daughter in so many more ways than I knew. I realised I had this... anger inside me that was violent, and I liked the feeling making something cower and quiver on the ground by my feet gave me, just like him.
"I knew I was capable of being no better than him. I saw what I'd done to Mandy, and I couldn't stop myself from bursting into tears. I felt so guilty and ashamed. I'd tried to kill her, and here she was in my arms giving me uncomplicated affection. I cried for how lonely I felt, and how miserable I was. I cried for my childhood that I knew was over. I cried for my dead relationship with my dad, and my dying relationship with Rue.
"I was still so angry, but I was so much more than that too. I took Mandy home and didn't tell anyone there what I'd done. Anne knew I had done something at some point anyway, because for a month after that, whenever I caught Mandy misbehaving, or she did something to annoy me, she would cower and shiver until I reassured her. She refused to jump on my bed anymore because she knew I didn't like it, and she tried harder and more consistently with me for affection than anyone else.
"If I wanted her to do one thing and someone else wanted to do another, she would listen to me. In the end, Anne knew I had tormented her when she wasn't looking, and that was the result of it. She would look at me with this expression on her face, that said she knew, and I would look back silently asking for proof that she would never have. Despite the shame and guilt I felt for what I had done, I still felt triumph that I had gotten back at Anne and she knew it.
"Anne left Mandy and Ben with her parents to live with them, a few months after that. Eventually I drummed up the courage to tell Mother what I'd done. After I finished telling her I threw up down the toilet. She said she wasn't surprised I had been pushed to that point, and made me promise not to ever hurt animals again out of anger or hatred. I did, and she took me to a friend of hers who had horses, so that I could spend time with them and do something good for another living being.
"I never spent time around a dog after that. It was my last proper interaction with one... I know I wouldn't knowingly hurt a dog unless in defence of myself or another. But I still feel so uncomfortable around them now. They're a reminder of a time that brought out my angriest and most volatile side- a part of myself that I desperately try to keep control of by rationalising everything before I act, if I can. Sometimes I look at a dog, and I'm scared that it'll be more aggressive to me than anyone else, because it knows how I treated another. It's not rational, but I just feel... unworthy, to be around them."
By the end of my speech, I felt wrung out and cold emotionally, yet oddly energised. As I was telling my story, and immersing myself in the past, I had felt, as I always did when I recounted it, that familiar rage and bloodlust that had risen in me back then. It heated my blood, and felt like my thoughts sharpened to a blade point. Whenever I cast my mind back on that time, I hadn't ended anything's life, but it didn't stop me from feeling like a killer.
I had realised, shortly after that point, that it wasn't causing the death of another that particularly upset me, it was causing the suffering. I didn't like causing other people or beings unnecessary pain, especially fuelled by my own emotions. It wasn't feeling like a killer that bothered me, it was the abuse I had inflicted before I had tried to murder Mandy. That wasn't the sort of person I wanted to be. That was too much like dad. I didn't want to be like dad.
That sort of violence was impulsive, and messy and irrational. It was the sort that got people caught. I had surprisingly few compunctions about murder, when I sat down afterwards and had a good look at myself. But I didn't like losing control. There was little that was rational about animal abuse, to me. The only positive thing I had taken away from it was that the small amount of rational control I had managed to hold onto during that experience chose to aim for Anne's loss of power, through unspoken knowing of what I had done, by using what she had given me- I could use that as a small trump card for bargaining power if I needed. I had succeeded.
I wanted more of that, if I was going to hurt other people. I wanted it to be methodical, and with a clear, defined, logical purpose, so that I knew when to stop. I never wanted to get carried away like that again. I needed to know who I was hurting, how much, why, and what my end goal was. I placed those boundaries around myself carefully, and with Mother's help, and used them as warning flags that something was wrong if I ever stepped over them.
As I got older, I may have done things that other people considered far more immoral than abusing a dog, but to me, that moment was the worst I ever allowed myself to be.
Through it all, DFB's hand never faltered as he rubbed my back. His body posture remained relaxed, and I took a moment to rub my face against his shirt. I realised what I'd done moments afterward and flushed.
"Sorry, I think I may have ruined your shirt," I informed him, embarrassed.
"I have more of them," he assured me gently. He hesitated for a moment, as though considering whether to say something, before he blew out a small breath, "I'm glad you told me this. Everyone's struggles are unique, and they can't be compared. Don't devalue what you experienced because it doesn't sound as bad as someone else's. But also... you've lost everything you knew, and you've spoken about a lot of your life when you were young, but I knew you were missing some bits out. I think it's good for you to speak of them, especially because despite all your loss, today is the first day I have ever seen you cry tears."
I paused, shocked, and thought back through my two years in this world. I realised the last time I had actually let go like this was when I was physically a tiny baby with tear ducts not yet fully developed. I hadn't realised I had been so emotionally blocked up that I hadn't even cried.
I wasn't usually the most weepy of people, but I wasn't ashamed of letting some tears out if something moved me, or truly upset me. I usually cried a handful of times every year, sometimes just because it was cathartic. The fact that I had lost my entire family and hadn't yet shed a tear for them let me know that however far I thought I had come, I still had further to go.
I rested my head against DFB, a little unwilling to let him see my quite likely very ugly post crying face, "I hadn't noticed that."
"Hmm," he dropped the subject, which I was grateful for, and moved on, "so you still feel uncomfortable getting up close with dogs, after all this time?"
"Yeah."
"Would you say it's gotten better over time?"
I frowned a little as I thought, "no... I'd say if anything it's gotten worse."
"Then perhaps the solution isn't avoidance, but immersion."
"You think things will become easier if I spend more time around dogs?"
DFB shrugged, his hand still moving up and down my back, "we can try. It could give you a chance to bond with the pack."
I considered the idea, and figured that maybe more positive memories was what I needed to override the negative, "I can give it a go. As long as I don't have to pick up dog crap."
DFB chuckled, and scritched my scalp, much to my enjoyment, "no the dogs are well trained and well behaved enough that they'll keep their business to themselves, until they're dismissed as summons."
I brightened considerably when I heard that, "well I'm up for it, then."
I shifted my face, and then wrinkled my nose as I landed in a wet patch. Reaching up to wipe the damp feeling off my face, I looked at the pink smear on the hand afterward in confusion.
It blended in almost entirely to his dark blue shirt, but despite the dim light, my eyes unerringly found where I knew the wet patch to be. I placed the fingertips onto it, and swiped down, before lifting them up to see. They were red.
"Um... I think you're bleeding," my voice was heavy with concern.
"Hm?" DFB copied my action and then sniffed the tacky liquid on his fingers. I lifted my face to his, with a confusion filled expression, hoping for an explanation.
For a moment he looked as baffled as I was, and then he looked at me. His eye shot wide, and without a word he picked me up and hurried to the bathroom. The bright lights of the room turned on, he sat me next to the sink, placed his hands on either side of my face and tilted it to the light as he scrutinised me.
I was quiet for a few seconds, before my curiosity took hold, "DFB? What are you doing? Is it... a nose bleed?"
The worry and fear on his face settled into something more complicated.
"It's your eyes. You've been crying blood."
Sorry again for those who don't want to hear about her past, and just want to move on. It was one of the few stories she could tell that was far back enough in the past not to feel so raw, also feels herself to be enough of a victim to not put her in too bad a light, and so she'd feel comfortable with it as an opening tale, whilst still emotional enough to make her cry.
Anyways, so what do you think is going on with the crying? Is there any particular past based character that stands out to you as interesting in that? What do you think Kakashi was thinking/feeling while she was telling this story?