This is in Murrue's POV.
"She's too nice; people like her don't belong in the military."
"I bet she's nice because that's how people were always around her…I heard that she grew pretty rich and spoiled."
"Never, talk about my background like that," I said, gritting my teeth.
"Yah, she probably could have anything she wanted too."
"Hey Murrue! What was it like being a rich little girl?"
"Don't you ever talk about me like that!" I said as I stormed out of the dining hall.
I tried to hide my tears, as best I could; then, when I came into my room, I broke down, tears flowing out like a river.
In my sadness, I didn't hear the door open, and I didn't realize it until a strong pair of arms encircled me.
"You okay?" he asked, his calm voice whispered in my ear, "What happened?"
"Everyone says I'm too soft a captain. Yet, compared to other people out there, I'd rather be how I am now.
My past isn't a pretty one, like everyone thinks.
When I was little, my older brother, Matthew, and I grew up in San Francisco. We weren't part of the military, (as far as I can remember) and, hell, we didn't even know who our real parents were. We were dropped off at the orphanage, when I was 2. Matthew, being 3 years older than me, said that he kinda remembers mom and dad. He told me this while we were walking outside in the orphanage garden, if one could even call it that. They were really nice, and apparently, during a vacation in Spain, were killed in an anti-natural terrorist act. Soon after, people came and took Matthew and me to the orphanage in San Francisco. Once there, Matt and I stayed for about 5 years. I remember when we were there; the older kids would come and corner me, and beat me up.
Soon after, two people came to the orphanage, a young lady and a young man. Before we knew it, we were adopted and taken to their home.
Our "dad" smoked and swore…a lot. And "mom" was passive; giving into my father's harsh demands, so that he wouldn't beat her. I remember when I was really little, maybe about 7, I accidentally knocked over my "dad's" computer. Because, after I did that, he started yelling at me and said something that sounded like: "YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING-BITCH! WHY THE FREAKING HELL DID YOU TIP THAT OVER?" And then, quietly, I answered, "I'm sorry." But, apparently, sorry didn't cut it in my new family. He yelled at "mom" to close the windows and lock the doors. Then, he took me into a room and beat me. The beatings continued all the way into high school. Then they just got worse." I paused, and looked up at Mwu, who looked inquisitive. But I knew that he'd only be in shock afterwards. "After I entered high school, my grades, although great, were never enough to please him. Then, one day, he got so fed up at me, that, one night, he…he…"
"What's wrong Murrue?" asked Mwu."One night, he closed the windows and doors as he had always done. But this time, he…he…he got the kitchen knife and cut my arms and, sometimes, my legs and ankles." I held myself close to Mwu and small tears floated in the weightlessness of space, "If I screamed, cried, or showed any signs of resistance, he'd cut me again. And he did that every day afterwards. I…I still have many of the scars." And I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket to reveal markings of where my "dad" had beaten me all those years ago. "As soon as I got the chance, I enrolled in a military college, to get away from my parents. Soon after that, I met him." I felt Mwu tense up, which he always did whenever I mention his name. "And he asked about the markings o my wrists. I couldn't tell him anything. And I wasn't that I didn't trust him or anything, But I was afraid. Because, when I left for college, my dad had told me and my brother, 'if you ever tell anyone about what happened these past 10 years, then…I WILL KILL YOU!.'" I cried all the harder, scarred for life by the events of my childhood.
"Shhhh…its ok," soothed Mwu, "No one's going to hurt you anymore."
"But still, but still…"
"It'll be okay, I'll make sure that no one hurts you like this again."
"If, if my "father" finds out that I told you this...he might…he might…" I couldn't bring myself to say the words.
"He might what?" I turned my head away…I couldn't face the awful reality of what might happen.
"He, he might, he might try to kill us…" I choked out the words, "My brother, as soon as he graduated from college, told the authorities of our "parents". After he was released, my dad hunted down and killed my brother. Again, my father went to jail. And from what I've heard, he's broken out."
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