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writingismyhappytime · 7 years ago

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Dauntless: Daddy Dearest (Part 11)

Eric x OC

Warnings: Language, Violence

A/N: Uh…. I know it’s been a while, but here you go!

“Eric.”

I glanced over as I heard my name called, spying Max standing with Hera. I didn’t see her often, she was always buried deep in the intelligence office, so no doubt this was going to be interesting.

I glanced around, but no one had noticed Max step into the room and it was better this way. I slipped easily over to him, crossing my arms with with frown.

The Dauntless leader hadn’t called on me in a few months since my kid was born, so I was curious as to what he wanted. Need some dirty work handled? Admittedly I’d been getting a little bored with all this regular training and work, I was up for some action.

“Hera, Eric, I assume you two know each other.”

“In passing.” Hera nodded. She was a little shorter then me, with chin length blonde hair and double nose piercings. Her blue eyes were thickly lined with black and she didn’t look like she got out much or could even lift ten pounds both hands. I’d never even had a conversation with her.

“Good. Eric, you and Hera are going to be working closely together for the next week. We have a situation.”

Finally!

“What kind?”

“Better to be discussed in private,” Hera said coolly, her eyes hard. She spoke pretty soft, it was almost hard to hear her, and I vaguely wondered how much of a fighter she was; could she even hold her own or was she all brain?

“Fine.”

~~~~~~

“As you can see, we have a leak here in Dauntless.” Hera informed me, long finger pointing at the papers in front of me. “Someone is telling the other factions of some of our… rather risqué operations.”

She meant the murders that were shown as suicides or accidents, or our occasional slaughter of the faction less to keep down the population and our resources from being used too much.

“Why can’t you track it? This place is covered in cameras.”

“Unfortunately, the leak knows that and has been devising ways to get around it. We cannot even trace it back to their computer, or whatever else they’re using to convey our missions. This needs to be handled quietly.”

“So we find them and toss them in the chasm.”

“Quietly.”

Sounded easy.

“Who are the suspects?” I cracked my knuckles thoughtfully. Really, I’d just toss them all into the chasm “accidentally” and not worry about it. It wasn’t good if someone was spilling the beans about our darker movements, especially since I was involved in most of them.

I told Max he shouldn’t keep everything documented.

“This man, goes by Zeeg, works in the armory.”

“I know him. He’s a little wimpy thing.” I frowned, pressing my hands flat against the metal table as I leaned forward, looking at his photo as it flickered on the wall. I’d worked in the armory a bit when Camille was about to have the loaf, so I got familiar there. Mel knew him well.

“What are your thoughts on him?” Hera’s cold eyes landed on me, unwavering. Man, bitch might be small, but she had a harsh look.

“He’s not much of any leader, terrified if you yell at him. Lazy, but he shouldn’t have access to any files. He doesn’t even have access into the inventory system, he just stacks the ammo and takes count.” I gazed at his photo, then shook my head. “Next.”

“Next,” Hera taps her finger against the table, changing the photo. “Amanda Nuwellan. Higher level guard on the wall.”

“Don’t know her.”

“She was in your initiate class, she originated from Candor.”

“Still don’t know her. If she wasn’t on my level, she wasn’t worth my attention.” I said flatly, shrugging. “What’s her deal?”

“She left two brothers in Candor, and perhaps those obsessed with the truth would like to know our secrets. She works on the wall, but rotation has been recent and so she has been there the last three months until last week.”

“Sounds like you think it’s her.”

“Suspicions, nothing more.” Hera tapped her finger again, and the picture changed to a familiar face.

My stomach dropped.

“Tori Wu, she’s a tattoo artist in the Pit.” Hera said, but it’s the way she looked at me that let told me she knew there was a connection. “Her brother was an undesirable and eliminated, so she has reason to try to reveal our operations.”

Ahuh.

“What reason does Zeeg have?” I asked, noticing she’d neglected to mention his possible need for exposing us. I stared at her, refusing to look away.

“Zeeg is the son of an undesirable who became faction less last year. He is now dead thanks to a… well, you remember the warehouse incident you and your wife lead.”

Wife?

“His death was his own fault then for thinking he could fight against us.” I said flatly, shrugging. “how does the kid even know about it?”

“We’re currently unaware of he does, but he is on the list.”

“How did you put this list together? Just these three?”

“There have been four instances where we’ve seen the information leaked, and these three have always been in the vicinity.”

“How so?”

“Zeeg is in the armory, he has access to a number of weapons. We’ve noticed the faction less are becoming more volatile, that —.”

“You think he’s passing weapons to them? How? Mel keeps a strict log of every gun that enters that armory.” At least I thought she did.

“Melanie Koskovska, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Hera looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the weapons are not even getting logged in the first place. Is she in charge of that?”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“Yes. The head of the armory personally checks every weapon in. If it’s her being the leak, you’d have a lot more information floating around.”

“And why is that?”

“Mel and I are the ones on those lists of soldiers deployed during those operations. She knows more details than are on those reports, and she’s… not that good with technology.”

Weapons, she was great. Using the common toaster and not setting the contents on fire? Not so much.

“Hmm. I was unaware of her involvement.” Hera frowned, and I raised a brow at her.

“Do you even know what’s in the reports that have been leaked?” I asked after a moment, wondering if Max even briefed her in on what we did in the shadows. Is she oblivious to the fact sometimes you gotta murder your own for the greater good?

“Yes, I’m aware of the contents. Quiet executions, population control, reconnaissance. I know you’re the one in charge of most of them, that Max favors you for the position.”

“Im good at what I do.”

“So it seems.” She said dryly, leaning over to tap the table again. My eyes flicked down, noticing the sudden chest on display for me; her top was modest, but leaning forward definitely changed that fact. I could see the ink crawling against her skin, but I looked away before my curiosity got the best of me.

“So what about your wife? How many operations has she gone on?”

“Camille isn’t my wife. And not many; she wouldn’t agree with many of them. She’s lead some missions against the factionless for defense and rescue missions, but she’s not like me.” I said flatly, refusing to play her little mind games; this woman was all about twisting words around. She knew Camille wasn’t my wife, and I didn’t doubt she already knew everything about us that was on file.

She was a dangerous woman.

~~~~~~~

“Mel.”

“Eric.”

Mel looked at me suspiciously through the holes in the fence barring entrance to the armory. I glanced down at the tablet where I was supposed to sign in so it would show I visited but ignored it.

“How’s everything going here?” I asked after a moment, my eyes flicking behind her blonde head, searching for Zeeg.

“The normal. What do you want?”

“Just came to visit.”

“You hate the armory.” Mel crossed her tattooed arms suspiciously, and I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t going to tell her what I was up too, she wasn’t invited to the meeting for a reason, probably because she had direct contact with the suspect.

Tori was Camille’s friend, not mine, so it wouldn’t bother me too much to kill her or the like. A traitor is a traitor no matter the connections.

“How’s the counting going?” I asked after a moment, crossing my arms as I leaned against the desk.

The armory was large, walls and upper levels lined with weapons and ammunition. They were all locked behind bars, of course, just as Mel was separated me from a fence, a small curve at the bottom in case I needed to pass her something.

“What do you want, Eric?” Mel looked annoyed, the lights glinting off her piercings when she leaned back on her heels, glaring at me; we weren’t exactly on the best of terms, currently, but I knew I could rely on her if it came down to it. Strange, considering we were both murderers and backstabbers.

My eyes flicked behind her, but so far I hadn’t seen anyone else. I tilted my head slightly, gesturing for her to come out and talk to me. She stiffened, and I’m pretty sure she considered saying “fuck you” and walking off, but her curiosity had always been her downfall.

She gave a labored sigh before she glanced around. Her face was sour as she casually walked towards the gate and stepped out, letting it close firmly behind her before she followed me to one of the smaller crevices in the back, mostly where we kept the storage.

“What’s going on?” She grumbled, crossing her arms as she looked up at me, both of us hidden behind some stacked tables. “I know you’re not here for a booty call.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “No, but we got trouble.”

“How so?” I had her attention now, her dark eyes serious. Mel didn’t like complications, or basically anything that could change up her afternoon plans. Me saying something like that would have her entire focus on my words.

“We think some weapons are going missing, disappearing before they’re put into the system.” I said softly, making sure to keep my eyes on the door up ahead; I didn’t want anyone sneaking up and overhearing us.

“So of course you come to me for that.” Her face is sour. “You want me to see if anyone’s acting suspicious around here, keep a tighter watch?”

“Yup.”

“What happens when you find who it is?”

I didn’t have to answer that, I just looked at her. I’d kill them, after interrogation, of course. We couldn’t have people like that in Dauntless, risking everything for us. We needed control, right down to the smallest peon.

“Great, so I’m going to need to find a replacement. Fucking wonderful.” She groaned, tugging on one long dread. “This is going to be annoying, isn’t it?”

“Just keep a watch, let me know.” I shrugged, already stepping back. No one had even entered the armory after me, and I hadn’t seen anyone come up to the gate either. I figured we were in the clear. “Don’t do anything unless you know for sure.”

“Anyone I should watch specifically?”

“No.” I wasn’t giving names, Mel wasn’t exactly subtle and she could fuck everything up. “Just watch.”

“Aye, aye, cap'n.” She gave me a mocking salute before she walked away from me, my eyes dropping to her ass out of habit. That woman knew how to fill out a pair of jeans, it’s just too bad she didn’t keep them on long enough for anyone to appreciate it. I wasn’t throwing on Mel, she was the closest I had to a friend, but I knew who she was; just as she knew who I was.

We both had a rocky past.

~~~~~~~

I frowned as I stood on the catwalk above the cafeteria, watching the members of Dauntless ambling about. I curled my fingers around the rails, searching for the woman. I narrowed my eyes as I saw her sitting in one of the corners with a group, Zeeg among them.

Now that’s suspicious.

Nuwellan I think her name was. Slim, dark skinned with a fighters build. I wasn’t surprised she ended up at the wall, although I thought the job to be pretty boring considering nothing ever happens there.

Huh.

Nuwellan was my age, and I’d seen her around but I’d never given her a second thought. It wasn’t rare to get a Candor, they’re just blunt as hell and usually got their assess kicked during their initiate stage.

So what’s her story? Normally when people leave a faction, things with their family left behind goes two ways; either they understand and keep in touch, or they never communicate again.

How close was she with those two brothers? How close was she with Zeeg?

I watched them from above for a while, pretending just to overlook everyone instead of focusing squarely on them. They didn’t seem to notice anyhow, too caught up. Zeeg was arm wrestling with another member of the table, whereas Nuwellan was eating, enjoying her food.

Was it these two? Unless Dauntless did something to her, I can’t imagine Nuwellan turning on us. Zeeg I could, just because his factionless father was murdered and maybe he wants rid of Dauntless, or thinks it’s time for a change. But her… not so much. Of course, that made her even more of a suspect. She could have a less obvious motive, some connection none of us were aware of.

Zeeg seemed too obvious a choice.

And Tori… I didn’t want it to be here, mainly for Camille’s sake. I was pretty sure the tattoo artist was my girlfriends only close friend, and I didn’t want her to lose that — especially not if I had to kill her because I’d never live that down.

I tapped my fingers curiously, and after a moment turned away, satisfied.

I’d tell Hera to look into Nuwellan, check all her correspondence, check every move she’d made since returning to the compound. Who she was with, when and where, and who those people knew as well.

I wanted a file on her.

~~~~~~

I stepped into the tattoo shop curiously, glancing around. I hadn’t been inside in a few years, not since I got my neck tattoos colored. I glanced at my arms, debating getting a touch up on them; I had scars now that distorted one of them.

“Eric.”

Ah!

My eyes flicked over, and I smirked as I saw Tori. She and Camille looked a lot alike with the long dark hair, although my girlfriend had more visible tattoos. Tori had a tattoo of a red-eyed black and white hawk on the back of her neck I always admired but never commented on.

“Tori,” I said coolly, turning towards her where she leaned against one of the tattoo chairs, holding some designs in her hands. She was twice my age I thought, but she was an Erudite transfer as well. I didn’t remember her from my old faction, but I’d probably been too young.

She’d followed her older brother George here, but he’d turned out to be an undesirable and dealt with accordingly. I wouldn’t be shocked if the leak was her, but I definitely didn’t want it to be.

“What are you doing in here?”

“What does someone normally come to a tattoo parlor for?” I rolled my eyes, glancing around. The other artist was old, and he sort of hunched when he walked now, but so long as his hands still worked he was useful; he was the one who’d done my tats years ago.

“So you want a tattoo. What kind?” Tori seemed resigned; she didn’t like me, but the feeling was mutual. She was bitter over her brother, and she’d never gotten past his death. Still, she’d never given any inclination of being a traitor before.

“Dunno yet.”

“Look around, see what you like.”

I was just here to interrogate her actually, but I stepped to the wall, my eyes running down the designs plastered there. I didn’t really see anything that was catching my eye, I’d never been one for color or a lot of intricate lines.

I could feel her watching me suspiciously, but I ignored her, pretending I had no ulterior motives. Camille knew I was working something, that I wouldn’t be able to get Kai. Wouldn’t hurt her to pick him up for a few days anyway.

He was a handful, that one.

“How’s your kid doing?” Tori asked after a moment, as if reading my mind. Normally she was quiet around me, just glared, so I was a little surprised she was asking me anything. Camille had to keep her up to date, right?

“He’s fine.” I shrugged, my eyes landing on the different fonts. My eyes scrolled through the words and the different ways they were written curiously. “Growing.”

“That’s good. He has your eyes.”

“That’s what everyone says. Can you tattoo in this style?” My finger tapped the wall, and Tori nodded after a moment.

“Yeah. You want a word?”

“Yup. Here,” I gestured at the inside of my lower arm. Subtle, not immediately easy to see. “Surely you can do that, right?”

She scowled at me, much more what I’m used too.

“Sit down. What do you want it to say?” She muttered, slipping on some purple gloves as she started getting her equipment together.

“Kai.”

~~~~~~~

“So how long have you and Tori been friends?” I asked as I sprawled out on the sofa. Camille glanced up from the floor where she wrestled Kai into a outfit with legs, despite his kicking and whining. He might be a baby but he was getting stout.

“I’ve known her for as long as I can remember. She’s been here since I was a kid.”

“So she’s a transfer?” Feign ignorance.

“Yeah. Can’t remember where from.” Camille managed to get his outfit buttoned with a sigh. “Why?”

“Just curious. You two seem close.” I rolled onto my stomach, seeing her lean back on her hands as she looked at me. I didn’t want to delve too much, she would catch on pretty fast what I was doing. I didn’t want her to know her friend was under suspicion of being a traitor.

“She did my aptitude test when I was in school. I’d seen her around here before but that was the first time I’d ever spoke to her.”

“Yeah? What were your test results?” I was curious. I’d been Dauntless through and through, so it hadn’t been hard for me to ditch Erudite. I would have gotten myself factionless if I’d stayed there.

Camille actually hesitated.

“You weren’t Dauntless?” I asked after a moment, and she shrugged her shoulders, picking at the carpet.

“I was Dauntless, yeah, but also Candor.”

I snorted, slipping my arm beneath my head. “I can see it. You’re blunt as hell most times.”

“Yeah, but white has never looked good on me.” She gave me a wry smile, Kai rolling back and forth on his back. He’s trying to get onto his stomach, and after a few more tries he made it successfully.

“Well, you chose right, picking Dauntless.”

“Not like I was going to abandon my own faction, Eric. This has always been my home.”

“Yeah. And now you got a kid.”

“And an asshole for a man.”

“I think you made out pretty good then,” I chuckled, reaching forward to rest my hand on her shoulder. “All in all, anyways.”

“You realized that ‘pretty good’ included us getting shot, stabbed, beat up, tossed from trains —.”

“Just the minor details.”

She snorted, then her eyes flicked out to my arm. Her brows rose as she saw my new tattoo. “When did you get that?”

“Oh, earlier today.” I glanced at the black letters spelling out my son’s name on my arm, pleased. Tori had done a great job, they looked exactly how I wanted them. “Tori did it.”

“You got his name on you?” Camille hesitantly reached forward, her fingers drawing down the skin a few inches away.

“Yes. He’s my son. I might be able to dump you but I can’t get rid of him.”

She rolled her eyes, but the look she gave me — it was full of warmth, of sweetness. It was the look I always wanted her to have when she looked at me.

I gave her a small smile before I leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss against her lips. She knew I loved my kid, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I loved both of them, so much I was even putting off my plans of Dauntless domination until Kai was a little older and could defend himself.

Gave me plenty of time to make some allies, too.

“I love you,” I murmured, propping myself up so I could cup her cheek. “and the loaf.”

“I wish you’d stop calling him that.”

“Eh, he doesn’t mind.” I chuckled, kissing her again. Camille never changed, it was one of the things I liked about her. She still put me in my place, yelled at me, told me when I was being an asshole. She took care of her initiates, but she was stern with them; we shared the same ideologies, at least to a point.

We’d been together for years now and yet every day I didn’t mind coming home to her — at least now that she wasn’t screaming at me and ripping me apart because she’d momentarily lost her mind.

Another reminder why we didn’t need another kid.

“The loaf is escaping.” I murmured, and Camille sighed as she leaned away. We both watched as Kai tried to drag himself across the floor, arms and legs not quite ready to do the heavy lifting.

He was determined to make it to my shoe.

“If you want, I can watch him tomorrow so you can get out again.” I offered, shuffling so that I was lying on my back again, my arms pillowing my head as I looked up at the ceiling. I figured if I offered, Camille would go see Tori like she always did, and maybe I could get a little more information outta her about the elusive tattooist.

“That’s suspiciously nice of you, Eric.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to get out a little more. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“You don’t even like Tori.”

“I don’t like most people. Now do you want me to watch him or not?”

“I guess. Just don’t set the apartment on fire or start teaching him to throw knives.”

“Of course not, that’s next week’s lesson plan.”

~~~~~~~

“So? What are your suspicions?” Hera asked from where she sat at the table, flicking through different pages on the tablet in front of her. I frowned as I leaned against the chair in front of her, glancing around her office.

Rather small, sort of like a closet. She didn’t have anything personal in here, not even a plant, just her tablet and the computer on the wall. Obsolete filing cabinets were pressed up against one wall, old but obviously used for some reason; I guessed if you put things on paper instead of uploading, it’s a lot harder for people to steal it.

“Nuwellan has my attention currently. I saw her and Zeeg sitting together in the cafeteria. Wu is a loner, she keeps to herself for the most part.” I couldn’t leave her out.

“She seems very close friends with your wife.”

Again with the intentional wrong word.

“Girlfriend. They’re friends, yes.”

“Does their friendship cloud your judgement?” Hera asked bluntly, her cold gaze flicking up. Her fingers paused, hovering above the tablet as she stared through her blonde hair at me.

“Personal ties don’t hold me back.” I said flatly. “If she’s the traitor I’ll deal with her. Max knows that, it’s why he chose me.”

“No, not really.” The small, rather vile woman in front of me sighed as she looked back down. “Max chose you to test your loyalty, he thinks you’re losing your edge since you knocked up the trainer. I do hope you’ve no attachments, although I read your file and you’re a useful executioner.”

That’s one way of putting it.

Still testing me then? Max must be on to me, why else would he still be doubting me? I frowned, crossing my arms.

“Max is a fool, he’s incapable of doing his own dirty work and when push comes to shove he would crumble without someone like me.” I finally said; fuck, what do I got to lose? If Max is already thinking I’m building an uprising he’ll take me out sooner or later anyhow. Might as well say what I gotta say.

“Instead of putting me on bullshit assignments like this making me run around like an errand boy, he should be remembering how many of our own members I’ve taken out just so this society can still work.” I said all of it very calmly, but I definitely had Hera’s attention. “I don’t like being questioned, I’ve done nothing to bring it forth.”

“You defied him,” she points out. “When your child was born.”

“It was stay or watch Dauntless collapse internally because my girlfriend was having conniptions. Camille has plenty of sway here and Max knows it.”

“So you consider yourself a power couple then?” Hera asked lightly, clasping her fingers in front of her.

“We’re not here to discuss my relationship. We’re here to discuss a leak, which I have suspicions is Nuwellan. How about we focus on that?” I snapped, growing restless.

I was starting to feel as if I was the one trial here.

“Very well.” Hera sighed, returning to tapping her tablet. “Do you consider her and Zeeg to be in league together?”

“All that I’ve established is that they know each other. However, that could be too obvious. Wu is anti-social, and she has just as many reasons to hate this place as they do. Death of a family member is a motivating factor.”

I had to mention her, otherwise it would look as if I was ruling her out just because of my connection to her. I’m not a softy.

“Understandably. So you still consider her to be a suspect?”

“Until proven otherwise, yes.”

I had too.

~~~~~~~

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair, standing on one of the bridges as I looked down at the Pit. Dauntless moved back and forth between the shops and other common areas, taking care of their daily business.

Fuck if this wasn’t a mess.

I watched as Zeeg moved smoothly across the bridge below me, glancing nervously over his shoulders, a bag held tightly in his hand. Could he look anymore suspicious?

The bag was small, couldn’t hold a big gun, and we typically didn’t have any smaller than the hand. He could be transporting a weapon, or ammo — hell, it could be important paperwork!

So of course I was following him.

I stayed to the bridge above him, watching the surroundings. No one was following him, it was just him in a hurry to get somewhere. I pursed my lips, curious.

Who’s he going to meet? Who’s his accomplice? Why are they willing to risk everything for this?

Dumb kids.

I seriously hoped Tori wasn’t involved.

I watched as he disappeared into one of the hallways, and I made quick work climbing down the ladder to his level. I casually started following behind him, making sure to keep the crowd between all of us. I doubted he would notice me, but I didn’t want to be sloppy.

What’s his plan here? What’s in that tiny plastic bag? What could he possibly be taking somewhere?

This is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon. I wanted to be back at the apartment, tossing my kid into the air and making my girlfriend panic. I wanted to watch him eat on one of those chew toys and even cry when I took it away from him.

Hell, I’d settle for being at the bar, drinking a few beers and talking shit with Mel like old times.

Anything would be better than this.

I wasn’t patient enough to tail people, I’d rather just shoot them.

And now where the hell is the little fuck going? I scowled, watching as he turned down a more secluded hallway, his face paling from nerves as he went. I hovered just at the corner, seeing his steps falter as he approached a place in the wall that curved.

He paused there, clutching the bag to him.

Hmm.

I waited, making sure I was carefully placed so I wouldn’t be noticed, at least by Zeeg. I lounged against the pale corner, looking down at my watch and tinkering with the buttons like it was showing me something interesting.

I glanced back, growing restless as ten minutes passed. If I wasn’t getting to shoot someone or getting an adrenaline rush, I didn’t see the point of this. I was fucking bored.

I’d rather just confront the kid and jerk the bag out of his hand than continue waiting!

Hmm?

I peered curiously around the corner as I saw someone step up to Zeeg, his face brightening as he sees the girl. I didn’t know her, but she’s blonde and slim, a little taller than him, probably his age.

Wait.

I frowned as Zeeg talked to her for a moment, than sort of shoved the bag at her. She blinked, then looked down and opened it. She sort of exclaimed something and pulled out — fuck.

Jewelry.

I’d followed this fucking kid to his girlfriend!

How disappointing.

What a fucking waste of time!

I could have been cuddling Kai or Camille this entire time.

I ground my teeth in irritation, cracking my knuckles as I leaned back against the wall.

This tailing business just wasn’t for me.

I’d have to go about this a different way… maybe I’d get to break some bones in the process.

Tags:

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atlantisaurum · 8 years ago

Text

Mothers

the “keep reading” sign is for those who have issues with their mothers and for those with emotionally and physically abusive mothers and families in general

Why I Hate My Mother (1)

I’m 19 now and I’ve finally come to the point to where I think that my mother is no use, no love, no friend, no anything to me.

I remember when I was around the age of 6 or 7 that I proposed to my mother daily, asking her if she’d like to marry me. She always said yes and I always gave her a kiss on the lips afterwards. We’ve been holding hands and cuddling and I felt sort of loved. That image began to crack when things around our flat began to vanish, including sweets, money and cigarettes. My sister was and is just like my mother: has her own view of reality, has her own definition of truth and lies, has her mouth open whenever she can interact in any way with other human beings even though no one’s really interested in what she’s saying. Nonsense about unintellectual topics and unflattering stories of her life. They look alike, they have the same body type, people never had the intention to ask whether my sister was my mother’s daughter because she was a double of her younger self and really was just a copy. Whereas when it came to, people wouldn’t recognise my mother in me or me in my mother. I was the perfect copy of my father. Same mouth, same stature, same gestures, same body type, same habits, same soul. I dare say that I used to be a very protective kind of kid and sister. Throughout the last couple of years I asked my mothers and fathers family about details of my childhood, for I couldn’t really remember anything of it. They’ve been telling me that I helped out old ladies who forgot how to hold a fork properly, how to eat spaghetti the right way. My father and grandmother told me, when we, my sister and I, were younger that I always was protective of her, caring for her, making sure that she wouldn’t be left behind when it came to presents or money or attention or anything at all. On the other hand, she always wanted everything for her. Things started to vanish and my mother accused me of stealing for YEARS. The first thing that disappeared was money from my aunt’s purse. The evidences were clear: I’ve been up in the flat to get a working tool for my mother and aunt who were working in the cellar. Hours later my aunt noticed that five Euros were missing. I was accused and had to give her my hard saved money. Five Euros was a lot of money for a 7 year old girl. Years went by and bigger sums of money vanished, cigarettes were the next big thing to disappear in our home. As always, I was accused and punished. My mother once hit me in the face and on the hand. Years later she told me that it actually hurt her, that I didn’t cry when he hit me. I mean, sure, it hurt, but I didn’t deserve it and she wouldn’t had deserved tears from an innocent human being. My sister is only 11 months older than me, means when she got into 5th grade, I was still in the fourth grade and finally had a friend to play and laugh with. It’s more or less useless to say that I’ve always been a misfit. Continuing our school lives, my mother had an outside job and came home only after 6 in the evening, meaning I had to deal with my sister and her smoking friends for five hours before my mother came home and not wanting to talk or listen or protect. My sister’s friends bullied me just like my sister did. They smoked together, stole my mother’s cigarettes together and hit me together, but my mother wouldn’t listen. It was totally clear to her that if her favourite child said that I stole the thing that I really must had stolen them in first place. At around a became depressed, suicidal and anorexic. My mother only ever noticed when she caught me caring for my freshly cut cut. Her reaction was to scream: “OY, LISA! Your sister is a CUTTER! Post it on Facebook!!!!” That I was anorexic and bulimic was still a secret whatsoever. I came home from school nearly every day, binging, purging and cutting myself, not to speak of the panic attacks and the crying. At some point my mother decided to make an appointment with a psychologist, which ended up to be the most stupid idea ever. I had to go there on a regular basis and had to tell her what was going on in my mind. I went there for two months or something and then cancelled the treatment because that woman was an incompetent piece of shit. In that time I had two appointments there with my mother and my mother told her, that she couldn’t bear me anymore and was thinking about sending me to a kids shelter because I was such a heavy burden to her or whatever she said. She wanted to get rid of me, that all I can remember. At one point she came to me saying: “People care about you. They don’t tell you, but they do.” And I asked who would give a shit about me anyway. It took me an hour or something to make her tell me that my father “hacked into my facebook account and read all my messages”. I quit contact and didn’t talk to him for a year. Right now, I live at my father’s house and get the love that I deserve (somehow at least). My mother always had her own reality and somehow forgot to tell me that my father didn’t hacked into my accounts but had the passwords saved on his tablet from our holiday in Croatia and my mother dared him to tell her what I writing, whom I was writing and which websites I visited. Furthermore my father told me that my mother once called him to tell her how she could destroy my laptop without making it seem like she actually manipulated it.

After a year of silence, I contacted my father asking if I could stay a few days because I was left home alone with my sister, who hit me or screamed at me whenever I left my room, ate all of my things, destroyed my room and all in all just tortured me whenever my mother wasn’t in sight. So I left with a few things and was at my dad’s for a week. He and his wife had planned a vacation in Croatia again and I asked if I could come with them. They said yes and so I went home to my sister once again, collected clothes, books and everything else that I needed for the vacation, said goodbye to my only friend, my cat and left. A few days into the vacation my mother messaged me that my cat “ran away” after the new dog arrived. At that point I decided to move to my dad. I cried for weeks, I had nightmares. First she took my freedom, then she took my best friend and then she took my trust by lying to me over and over again, telling me that they had hung up “missing cat” signs but I didn’t see any around the city, telling me he ran away, telling me that if I stepped through that door, that I wouldn’t be her daughter anymore, screaming at me for being an alcoholic that I clearly not was or am, accusing my father of taking me away from her and accusing me of not wanting any help when I was suicidal. GODDAMN, I told her, I wouldn’t have wanted HER help because she was and is the most hypocritical human in the whole world.

After nine months I messaged her that we could maybe meet up and talk about everything. Before I left, I called her, saying that im moving out but that it not a goodbye or anything. It was just for me to live in a better environment and to get away from that toxic family. She said i could just leave. I waited anyway until she came back from work to explain but all i’d got was shouting and screaming and everything that i knew she was always thinking but never dared to say.

I cried that day. I took a bath at 1am when i was finally done putting things in the right place at my new home.

“I could never love my child as much as i love this dog”; was one of the things she told me when we met again for the first time. “No, i didn’t cry, why would i, your bastard of a father has his beast of kid and i have MY child at home, your sister.” I asked her if she could remember anything she told me the day i left. She denied remembering anything and lied by saying so.

Every time we met since i moved out, she felt like saying something horrible about me, my father or my fathers and my family. At some point when we met up at her flat, my sister was there as well and both of them insulted my family. I left minutes later, telling my mother that i was sick of hearing her accusing and offending my family. I didn’t see her for two months then.

Coming to the end of this relationship: on my last birthday, we had dinner together: her, her husband, my boyfriend and me. She didnt had a present or anything. I got horribly drunk that evening.

Why I Hate My Mother:

I hate her because she never told me the truth about anything I hate her because she took away my best friend and lied about his vanishing I hate her because she secretly hated me for looking like my father and neglected me because of that I hate her because she never asked me how my day was even though i asked her every day I hate her because she always accused me of everything and not seeing the truth I hate her because she loved my sister more than me and had no shame showing it, but not the balls to say so I hate her because she said she cared even though it was just herself she cared about I hate her because she destroyed the part of me, that used to be happy without a reason by planting pessimistic thoughts into my consciousness and mind

It is okay to hate you mother and you don’t have to feel bad about it. Just because she decided to give life to you, doesn’t mean that you have to be eternally grateful for doing so. You are your own person and not your mothers emotional slave. I realised that way too late.

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(2)

“Growing apart, it comes with growing older. It’s harder than ever.“

Time spent together, memories we think we share, twisted and unreal. Miles and miles away the moments filled with true love, it seems to me. Those, suffocated by hatred and depression, sucidical thoughts and lies lay just right behind me, I can still touch them - if I’d wanted to.

I’m leaving your ghost behind me, at leasts thats’s what I think I’m doing.>

Your voice, your judgement, all your altered realities are always with me, in my head, in my soul, in my blood and DNA.

Ghosts have always and will forever be a steady companion of mine. Ghosts screaming names at me, names that do not define me and (actually) never did, yet they manifested themselves in my mind and maintained a constant part of my own, twisted reality. Ghosts that hit me, beat me, scratch my face and heart the same time. Ghosts saying all the wrong things to and about me.

They all have different faces, but all of them are trying to crack my spine.

How am i supposed to breathe with all these voices trying to strangle me and choke me.

Dreams as real and vivid as they could possibly be. Dreams carrying feelings and emotions, sensations and horrible tastes over to my body, waking up, screaming and crying. Dreams that throw me back to the past, telling me: get over it! Dreams showing me burned bodies, burned relationships and a burned image of myself that I left dying on the ground when you told me: When you walk through that door, you won’t be my daughter anymore.

So I left.

Left all my things, my role as mother’s daughter, as punchingball for her and a sister. Left, trying to abandon my crippling depressed, self-harming, suicidal and anorexic self, my self. Left, hearing you scream after me, calling me coward, hating me all the same for every word I ever spoke and every opinion I ever had, hating me for not being like you, for not being the way you wanted me to be.

All I ever wanted was your love.

But it always seemed like you were so keen on not giving it to me because I looked too much like the man that made me, that cheated on you, that covers all of my face and made me resemble all the hate that you felt for him in me.

For the first time in nearly 20 years I screamed: I hate you.

It was just in my dream, seeing you again, hearing you imosting all of my ghosts together in one, watching you tearing all of me and my stuff apart.

I hate you.

For all the right reasons that, in fact, shouldn't exists, shouldn’t be a goddamn thing to anybody.

There is no other explainatin that that you made me hate you because your pride was and is and will for all eternity be bigger than you heart and the love inside of it.

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(3)

Dear Mother, why is it that I cannot remember anything concerning my childhood? Why can i remember that you had a hitman to a friend, whose name was Merkel, but not why my father had taked topless photos of when I was around six after you threw him out of the flat and at a time when he couldn’t even save his own life?Why do I know how all of your angles where positioned but not why you never trusted me? Why don’t I know any of the stories that you or my father, grandmother or any other person who knows me told me? Why dont I know what I did all of my life? 19 years isn’t a awfully long life but its heavy on ones shoulders when you can only remember about five years of it.

The only things that really ever stay are those photographs that never really fade. Memories are replaceable - with those that someone told you to have without even remembering what really happened. A childhood shaped by memoried and opinions of a mother, who is more of a sadistic member of the society of life and a reality-creator and -monger. A revolt against my opinions, my eyes and my whole sensible perception. How am I supposed to find a way out of this?

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