#natashalookatwhatyoudid

[swiftdove]

Disappointment

Synopsis: You and your mother have always been close. Well, you used to.

TW: Self-harm, suicide, bad grades, depression

You and your mother had always had a great relationship. Had. Not have. Past tense.

You used to watch movies with her every Friday night, and she would bake cookies for you just to cheer you up. You were her miracle - quite literally.

It had turned out that your mother's sterilization didn't happen, and that she did have a chance of getting pregnant.

She loved you dearly, and she always knew how to cheer you up.

Well, before she started to drift away.

You weren't sure what you did wrong. You tried to be the perfect daughter, you really did. Natasha was a great mother and you were appreciative.

But nowadays, it seemed like Natasha didn't even love you anymore. She would brush you off whenever you tried to talk to her, and would always refuse to come to your big life events. It was always I'm too busy Y/N, or Y/N, I have work.

You had always been good in school, and Natasha prided herself for your success. So, when you came home with a C+ in Geography, she was upset.

You weren't sure if her words were intentional or not, but damn did it hurt.

"Y/N, I've been working my butt off for months to provide for us but you come home like this? God, sometimes I wish you were Peter."

Peter. Of course.

You hated it. You hated how she would always praise the teenage boy. You hated how she always stared at him longingly like she wanted him as her child, not you.

Last week, you had sat down for movie night, and had left a place for your mother to sit. Instead, she had sat between Peter and Steve.

You couldn't help but feel down. They looked like a perfect little family. A great mother, a smart father and a perfect son.

You tried to hide how sad you were that night. You feigned a smile, not caring how much it hurt you to do so. Every time she ignored you, a little piece of you broke inside.

A few days ago, you had tried to get your mother to hang out of you.

"Hey, mom?" you had said.

"What?" she had snapped.

"Do you want to hang out later -"

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I have work."

You had seen her and Peter playing Minecraft later that day. Peter was laughing as he taught your mother how to place a block and kill animals. You had felt your blood boil at the sight of it. He wasn't meant to be the one teaching her that. He wasn't her child, you were.

Now, you woke up. You blinked open a bleary eye and was overjoyed when you remembered it was your birthday. You were turning sixteen!

Milestones had always been an important part of you and Natasha's life. You were a very sentimental person, and when it came to special birthdays, you loved them.

You jumped out of bed and put on a beige turtleneck with a thin-strap black dress over it. You did an elegant half-up.

On your birthdays, your mother had always brought you breakfast in bed. It was a tradition.

So, you sat there. For almost an entire hour.

You had walked down to check what was wrong, and when Natasha asked you why you were up so late, you understood.

She forgot.

Maybe it was because she was planning a surprise party, you thought to yourself. You had sat down on the island counter and had eaten the soggy cereal that had been poured an hour ago.

You tried to push the negative thoughts out of your head, but they wouldn't stop coming back.

She doesn't love you anymore.

She thinks you're a disappointment.

You're a fucking disappointment.

You had walked back into your room, and had sat down on your bed. Later that day, you would try to get Natasha to hang out with you.

So you did.

"Hey, mom?" you asked, stopping your mother as she walked down the hall.

"Yes?"

"Do you think maybe we could -"

"Y/N, I told you I have work. Can you please be respectful of that? I don't always have time for you."

Tears sprung to your eyes. "You never have time for me!"

Natasha scoffed. "Y/N, you're being dramatic. Maybe you should use your time to get better grades."

"But Mom -"

"God, Y/N, can you please leave me alone? I'm busy, for god's sake!"

You had bit back a snarky reply and had heard the words your mother had uttered under her breath as she walked away.

"I wish she was Peter."

She had forgotten. There was no way that there was surprise party or anything. You had ran to your room and had slid down the wall, before grabbing the razor out of the cardboard box beneath your bed. You didn't care. If she didn't want you in her life, maybe you didn't deserve to live.

You're a disappointment.

Blood dripped down from your fresh cut, and you relished in the pain. Maybe because it made you feel something other than the mental pain you felt. Maybe because it was physical.

You didn't stop after that. You couldn't stop.

Nights became sleepless. Dark bags were visible under your eyes. But it didn't matter. You didn't matter.

You wore long sleeves everyday now. You didn't eat. You wanted to be perfect.

Why couldn't you be perfect?

You punched the wall, tears stinging your face. Why couldn't you be the perfect daughter Natasha deserved? Why did you have to be such a disappointment?

Natasha didn't notice.

Of course she didn't.

Part of you wanted her to. Part of you wanted her to embrace you in her arms. Part of you wanted her to soothe you as you cried into her shoulder.

Whenever you thought of that, you mentally chastised yourself. Don't be an attention-seeker.

You hated being this. You hated cutting yourself, but you just couldn't stop. It was like an antidote to life.

You weren't even sure if you enjoyed life anymore. The picture of the smiley girl plastered on the wall no longer existed. You weren't her. She was gone.

It had been six months since your birthday. You had gone into a downward spiral, and you weren't getting out of it anytime soon.

Your eyes glazed over as you downed a bottle of vodka, knowing that it was bad for you, knowing that Natasha would disapprove.

Who cares about Natasha's approval anymore, anyways? It's not like she loves you.

Your eyes fixated on the suicide note you had written a few days ago. That had been the worst day of your life.

Your hands were shaking, and the words on the page were jagged and had been traced over multiple times.

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I wasn't the child you wanted.

I'm sorry I'm a fucking disappointment.

Trust me, I hate myself too. I hate how I cry myself to sleep, and I hate how I act. I hate how I wear long sleeves everyday, and I hate how I need alcohol to fix my problems.

I'm sorry I became your problem.

I'll fix it.

I promise.

Love,

Y/N

And you were going to fix it. After all, the only way of fixing a problem was getting rid of it.

Your eyes wandered over to the bottle of pills that was on your drawer. You grabbed it and poured the pills into your had, before downing it with the few drops of vodka left.

Your vision became fuzzy, and you were aware that death was ready to take you into their arms.

A small smile graced your lips as blackness began flashing. A few words tumbled out of your mouth before you took your final breath.

"I love you, Mom."

You were aware of your mother screaming for you to keep fighting, and the sound of worried voices flooded the once calm atmosphere.

And with that, you fell into the dark abyss, never to wake up again.