ophelia-walsh

[ophelia-walsh]

basics

full name: ophelia rian walsh

hometown: new york city, new york

current cities: new york city ➳ los angeles

occupation: student + intern

birthday: april 1, 2001

personality

pros: strategic, giving, resourceful

cons: spoiled, entitled, hot-headed

background

she was a surprise, not an accident, her parents always said. it didn’t matter that daddy had another family in another part of town. she was their little gift, their little girl. they named her after the character her mother was playing on stage the night she met her father. a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. it took longer than it should have for her to meet her brothers, before she was allowed to be around them, but ever since the moment she stepped her little blonde head into their lives, she made it her mission to make them love her. she needed everyone’s approval, always, especially the men in her life. her brothers were her shining stars, but she was the apple of her father’s eye. his baby girl. the littlest walsh, blessed with the same name even though she didn’t share the same mother. she knew in order to survive in this family, she’d have to listen to her daddy. she let herself be raised in his image, be his proud little protégé. she found herself growing to be more and more like him every day, following him into the cut throat business world without falter. she’d do anything he told her to do. anything. after all, she just wanted to be loved.

[ophelia-walsh]

Looking back on it, he was nothing but a whirlwind. A glimpse of his curls, a flash of his bright smile, the rich sound of his laugh. For a moment, their moment, they had been happy. She wrapped herself in it late at night, reminiscing on how it felt against him, his warm chest pressed to her back, his face nestled into the crook of her neck as she smiled. He set them into a sway, dancing along to music in the background of their lives, pulling her as close as he could, kissing her like he meant it.

Her face flushed she knew, from both lust and red wine, her breath shortening into sharp bursts that only his smile could control. His mischievous eyes had her staring harder than she meant to, her pulse beating only for him in that moment, her fingers gripping him in a promise to not let go. New York’s skyline flickered behind them as he spun her away, only to once again pull her close. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, and she heard him laugh. Her answering giggle was carefree, happy. She opened her eyes just in time to meet him in a kiss. Nothing needed to be said, she thought, as he pulled her white dress, now stained with red, off of her, tossing it somewhere behind them. Her hands made quick work of his trousers, her Cabernet stained lips parting in a breath as he pushed into her, her head falling back.

Now, she sat across from him in a board room, over a month later, and she’d never seen him more cold. She hadn’t expected much, not having heard from him in weeks, but she at least hoped for a glance. A look, a smile, anything.

Instead, she was met with indifference. Silence, just like from all the other strangers in the boardroom with them. He might as well have been one of them. She resisted the urge to huff in defiance, crossing her arms at the table filled with established and successful business people within her own father’s company. She hated all of them at the moment, including the one across from her. Especially him.

She glared. She couldn’t help it. She glared, hard, hoping that he would feel it. She hoped he’d hear everything she was screaming at him in her head. She wished the worst upon him, and just as she finished her internal tirade, he turned to her. His blue eyes caught hers and in that split moment, she forgot what she’d been mad about. She could only remember her wine stained dress and the way he kissed away any worries she’d had. She felt herself melt, just at that look he gave her across the table. And in the silence between them, surrounded by the corporate chaos of the meeting, she met his eyes. And smiled.

[ophelia-walsh]

[ophelia-walsh]

“Momma?” She called out as she entered the familiar penthouse. “Brought some groceries over.” 

It had been three days since she’d last heard from her, but that was normal. The typical clutter hadn’t accumulated as it normally did in the time after Christmas, and for that she was thankful. Holiday season had never been the easiest for her mother, which was far from a secret, but Ophelia had always done the best she could to make it as enjoyable as she’d allow. Secretly, she knew her efforts were in vain, knowing that her mother would never be truly happy until her father would choose her over his wife. Over his family.

Which would never happen. Orla, her father’s wife, had never taken any aspect of their unfortunate situation out on her, though she was the consequence of their continuous illicit affair. She’d never been the warmest towards her, never loving, never a replacement mother, but she’d been tolerated in their household on occasion. Ophelia could handle being tolerated. She couldn’t handle being a burden, the way her mother knew she was, but was forever indifferent about it, continuing to chase what she wanted. 

“Mom?” Ophelia called out again as she turned the corner into the second largest living room. The paper bag fell from her hands, seeing her mother like that. Spilt oat milk on the floor only made it harder for her to run to her, her body thrown onto the couch, her arm tossed over her eyes, pill bottle still in hand. She was Reclining Beauty incarnate, her silk dress draped across her frame, her hair framing her head like a halo, her breathing shallow.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Ophelia whispered, her voice a mere tremor in the otherwise silent room. Her hands shook as she dialed 911, reciting to the operator the spiel she’d had memorized since she was a child. Address, name, situation. This time, an overdose. Most likely intentional, but she was barely breathing. She needed help right away, and honestly, Ophelia should’ve guessed as much. After all, it was still the holiday season.

✿ ✿ ✿

“This is because of Christmas, isn’t it?” Brian, her father, muttered as he stood beside her. It was almost funny, watching the hulking, stoic man stand there with a comically overflowing bouquet of flowers. Tulips, her mother’s favorite. This year, they were pink. Caring and good wishes. She knew he didn’t really mean it, but he was obligated. His relationship with her mother was a real as the one he had with his wife. Which was to say, not real at all. Ophelia was never blind to that, even in her younger years. As she grew into herself, she became more like her father, less like her mother. She understood him more. She liked that.

She nodded softly in response. Her mascara was streaked down her face, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t be bothered to fix her makeup. She sniffled, ineloquently wiping as her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I think so. Usually is,” she sighed. “She just wants to be included.”

Brian’s lips turned down in thought, though Ophelia wasn’t sure what for. None of this was new, unfortunately, and Ophelia was thankful that her mother had once again survived her attempt on her own life. She was also thankful that this year there was far less blood involved than last.

Her phone was steadily vibrating in her back pocket, surely the group text she had with her half-brothers blowing up in response to the quick text she’d sent, letting them both know at once what had happened. She felt frozen, though. Unable to even silence it for a moment of peace, watching her mother sleep, having just had her stomach pumped less than an hour ago. Resting, peaceful herself, without a care of once again upending the lives of those dear to her. Brian pulled her against him in a half hug. “I’m sorry, little angel,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

She tucked herself into him, unable to do much else, willing more tears to come just to feel relief from the annoying pressure pushing behind her eyes. She huffed, watching the sleeping figure of her mother, blessedly alive, through blurry eyes, and whispered back, “So am I.”