#me when i’m the fool with my arms out like an angel thru the car sunroof 🧍‍♂️ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brattyfics · 4 years

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Locs

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!OC

Summary: Inspired by that tweet: ‘Him: Your hair is so pretty. Her: Pull it then’.

Warnings: Oversimplification of wash day, sexual content.

Word count: 2K

Maya’s bottom half numbed from sitting on the wooden stool in front of her bathroom’s vanity for too long. Her boyfriend, Angel Reyes, stood behind her making silly faces in the mirror. She pretended to be annoyed with his antics, but eventually she always gave into the laughter bubbling up in her belly.

Angel had shown up when she wasn’t expecting him, half way through wash day with her hair piled up in a puffy ball on top of her head. She hadn’t been in the mood for any visitors, especially not any she was romantically involved with, but he assured her it was fine.

“You’re always beautiful to me, mama.” His sweet words and soft kisses proved to be the secret passcode for entrance. She rolled her eyes, but secretly she was melting on the inside. Angel trailed closely behind her as she made her way back to the bathroom, assuring her that he’d help with whatever.

Maya handed him the bottle of moisturizer with strict instructions. “Make sure you use enough to get my roots and ends really good, but don’t get crazy. This shit costs like $30 a bottle.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose dramatically.

“I know! You sent me to get it last time, remember? I was looking at the cashier like, huh? 30 dollars? What the fuck did I get?”

She snickered.

“What’s even in this shit? Let me see.” He looked at the bottle with wide eyes, mumbling his way through the ingredient list. She let him carry on for a minute before she swatted his arm.

“Excuse me, sir! I’m going to need you to focus on the task at hand. I don’t have all day.”

“Beauty takes time, darling.” He mimicked her, repeating the same thing she told him when she made them late on date nights.

After a mini-tutorial, Angel got to work and was surprisingly gentle. She expected him to be over it within five minutes, but he was excited and proud of himself. The difference the moisturizer made could be seen and felt as he went through each section. The fruity, tropical scent of the product was her signature smell; the same smell that whirled around his head when he took her for rides on his motorcycle, and long after the two of them had separated.

“Whats next?”

She told him to detangle her hair with the special brush, starting from the bottom and slowly working his way to the top. Despite a few snags, he pressed on and Maya was no worse for wear. It was nice to achieve the results without having to deal with her arms being achy and tired.

“You know, when I was on my way over here, this is not the head I had in mind.”

The things that came out his mouth were so outrageous!

“Wait-- what?”

Maya’s head fell back as she erupted into a fit of giggles, water droplets raining on Angel’s shirt and face with her movement. He sputtered as if she had tried to drown him, but she couldn’t find the composure to apologize.

“I’m working here.” He sassed, pushing her to sit up straight. “I’m trying to be professional, but you gotta help me by being a good client.” His serious face was enough to set her off into another round of laughter, but she appreciated him taking it seriously. Angel knew she valued her hair, so he did too. Maya did her best to look thoroughly reprimanded, patting his jean-clad leg in apology.

“Thank you, papa. You’re the best.” She flirted, grinning innocently. He leaned down to kiss her lips, a shy smile gracing his face. She kept the compliments flowing, stroking his thick beard. “You’re so cute.”

He nuzzled into her neck like a kitten, purring under the attention. She kissed him again, giving him what he knew to be bedroom eyes. Angel pulled away with a groan.

“Professional.”

He moved through the final section fairly quickly after grasping the technique. Maya turned her head from side to side, preening in the mirror.

“I think I might just keep you.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, a mischievous glint in both pairs.

Angel bent at the knees, and Maya scooted forward so that he could sit behind her on the small stool. His arms encircled her waist as they both shifted to get comfortable.

“I’ve been out here buying $300 bottles of conditioner, looking up date ideas on Pinterest like a lame, and the whole time all I had to do was help you with your hair?”

“$300, Angel? Really? And I never told you to join Pinterest, I just told you not to bring me to the same places as all your other bitches. It’s not my fault you’ve been running around town with a bunch of girls, you little ho.” It had taken Angel a couple of weeks to get her sense of humor. She liked busting his balls.

Still, he asked. “What am I going to do with you, niña loca?” The soft tone he used warmed her insides.

Love me.

Bright eyes met again in the mirror as they studied their joined reflection with fascination. They looked at each other all the time, but never at themselves together. Angel’s chin rested on her head; deep russet skin complimenting rich mahogany. Dark coffee-colored eyes met burnt sienna, straight, onyx hair meeting coily, brunette.

Neither of them spoke, too afraid to break up the magic of the moment.

Big fingers tickled the backside of her thighs, the warmth from his skin and chill from his metal rings making her shiver. The action was innocent enough, but she knew Angel. He was always in the mood, always testing her to see if she felt the same. Her center tingled when his calloused hands found their way to her lap, touching the bare skin between her legs where her shorts had ridden up.

Yes, Angel was testing her.

He had done the same thing two nights earlier, coming to Maya for comfort after a hard night.

***

“Did you ride your bike here like this?”

Maya scanned her front yard for Angel’s motorcycle even though she hadn’t heard it. She smelled the alcohol on his breath, saw the way he swayed slightly with each step.

“No.” He mumbled just as she noticed his brother, Ezekiel, parked near the curb in a pickup truck. She had only met him in passing as he and Angel were going through a rough patch. He nodded at her from the truck, and she barely managed to wave to him before Angel was on her, hot mouth at her neck, big hands groping her all over.

“Wait a second, babe.”

She wasn’t in the mood to give her neighbors a show, but Angel was relentless.

“I can’t. You’re so fineeee. And you smell so gooood.” He kept mumbling nonsense under his breath, reattatching himself to her every time she moved one of his limbs. She giggled even as she struggled to close the front door.

“Seriously, Angel. Give me a second.”

He relented for a single moment, scooping her up into his arms after the lock clicked. Maya shrieked as he carted her off to the bedroom, not confident in his ability to not drop her in his drunken state.

She told him as much. “You better not drop me!” Angel shook her as if she were on a rollercoaster to prove a point. She cackled, arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re not the boss of me.” He said with a grumpy scowl, dropping her onto the cushiony mattress.

“I’m not?”

“No.” He told her, a serious expression on his face.

“Unh uhn!” She bossed, pushing him away from the foot of the bed. “Take off your clothes first!”

He stripped like she said.

“I’m not the boss of you?”

She wore a smug expression.

“No. Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

Angel ignored her as he got comfortable, laying half of his body on top of her. His long legs and arms trapped her to him like a spider in a web, his heavy head resting on her chest. The position made it hard for her to breathe, but she pushed her discomfort to the side. She wanted Angel to be comfortable. With one hand she rubbed his arm, the other stroking his hair the way he liked.

“You know what would be nice?”

“If you were quiet?”

He snorted.

“No.”

“What?”

“If you rubbed something else for me.”

“Angel--”

“Please.” He pouted.

Her thumb traced the outline of his bottom lip, the hairs of his goatee tickling the pads of her fingertips.

“You don’t have to do anything but lay here.” He promised, kissing her collarbone.

Maya smiled. She had heard that line before.

Even in his desperation, Angel was sensual. He whispered in her ear, telling her she was perfect and that he was thankful in between tonguing her down. He shifted so their hips were aligned, grinding until heat pooled in her panties.

Maya guided his hand to her chest, and he did the rest, discovering she wore nothing underneath the crop top. She gasped underneath him, bucking her hips for more. He groaned into her mouth, pinching a sensitive nipple between his middle and ring finger.

“So pretty, mama.” He complimented as he pushed the top up so he could show her breasts the proper attention. Angel was obsessed with her tits. He asked for pictures of them when he was away and took any opportunity he had to play with them. When they were watching moves on the couch, in the car while they waited in the drive-thru, he was always itching for a peek.

She loved it.

“Thank you, baby.” She cooed as his hot mouth latched around an erect nipple. Down below, he shimmied out of his jeans, immediately pulling at her shorts after. She lifted up, helping Angel in his mission to undress her.

His eyes met hers, searching for permission to continue.

The two of them fooled around a lot, but they hadn’t had sex. Maya liked Angel, but she was the type to get attached, so she wanted to be sure before they took that next step. Her lust for him made her hazy, careless. She wanted to take the plunge, lose herself in him. But...

“Baby--”

“I know.”

He grunted, forcing his hips to slow while he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled.

“It’s okay.”

She knew he meant it.

Maya returned a smile, pushing Angel to lay down next to her. She crawled so that she sat in his lap, tugging on the cotton boxer briefs. The fat, dark red tip intimidated her, but she fisted him anyway, using the creamy precum as lubricant.

“Fuck.” He cursed.

Neither of them could look away from what she was doing.

Up and down. Up and down. Twist. Up and down. Spit. Up and down.

She told him his dick was the prettiest she had ever seen, and that it felt good in her hand. All of it was true, but she said it to rile him up. She knew Angel had a praise kink. Being told he was good at something, the best, was easiest way to set him off. Angel had been halfway there before so it didn’t take much for her to work him back up to the edge.

“Just like that.” He grunted, fucking into her fist.

“Yeah?” She taunted sweetly, licking her lips at the heated expression on his face. “Am I making you feel good, baby?”

As if to answer, he came with a series of loud groans, his release splattering hotly against her belly. She gasped staring down at the mess he made.

Angel took advantage of his distraction, thick fingers finding their way to her center, stroking in circles until she followed him with her own release.

She whined his name, falling forward to rest against his chest with harsh pants.

After such powerful orgasms, both of them worried they would kill each other when they finally had sex.

***

It had taken a ridiculous amount of effort on Maya’s part to not sleep with Angel.

She worried he wouldn’t have the time for a relationship with his lifestyle, or that he wouldn’t be able to stay faithful when he faced temptation everyday, but the look of adoration in his eyes as he stared at their reflection made her feel as if her worries were unwarranted.

“Your hair is so pretty.” He complimented, pushing her hair forward so that it framed her face.

He was always doing that. Assuring her that she was beautiful, special.

For the first time in a long time, her heart felt full. With total confidence, she spoke.

“Pull it then.”

“What?”

Maya stood from his lap, turning around so they were face to face. Her soft hands cupped his cheeks, the scratchy hair of his beard poking at her fingers.

“Pull. It. Then.”

#angel reyes #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes x black!oc #mayans mc #angel reyes x reader

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 4: The Past Can Hurt

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

Claire peeked at the rear view mirror again, and smiled again at the sight of her happy daughter. Faith's favorite "reward meal" was McDonald's. Claire had pinky-promised that if she was a good girl with the horses today, they would get McDonald's for dinner on the way home. She was contentedly waving around the Minion toy that had come in the happy meal, humming and kicking her little legs. Claire had both of their meals on the passenger seat, knowing full well that her daughter would make quite the mess if she let her eat in the car. So would Claire, to be frank.

Claire had made it abundantly clear how proud she was of Faith, had reminded her several times already how she'd been such a good girl. Whether this made Faith happy to hear, or she was simply still in the afterglow of petting a horse, was anyone's guess. Claire hoped Faith could see, could truly understand how happy her mother was. She supposed if she said it enough it might sink in, if it hadn't already.

Back at home, the moment Claire unbuckled Faith from her carseat, she insisted on carrying her meal in herself, to which Claire was more than happy to oblige. She watched, amused, as Faith scampered up the steps to their front door, waiting rather impatiently for her mother to catch up. This was something that Faith had done whenever they'd arrived at their home in Oxfordshire: squirm out of Claire's grip and bolt to the porch, rocking on her heels or bouncing while she waited for the door to open. As Claire pushed the key into the lock, her heart felt a little lighter.

She already feels like this is her home.

Faith immediately scampered inside and right to the kitchen, and by the time Claire got the door shut, stuffed horse onto the couch, and shoes off, Faith was already halfway through her chicken nuggets, sitting up on her knees at the kitchen table. Claire shook her head, laughing.

"You are certainly in a good mood, aren't you, darling?" She ruffled her curly hair and sat down across from her, opening her own paper bag, pulling out her burger and french fries. The teenager at the drive-thru had been quite bewildered when she'd asked for crisps. Such strange lingo these Americans used.

Faith was finished eating before Claire was even halfway through her burger, and she slid off her chair and reached for the chocolate shake that Claire put on the counter to be out of her reach until she finished. Claire sprung out of her seat to grab it herself before Faith could cause it to topple and make a mess.

"Let Mummy help, Faith," Claire said, frantically. "You have to ask for help..." Claire sighed in defeat, handing over the milkshake. She sat back down as Faith settled in again, knowing better than to leave the kitchen with food of any kind. Claire watched her little cheeks hollow out as she guzzled down the liquid, her honey eyes light with joy.

Faith's being nonverbal was not as much of an issue as it could have been, but it was an issue nonetheless. The worst of it was when she was clearly distraught and could not communicate the source of her distress. Had she made a mess of her chocolate shake due to her inability to ask for help, it would have been quite the inconvenience, but Claire supposed mealtime could have gone much worse. Claire knew her daughter by now, better than Claire even knew herself. She'd become accustomed to the various grunts and whines, associating meaning to each different sound over the years. She supposed, however, that this would not be a sufficient way to communicate to a teacher someday, or Mrs. Lickett when Claire was no longer able to stay home with them.

Claire's anxiety lessened a bit at the thought of the woman; Mrs. Lickett was certified to teach American Sign Language to nonverbal autistic children, and she promised Claire she'd have Faith doing basic signs by the time she was ready to start school, whenever that may be.

Then she remembered how close they'd come to a meltdown in the stable, and how easily Jamie had calmed her, how proud he'd been to introduce the horse to her as a reward, how happy it had made Faith. Claire's heart swelled for perhaps the hundredth time since they'd left. The sound of slurping filled the room as Faith reached the end of her milkshake.

"All done, lovie?" Faith took her mouth off the straw and smiled contentedly at her mother. "Clean up now, Faith. Garbage in the bin, please."

Faith did as she was told, and then Claire beckoned her into her lap.

"Come here, darling," she crooned, enveloping her in her arms. "Mummy is so very proud of you, baby. I'll never stop saying it." She kissed her cheek, and Faith giggled. "Are you happy, Faith? Hm?" She rocked her gently, but Faith just hummed and traced patterns on Claire's arms with her fingertips.

"Happy, Faith?" Claire said again, remembering the thumbs-up maneuver from earlier, and employing it now. "Are you happy, love?"

Faith giggled again and grabbed Claire's thumb in her little hand.

"Faith, no..." Claire couldn't help but chuckle, as well. "See? Thumbs-up if you're happy, Faith. Happy?" She tried again with her free thumb.

Faith giggled yet again, but this time, she returned the gesture. Claire laughed out loud and brought the little fist, still holding her thumb, to her lips to cover with kisses.

"I'm happy, too, baby girl," Claire said. "Very happy."

She gave another little giggle before squirming out of Claire's arms and pattering out of the kitchen. Claire cleaned up after herself and returned to the table to continue nursing her own milkshake. Faith bounded back in with a DVD box in hand and held it expectantly up to Claire. Claire smiled and took it in her hands.

"Ah, all about animals today, hm?" She cocked an eyebrow at Faith. Tonight's choice was The Lion King. This was typical, even back in Oxfordshire. Faith would toddle up to either Claire or Frank with a DVD after dinner and expect help to get it ready, so she could watch her movie before bed. More often than not, Frank would wordlessly hand the box over to Claire instead, and after a while Faith learned to only bring it to Claire.

Claire put the DVD in as Faith went into her room, returning with her baby Simba stuffed animal to watch with. She settled onto the couch, now righted to its position in the middle of the room, centered and straightened. There were still boxes and messes, but things were slowly coming together. Claire took this opportunity while Faith was glued to the telly to get to some more boxes. She peeled the tape off a particularly heavy box, and smiled to herself at the sight of the picture frames inside, covered in bubble wrap. She moved behind the couch to the long table pushed against it, exactly where she'd planned to put said pictures. She unwrapped them all lovingly and arranged them on the table: an infant Faith fast asleep like a little angel on Claire's shoulder; Faith in the photo studio with a large, plastic number "1" for her first birthday; Claire holding Faith on a carousel, smiling like a fool at her toddler aged daughter; Faith, two-and-a-half, grabbing at Frank's cheeks and laughing her head off.

Christ.

Claire froze, a hard lump forming in her throat as the opening chords to "Circle of Life" filled her ears. What was she supposed to do with this? Why had she even packed it? Well, that was easy enough: Faith looked simply darling. But...

She ran trembling fingers over both of their faces behind the glass, sighing with a shudder.

Oh, Frank...How happy we once were.

Indecisive, Claire put the frame back in the box, reaching for another to unwrap: Faith mid-bite of a chocolate-chip pancake at the breakfast table. The older she got, the less complacent she'd been for photo opportunities, so Claire had to content herself with capturing candid, silly moments like this, and she honestly would not have had it any other way. She stood it up next to the carousel shot and reached for another.

God damn it.

Claire holding Faith at the church the day of her christening, Frank's arm wrapped around Claire's shoulders, smiling proudly.

Fuck you.

Claire pressed the frame face-down into the table, biting her bottom lip to stifle a sob. How dare he stand there, looking so proud of the family that he would so quickly discard? How dare he let that little girl touch his face like that, how dare he smile at her so brightly, lead her to believe he'd always be there?

Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the keypad of numbers. Was it worth it? Couldn't she just put Faith on the plane and change her number, disappear forever?

She supposed that might not exactly be legal, no matter the terms on which Frank had left the house two weeks ago.

She somehow found the nerve to finish dialing the number and bring the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

She gulped. "Hello, Frank."

"Hello, Claire."

She cleared her throat. "I'm...I'm taking Faith to the states. And I don't think you have any right to try and stop me."

"I shouldn't think I do."

She shuddered with hatred at his indifference; though she'd expected as much, it didn't sting any less. "Alright. Good. I don't want anything from you, Frank. I am perfectly capable of taking care of her basic needs on my residency salary."

"Alright."

"But there's one thing. It's the least you can do. For the love you once bore me."

"I did not stop loving you, Claire."

"Oh, yes, you did," Claire spat.

“Claire — ”

“No, that’s enough,” she said, firmly. “Listen. I want nothing from you but the exact amount a certain therapy will cost. It’s expensive, but the doctor thinks it can really help Faith. I’m asking nothing else of you, Frank. Just around six thousand a year, broken up monthly, to pay for the therapy.”

Claire knew she likely could afford the therapy, but things would be tight. Rent on Long Island was not cheap by any means; neither was the general cost of living there, and neither was the kind of babysitter with the qualifications necessary for taking care of someone with Faith’s needs. Not to mention she wanted to start setting money aside for a service dog, which would be an enormous investment in and of itself, but one that would certainly be worth it if it would make it easier for them to be in public places. The extra money from Frank would be worth it, no matter how sick to her stomach it made her to ask it of him.

“What sort of therapy costs that much?”

“Equine therapy.”

He scoffed. “You really believe — ”

“Yes. I do.” She had to clench her teeth and take a very deep breath through her nose to stop herself from attacking again. “Will you pay for it or not? As the man who sired her, who owes her something? Will you?”

A slight pause, then he sighed. “Fine. I don’t care how much it is, I just don’t want to deal with it.”

Claire almost choked on the expletives she swallowed. “I understand. I’ve already set aside a separate bank account for you to make deposits.” She read him the account number and the routing number, along with exact amounts needed each month.

“All you need to do is make the deposits every month. And you’ll never hear from us again.”

He sighed again. “Claire…If I could change things…”

Claire almost fell for it…but she knew what he meant.

He did not mean: “If I could change my behavior, the things I said.” He meant: “If I could change what our daughter is.”

And it made her sick.

“Goodbye, Frank.”

Faith’s humming and rocking brought Claire back to Earth. She looked up from the box to see Faith holding her stuffed Simba in the air, mirroring Rafiki on the screen doing just that. Claire chuckled to herself and swallowed any remaining urge to cry. Claire put the christening picture back in the box, deciding that she’d make a decision on what to do with it later. Perhaps she could try her hand at scissors, combine the two pictures in one frame. It would certainly be satisfying to literally cut him out of those moments in Faith’s life.

But on the other hand…was that cruel? Would Faith someday learn to verbally or otherwise communicate the question: Where did Daddy go? Should she keep these pictures intact for that purpose? What Claire would want to say in response to such a question would be that Faith did not have a Daddy and that she didn’t need one. But perhaps that was doing her an injustice.

Claire reached for another picture.

Yes…that was something that could wait to be decided on.

Claire had made a considerable dent in her unpacking venture by the time Faith’s movie finished, and she was altogether quite satisfied with her work.

“What do you think of that, Faith?” Claire sighed contentedly as she removed the DVD from the player and put it back in the box. “Your disorganized-as-all-get-out Mummy is actually getting somewhere with her organizing.” Faith slid off the couch to take the box from her so she could put it back where she found it. “Isn’t that a marvel?”

Claire watched with piqued interest as Faith sat on her knees in front of the little entertainment center, the cupboard beneath the telly opened for her inspection. Faith had a system, some sort of arrangement of her movies that she always abided by. Not a single movie was ever out of place. Claire could not for the life of her decipherer what the system was; it was something created and used only by Faith. Claire had unpacked all their movies and put them inside, only for Faith to gut the entire thing and arrange them herself. It had greatly amused Claire at the time. She’d been at it for hours.

It didn’t take long for her to return The Lion King to its apparent correct position, and then Faith shut the cupboard.

“Alright, lovie. Time to brush your teeth.”

Claire stood and led Faith into the bathroom. Claire lifted her up onto the counter to sit and Claire got to work brushing her own teeth first. Faith had not yet mastered the coordination of tooth-brushing, and Claire still did it for her every night. But her psychiatrist had said that if Faith watched her mother do it enough times, something might strike a chord one day, and she’d suddenly be an expert at dental hygiene. Apparently, Doctor Garner had seen this happen plenty of times before.

So Claire brushed, tilting her head slightly toward Faith as usual, and then moving on to brush Faith’s teeth. When she finished, Claire handed her one of the little paper cups they kept in the bathroom.

"Rinse and spit," she crooned, as she did every night.

Routine was everything to Faith, and Claire had even begun clinging to the lifeline that was knowing every next move for every day. It soothed Faith's ever present anxiety and gave her expectations for every day, and it kept Claire grounded in the reality of their lives. This was why she'd been so scared to move. Moving to the house next door to them in Oxfordshire would have been a big enough change to merit Faith's discomfort, let alone moving across an ocean to a completely different style of living. There'd certainly been an adjustment period for her routine-conditioned little girl, but it hadn't been nearly as long or as difficult as Claire had anticipated.

Doctor Garner had suggested that no matter how disorienting things were when they'd arrived at the new apartment, the sooner Claire could reestablish that same routine that Faith had been accustomed to in Oxfordshire, the better. It was the reason she'd had furniture sent to the apartment before they'd even arrived. The sooner Faith could associate the new home with the commonplace furniture, the sooner she'd begin to realize this was home now. And all that, combined with maintaining their old routines in a new place was actually working quite well.

Teeth brushed and pajamas on, Claire tucked Faith into her bed. Faith's brand new princess comforter had arrived on Wednesday, and Faith was over the moon. Claire hadn't yet had a problem getting her to sleep since they'd put it on the bed. Claire filled the medicine dropper from the liquid Risperdal bottle, and Faith dutifully opened her mouth to let Claire drop it in, her face screwing up in the usual disgust to taste the bitter liquid.

"Swallow, please," Claire said, cocking an eyebrow. Faith grimaced, but obeyed. "Good girl."

Claire knew full well that Faith hated the taste of her medicine; it had been an utter nightmare to get her to take it every night at first. She'd had to bribe her with a Smartie every time she took it. Claire had a little stash of M&Ms (apparently the American equivalent) just in case Faith was ever particularly stubborn.

Claire set the medicine aside on the nightstand and tucked Horsie (who had been properly cleaned and disinfected after being dropped in the dirt in the stable) under her arm.

"There's Horsie, darling. So you can dream of all the horses you saw today, like Pippi." She leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, love. Today was a very, very good day."

Faith smiled a toothy grin as Claire rose to turn on the nightlight. She stopped at the door to flicker off the main light and take one last look at her daughter, savoring the contentment settling in her chest and warming her from the inside out before shutting the door.

——

The next few days were not as smooth sailing.

Jamie had been quite right when he’d predicted the riding helmet would bother Faith. Since Mrs. Lickett only came by on weekdays, Claire decided it was as good a time as ever to give the helmet a try. After breakfast, Claire sat Faith on the couch and retrieved the helmet and Horsie.

“Alright, little girl.” She sat down, horse and helmet in hand. “Mister Jamie gave us this helmet. See?” She held it up to Faith. “Mister Jamie said you can’t ride Pippi unless you learn to wear the helmet.” She held both the horse and the helmet in front of Faith. “See? Horsie and helmet have to go together. Yes?”

Faith hummed happily and reached for Horsie.

“Alright…let’s see…” Claire carefully attempted to lower the helmet onto Faith’s head, but her face immediately darkened and she groaned in annoyance, averting her head.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s just a little hat. Come on, now…”

She groaned again, louder, shoving the helmet away with both of her hands.

“Wait,” Claire said quickly. “Wait here, Faith.”

Claire scrambled into her bedroom and into her closet, tearing through its contents, throwing things behind her until she found what she was looking for. A plain blue visor that she hadn’t worn in years, but kept around just in case.

“Here, Faith, look.” Claire returned to the couch and sat down. She put the visor on her own head. “See? A hat.” Faith stared at her blankly. Claire smiled and took off the visor, plopping it onto Faith’s curly head. “See?”

Faith giggled, and Claire felt a renewed sense of hope. She took the helmet back in her hands and placed it precariously atop her head. “See? It’s just a hat. It doesn’t fit Mummy’s big head, though. It was made just for you.”

Claire playfully swiped the visor off Faith's head and replaced it with the helmet, and she did not squirm away.

Claire gasped with contrived shock. "Look at you!" she gushed. Faith was beaming. "What a lovely hat, Faith!"

She hummed and bounced, and Claire laughed.

Victory!

And that was when she made her fatal mistake. She got cocky.

"Now let's just fasten it, and then you're properly wearing your new hat, yes?" Claire reached for the chin strap and fastened it. "There! All ready to ride!"

Faith's entire demeanor changed, her little brow furrowing. She reached for the chinstrap and tucked her fingers underneath, starting to tug.

"It's okay, darling."

Faith began groaning.

"Hey, it's okay, Faith." Claire, having prepared for exactly this, reached for the yellow stress ball from the stables on the coffee table. "Faith, here, love. It's okay." She put the ball in one of her hands, but Faith did not latch on. She let it fall to the ground, not removing her fingers from beneath the chin strap. Dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

“Faith…” Claire stooped down to retrieve the ball, then realized it had rolled halfway across the room. She got up from the couch to pick it up, and when she turned around, Faith was tugging forcefully on the helmet, the chin strap digging into her throat.

“Faith!” Claire dropped the ball again and practically leapt back onto the couch. “Stop!”

Fingers trembling, Claire frantically fumbled with the clasp of the chin strap, desperately trying to stop her daughter from choking herself. The second she was free, Faith gave a loud wail and hurled the helmet across the room, causing Claire to jump back in shock.

Claire was too stunned to scold her right away, her medical degree kicking into full gear as she examined her neck and throat for any marks, listened to see if her breathing was normal. Once she was certain everything was alright, Claire firmly seized one of her wrists.

“We do not throw things, Faith.” Faith began squirming, pawing at her mother’s hand. “Faith, look at me, please. I need you to look at my eyes, Faith.”

She gave a loud wail and a particularly hard yank.

“We do not throw things. Do you hear me, young lady?”

A sharp pain suddenly stuck itself into Claire’s hand, and she cried out. She immediately released Faith’s wrist and recoiled her hand into herself.

She bloody bit me.

Faith wriggled off the couch and bolted for the front door. She started tugging on the handle, determined to open the door and get as far away as her little legs would carry. Claire knew she’d really do it, too, if the door wasn’t locked.

Claire briefly sucked at the blood that started slowly trickling from her hand and then strode to the front door.

“You’re not going anywhere, little girl.” She scooped Faith around the torso with one arm and carried her, kicking and screaming into her bedroom to deposit her on the bed.

“Listen to me, Faith. If you do not calm down this instant you’ll not have any dessert tonight. Do you hear me?”

Faith shrieked. She’d certainly heard.

“I’m going to count to ten! If I get to ten and you’ve not stopped crying, no dessert.”

Claire hadn’t even gotten to three when Faith started throwing her stuffed animals in her direction. Claire continued counting calmly, knowing full well that the cotton toys would not hurt her. It was only when she reached for the lamp on her nightstand that she stopped at seven, lurching forward to stop her.

“No!” Claire shouted. Faith immediately released the lamp and clamped her hands over her ears, and a horrible, searing guilt burned her gut.

“Faith, baby, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, darling…” Claire sat down on the bed beside her and made to wrap her arms around her daughter, but she hesitated. Would she bite again, or punch, or kick?

Claire felt shameful tears stinging her eyes. Was she no better than Frank, raising her voice at her audio-sensitive daughter when she was being slightly difficult?

She shouldn’t have fastened the chin strap. She should have just let her get used to the helmet itself first. She maybe should have even waited for Mrs. Lickett to try the chinstrap. And now, because of her carelessness, she’d triggered her daughter’s biggest anxiety, and the poor girl was screaming her little head off, red in the face, because of her own mother.

Claire noticed, almost too late, that her hand was about to bleed on Faith’s brand new comforter. She hissed a frustrated “fuck” under her breath and quickly made her way to the bathroom to tend to it. She hastily wrapped some gauze around it and made her way back into Faith’s room to find her in the exact same position, hands on her ears, screaming. Claire sighed in defeat and quickly wiped her eyes clear of the tears that threatened to spill over. Perhaps it would be best if she just left her for now. There was no telling if she’d do something violent again if Claire tried to comfort her, and there was no consoling her otherwise. Claire decided to remove the lamp and anything else heavy that she could throw before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Only when the door was shut did Claire finally allow herself to cry.

She didn’t care that Faith could have broken a lamp and shattered a lightbulb on the new wood floors; she didn’t even care that her own daughter had drawn blood from her with her teeth. What hurt worse than that was knowing that her little girl was in turmoil because of triggers that her own mother couldn’t understand, couldn’t make better, things that Faith was not able to communicate to her or to anyone. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t even comfort her. When she was a baby, before she was symptomatic, all Claire had to do was scoop her out of her crib and rock her, bounce her, sing to her, and all her anxieties would cease, her crying would stop. But now, the older Faith got, it felt like Claire was less and less capable of providing that comfort, that sense of security.

I’m her mother. That’s my job.

And I’m failing.

Claire dumped the contents of Faith’s room that she’d emptied onto the couch and collapsed next to them, letting her tears fall freely. Somewhere in her fevered brain, she had the sense to pick up her phone from the coffee table and text Gillian. She typed: “Hey, could I call you right now?” then quickly backspaced and tried again: “Hey, are you busy right now?” She hit send, and then frantically added in a second message: “No emergency. Just miss you and want to hear your voice.”

After she hit send the second time, she let her phone rest in her lap and rested her head back on the couch cushion. Leaving Gillian had been the hardest part of leaving England. She’d been Claire’s best friend all throughout college and medical school. They’d decided to be roommates sophomore year after meeting in the pre-med program, and they’d never lived separately again until Claire’s wedding, at which, of course, Gillian had been the maid of honor. They were two peas in a pod, though one wouldn’t think so to see them separately. Gillian was brash and loud, and delightfully inappropriate more often than not. Gillian liked to say that Claire was the odd one out, that she was much too proper.

Gillian had been there for Claire after Faith’s diagnosis when Frank had not. He’d muttered something about needing some air the minute they got home from the doctor, and Claire had immediately phoned Gillian, sobbing into the phone for hours.

“He’s going to leave me, he’s going to leave us…I can’t do this alone…”

Gillian scoffed. “Wi’ the way he’s acting now, I bloody hope he does leave. Feckin’ louse.”

Well, she’d gotten what she wanted.

“I never bloody liked the bastard. I knew I should ha’ said something when he proposed. God dammit.”

Gillian had been the one to assure her that she was a good mother, that Faith’s triggers were not her fault, that she was doing the best she could.

Claire just needed to hear that right now.

As expected, Claire’s phone buzzed shortly after. She picked it up, expecting it to be a text in response, but Gillian was already calling her. Claire smiled to herself and sniffled.

“Hello?” she said, already embarrassed at how snuffly she sounded.

Gillian was quiet for a moment, then said: “Oh, is that wee Faith?”

Apparently, her shrieks were loud enough to be heard across the ocean. Claire sighed. “Yup.”

“She’s having one of her meltdowns, and ye’re all upset and feelin’ like you failed her, aye? That ye made the wrong decisions?”

Claire’s eyes quickly welled up again. “Yes,” she croaked.

“Oh, Claire. Ye ken that lass thinks ye’re a bloody queen, don’t ye? She worships ye.”

“When she’s not biting me. Or throwing things at me.”

“Och, biting again, aye? Well…ye ken that’s the autism. That’s no’ yer wee Faith. She canna help it when it takes over.”

“I know. I just…”

“She loves ye, Claire. I’ve seen it wi’ my own eyes. And I ken that she knows how fiercely ye love her. The autism just makes it hard fer her to see sometimes, aye?”

Claire breathed shakily. “I know you’re right. I mean…I know all this already. It just…”

“I ken. Ye need the reassurance. ’Specially since the Sperm Donor hasnae given ye any such thing his whole miserable life.”

Despite the pain that that fact caused, Claire could not help but smirk at Gillian’s newest term of endearment for the man who sired Faith. “Right.”

“Must be hard over there, all alone.” Claire could hear the twinge of sadness in her voice.

“I miss you, too, Gi.”

“I’m counting down the days ’till Christmas. Canna wait to see my two favorite lasses.”

Claire smiled. “And I can’t wait to see my best friend, and my daughter’s Godmother.”

“I’ve got to run, I had to sneak into a supply closet to call ye. I’m in the middle of a shift — ”

“Gillian,” Claire admonished. “You shouldn’t be doing that — ”

“Nothing more important than making sure my girls are okay. Aye?”

Claire sighed and rolled her eyes, but her smile widened.

“I hear she’s still carrying on, but just let her get it out of her wee system. She’ll be back to her humming and her movies soon enough. Just wait it out. Ye ken.”

“Yeah…I know.”

“I love ye, Claire. And I miss ye. Hang in there. I’ll call ye again sometime this week when I’m no’ in the middle of a shift. I wanna hear all about this Long Island of yers.”

Claire chuckled. “Alright. I eagerly await.”

“G’bye.”

“Bye, Gi. Thank you. Love you.”

“Quite welcome.”

She hung up, and Claire dropped her phone in her lap again. Faith was going to be inconsolable for at least another half hour, and Claire didn’t think she could bear just sitting there and listening. She didn’t turn on the telly or any music, lest she miss a suspicious noise or not hear that she stopped crying, but she did get to work sorting through a few more boxes. On her way over to a particular stack, she tripped over something. She looked down to see the riding helmet. Claire grimaced and gave it a strong kick, sending it rolling under the coffee table. She almost laughed: she’d only just admonished her daughter for doing almost the exact same thing.

“Bloody fucking helmet bastard piece of shit…”

She dissolved into an incoherent string of expletives, grateful that Faith, nor anyone else, could hear her.

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfic #outlandwr fanfiction #claire fraser #fergus fraser #faith fraser

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 3: Baby/Pimpmobile - Shotgun

Baby stares at her reflection in the mirror, acquainting herself with new, yet familiar features. Runs a twitching hand through short, ruffled locks. Giggling at the sensation, and at the novelty of sense. Green eyes light up the more she tussles her new hair, wrinkles appearing around green eyes and pink lips. “Oh my God,” she whispers, voice a deep timbre. Rumbling without an engine. “Cars should totally come with hair!”

She adds hair to the ever-growing list of things she enjoys while being a human. While being her human. Dean.

It was a normal day, before. Better than usual. Instead of wasting time, collecting dust, resting alongside rows of retirees Baby burned rubber. Driven over hot asphalt, her tires endlessly spinning. Full up, Dean taking care by feeding her until she could fit no more. And, with open windows, the world could hear her voice as she crooned song after song. She and Dean duetting on most of them. Sam roped in on certain choruses.

But then they made it home. Journey over, the brothers began emptying her trunk. Baby carried an extra few pounds, souvenirs from the trip. From her rearview mirror, she watched them bicker while stacking boxes in their arms. Dean attempting too much, his face obscured by a wobbling tower. He inched backwards, Sam already given up and abandoning him. A box fell out of view, sound echoing in the room.

Dean stopped. Bent over –

Suddenly she sees brown, scuffed boots and an odd, stone figure. Startled, Baby relies on her defenses. Her sirens go off and she honks uncontrollably, but they’re different. Not the same.

She wasn’t the same. She was Dean.

“-and Dean is in the car,” Sam explained over the phone, Baby listening but not really. Distracted by an engine that beat, holding her exhaust until sparks burned inside her chassis, and headlights dimmed.

That’s not right. Not engine, heart. Breath and vision. Sam ran down basic human functions after the call, telling her not to overexert herself. “Be careful with Dean’s body,” he said, “he’s not as durable as – uh… as you used to be, Baby?”

Nodding, Baby mimicked an affectionate gesture she’s seen Dean use over the years. “I’ll keep Dean safe, Sammy!” she promised, middle finger proudly raised.

“…Thanks.”

Unhitched, Baby decided that while in Dean’s body for the time being, she might cruise the only other place he’s called Home. See how a stationary building compares against her sleek, steadfast design.

In her objective, unbiased opinion, Baby finds her competition lacking. It’s too big, sprawling like the American highway system. A map needed in plotting the path between point A and B. And the detours were confusing. One whole room dedicated for storing food? Pointless. Drive-thrus and diners still existed, meaning the stockpile she found inside a giant, white box wasted space for probably better things. There’s also a washroom that made little sense. How can Dean thoroughly clean himself when little walls were built throughout, blocking any attempt at moving onto the next station?

Humanity was too complicated for her. Baby enjoyed the simple pleasures. Air on her face, the sound of her steps echoing, and her appearance.

Wandering, she passed by a room with little thought about it. But, surprisingly, she shifted into reverse.

Nothing she saw meant anything to her. But her body – Dean’s body – eased, like when she would do rolling stops. Comfortable and safe, in control. Given how crazy the entire day’s been, she savors the feeling.

Curiosity returns though, not idling for long. Baby investigates the new space. Turns down the soft tarp, leaning on a plush ledge that differs from any surface she’s touched. Examines many hanging decorations of weapons, recognizing those as Dean wielded many similar shapes while around her. She refrains of grabbing any. Instead pulls on a loose hanging rag, surprised when a compartment opens up. Reveals more of the rag, and how it’s not a rag at all. Baby holds a smaller tarp, painted in a criss-cross pattern like the tarp Dean usually wears.

“That?” Sam said, earlier, following Baby’s pointed finger, “that’s not a tarp. It’s a shirt.”

“A shirt…” Baby repeated in this newer room. Rubs it against her face, smiling.

Dean keeps her looking one way. Always black. Never considering a different style.

Humans can change their style on a whim. Baby does just that.

She moves her hands away from her hair, traipsing along the lines of the shirt she chose. Buried underneath all the others, it was a tiny scrap of fabric. Decal sheared off, the hem ending halfway down his chest. Baby pokes at her exposed belly, laughter growing. Then, she rubs a hand on the denim short pants she loves, even if Dean only wears them when washing her.

“Must’ve been a dust storm or something,” Dean said, she remembers, that morning outside the human garage. “Don’t worry, once we get back I’ll give you some good ol’ TLC.”

It strikes her that, with their new roles, she can shower Dean in a whole new type of love. Engines revved; she guns back onto the highway. Racing towards the garage where Dean sat for all this time.

He wasn’t alone.

Baby skids, stopping at the garage entrance. She spies a familiar figure sitting on her old hood, although it’s been ages since Baby saw him in such a state.

Castiel kicks his legs, wearing only a pair of slacks while murmuring in a low pitch she cannot hear at this distance. Inching closer, Baby notices a nearby pile. His familiar beige tarp, and a darker color of a similar design. Striking blue strip still hanging off a wrinkled white shirt. And black hubcaps – shoes, they’re called shoes – with grey rags sticking out.

“…and the sky… the sky is so weird, here,” Castiel mumbles, “how do they put up with it? No blue, no purple – no sun, no stars…” He chuckles, stealing the road out from under Baby. She pauses, the sound hauntingly familiar to her. Not like the angel who’s ridden with her boys. Like someone she hadn’t heard in years. “I wish you could talk,” Castiel says, petting the hood now, “I’m finally awake again, but we’re still separated –“

“Linc?”

Linc’s head whips towards her, eyes widening in recognition. “Dean,” he stands, advancing, “Dean, I can – I can explain –“

“No,” Baby interrupts, closing the distance. She wraps her arms around him, savoring how he fit there. “No, not Dean,” she explains, “it’s Baby.”

“Baby?” Linc gasps, twisting in her grasp. He studies her in a new light, “How… when did –“

“Before you, I think,” she tells him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Linc scoffs, slinking away. Moving, she can tell how different he is from the angel. Hunched over, hands shoved in folds within the slacks that are slung low on his hips. “Darkness… y’know, so much darkness.” He looks left, at a nearby car covered in an old, oily tarp and dust. “But then that changes, and the next thing I remember, I’m in my ol’ driver’s frame –“

“Body,” she corrects, wincing under his arched brow. “They’re called bodies… apparently.”

“Right,” he drawls, whistling the word out. “Fuckin’ stupid…” Linc shuffles over, hand freed and hovering near her face. “Aren’t humans dumb?”

“They’re not dumb,” she says, face twinging with pain as she smiles. It hurts, in a good way. “But they do a lot of unnecessary things.”

“Fuckin’ A they do.” Linc gestures at the discarded coverings, snorting. “Why they wear so much, I’ll never know.”

Baby sighs, “You do tend to run hot, Linc. It’s not Castiel’s fault –“

“Maybe if he ever looked under my hood, he’d fix it.” Linc spits, bitterness soaking the words. A dark cloud of exhaust following it. “Fix a lot of things, make it so I can be out there, again. I can be… I can be with you.”

She missed him. Missed his snark, and his care. Whenever she returned, Linc would immediately run through a check list – hoping nothing too serious happened while out. Waited by her side if a hunt left some casualties and distracted her from Dean’s surgery with stories of his former life.

This anger… it’s been festering like oil. Every day Castiel didn’t drive him, it grew. Being decommissioned, forgotten, absorbed into an ancient collection… made the hurt grow. Baby tried speaking with him, then, in those early days. He never heard her. Couldn’t see how sad she was. Close, but still so far.

Baby grabs his hand, guiding it to her cheek. “I missed you, too.” She leads him forward, leaning on her old hood. “Missed a lot of things… but we have a chance. A small window of opportunity, while Sammy figures out how we can get back to who we were.”

Linc shakes his head, “Make that a large window. When the oaf left he had no clue where he should start!”

“Then we can do it more than once.”

“Do what?”

She glances behind, at her cabin. “They might have complicated much of life, but humans still know about simple pleasures. Let’s make like the humans do, and… fool around in the backseat?”

He catches on, laughter cutting through like a sharp honk. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he wriggles his fingers, “still unused to all these extra… features.”

“I’ll help you.” Sliding off the hood, Baby and Linc hurry – hand in hand – into the second row. “Dean’s done this a lot. Now I’ll finally understand why he chooses to do it here.”

“Don’t think about Dean,” Linc whispers in her ear, tiny pellets of hail striking her skin. “It’s just you and me, Baby. Linc and Baby… together again.”

“Together again…” She turns slightly, enough that her mouth captures Linc’s, an imitation of all the times she watched Dean do the same through the rearview. Baby never got it. In that moment, she does. It’s finding a parking spot in a crowded lot. Passing a light as it switches from yellow to red. Idling on the side of the road during a sunset, her boys sitting on her hood. Baby breaks from the kiss, gasping.

She prefers being a car. As she was, her life was simple. Still… humanity had its perks.

Linc and her explore all of them, until the clock runs out.

(Day 2 - Oops! All Plaid)

#supernatural #profoundnet #cracktober #spn #spn fanfic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #deancas fanfiction #baby as dean #pimpmobile as cas #also pimpmobile's named Linc

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youhealmyworld · 7 years

Text

Repression: A Slam Poem

If you're a person with schedules, with duties, with obligations... you are repressing something.

Whether it be a joke or a choice or a dark past, you're always hiding something.

If you are a person unoccupied and has large amounts of free time, you are always expressing yourself. No matter where you are or who you with, you express and you let it out and I watch you in awe.

I stare at you from my busy schedule and I watch you release your emotions and confess certain secrets and I say nothing. I want to scream, to get angry, to throw things at you, to even let tears flow...but they didn't come.

Staring in silence is all you'll ever see from me, until you never see me again.

The suffocating hug of repression is one I've never been able to be released from. It sees you across the bay of your lake of emptiness and it embraces you're dead soul, it cherishes it. It knows it's the cause of this consequence, but it only reveals a small and dry smile. You cant smile back, you stand staring into Oblivion as it keeps hugging you and whispering reassuring words in your ears trying to soothe, but long ago you stopped listening.

You stopped caring, you let go of that will. You let yourself go because you couldn't bear to see everyone around you change. You gave up your entire life and heart just so others can have normal days. You fake some laughs to sound enthusiastic, you muster some fangirling so you sound relatable. You are a machine that has no controls, your surroundings push those buttons and switches.

Sooner or later you'll find yourself sitting in a stairwell, wishing you were dead. Tripped over your anxiety and lying on the floor, breathless and lost. You're heart beat increased and covering every corner of the room, the bass boosted deep in your ears. It's like the party you agreed to go to to be social and happy but it backfires, it's exactly like that except one difference...you feel your world is crashing down. If you can't be helped or left alone to breathe one more second, you are going to die.

It's never a rewarding experience, even though it's been classified as a human mental illness. I don't use terms often, I feel they only encourage those ignorant views, from the people who've done the least to help me...to notice me.

Or maybe you're in a hotel room, sitting alone and waiting. Waiting for a new distraction to take the thoughts away, but nothing comes. You've insisted on spending this time alone, but it's the worst decision you could ever make.

You could be in a bathroom, with two blades on the counter and your phone to the side in case your ounce of humanity deep within decides to change your mind. All the lights are on but you still feel dark inside, you can't see anything except those memories sinking in. That searing pain in your chest grows, wondering if it's a medical explanation or a mental issue that needs a medication but you're all alone at the moment so you wait...wait until it fades and you go ask someone how they can help. But then you realize, this issue always brings more conflict when it's not supposed to and that without the remedial consequences there's nothing anyone can do for you.

In your bed, you stir awake at 3am. Your blankets tossed around and your pillows stabbing the back of your skull, you lie on your back facing up at that dreaded ceiling. It's blank, one dull color reflecting back at you, in the absolute darkness, in the middle of the night. Your first response is go back to sleep but something swims through your thoughts, a new entity that wants to express its opinions. Being an open person you let it in, too tired to know its true intentions. It pulls at you, it calls your name, it speaks its mind...then tears flow smoothing your rough acne filled face. It caresses your cheeks, convincing you this pain was a good thing. Its a release of emotion, it's opening up from your repression. It would be healthy...if it wasn't every night. Those same emotions holding you close at each hour you count down, each time of day you least expect it...it's always got you in it's arms.

The internal conflict is screaming at me, It keeps screaming to never make a fool of yourself but also to never care what others say. It's not devil vs angel, it's something more. One side wants the past to die, while the other wants to atone for it. One side wants to repress to make everyone's lives easier, the other wants to ask for help. One side wants to end me while the other wants to find me. It's a game of thrones of hurting and helping one brain in one body with one beating heart. It's when your mother tells you in the car at Wendy's drive-thru that your childhood wasn't all that bad and it wasn't as horrible as you say it is, but your brain retaliates, knowing you were a shame to even think about then. It's a story that you close the book for... but it still doesn't end.

Memories flooding in, a tsunami of experiences present in your sunken city. From fake friends, to lies on the internet, to dumb choices, to cringe worthy moments, to tragedies exaggerated...then back to you on your chair at midnight facing a computer screen. Its one cycle at one location with multiple memories but during one time...the time where you forget to remember and then it's too late.

Your body magnified on the clear glass mirror, your insecurities crawling under your skin. They make your muscles tremble and shake, your face grow paler while noticing every mistake you've given yourself. Knowing you've failed to keep in shape and create a diet that's gonna fuel your taste buds to cut it out, to stop sabotaging your efforts.

You're watching a video, from a date you are no longer reminded of until now. You press play knowing the quality is already going to trigger you. One second is all it takes before you jump up in a shivering motion, starting to twitch and turn away in pure disgust. Unable to watch a person from the past, a person you wish you didn't recognize.

Mom says I was a happy child, that I was who I was and that I didn't care about anyone else's opinions. Yea that's true, from her point of view. Even she didn't know the mentality I had back then, even she didn't understand how stupid my decisions were and how cringe worthy everything I did and said really was. But I was a kid so it couldn't have been so bad right? I'm just a kid so my problems weren't really real life problems right? But kids still feel pain...they can keep secrets..and one of those secrets can be their pain.

Repression is the only thing I can call home, the only word I understand through and through. It's made it's way into slowly ruining my life, It's always keeping me from telling the truth.

And I hope that your repression doesn't mold you into depression like mine does.

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