Little Lightning

Chapter 26

WARNING: ABUSE AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AHEAD. In case you are sensitive, I'm sorry. You can skip down to the bottom when you get to the italics and I'll explain what happened in shorter terms. If I offend anyone, I'm sorry, it is not on purpose, and this is just my view.

Lyrical hurried down the hall, opening the nearest door and rushing into the room, pressing her back against the cool metal door. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, tears beading on her eyelashes. 

What had happened back there? 

It had gone to her asking what he was making to them yelling at each other way too fast. Opening her eyes, she recognized Kalypso's workshop. Kalypso stood in the middle of the room at a table, that same grenade-like inventions in her hand, head and face turned towards her. 

Taking a deep breath, Lyrical remembered she still wanted an explanation as to Kalypso's monotone actions. She moved towards Kalypso quietly, as if not to startle a frightened animal. Kalypso watched her with unblinking eyes, stone still. 

"What are you making?" She asked, looking over Kalypso's shoulder at the blueprints laid spread-eagled across the table. 

"A smoke bomb." They tapered off into an awkward silence.

"So, about earlier..."

"I don't want to talk about it." Kalypso said. "I need to focus on this."

"Oh, ok." Lyrical didn't want to press it. After all, the last time she had done that it hadn't worked out very well. "I'll leave you to it then." She turned  to walk away and let out a quiet sigh. She might as well get some rest.

Lyrical stood in a sickeningly familiar place.

She was back in her own house. Not the one on Purple, where she had lived with Kirtash and Azalea and Lucas, but the house she hadn't seen since she was fifteen and had left for the mission that had gotten her into this mess.

It looked just like she had remembered it. Beer cans thrown around the living room, the ugly green couch in the middle of the house saggy and gross and stained with who-knows-what, old pizza and more beer and champagne bottles spread around the room. Flies buzzed around an abandoned piece of pizza, mold growing on it abundantly. There was grease smeared on the TV, one corner of it cracked. She saw her reflection in black screen, the fading light diminishing by the second, her reflection fragmented in the cracked corner. A younger her looked back at her, a girl with dark brown hair that had only gone down to her shoulders and had still been straight and wide green eyes that were constantly fearful.

Oh no. She was twelve again.

The doorknob jiggled, and muffled curses muttered by a rough voice reached through the door, the sound of keys jingling striking fear in her. Even though she knew it was a dream, she couldn't help but be fearful. The door opened and the man known as her father stumbled in. He was large, and he stunk of alcohol and of someone who needed a shower desperately. He had once been fit and healthy, and had never drank except on special occasions, and even then he had drank sparingly. And then her mother had died of lung cancer, and it had all changed. He had gained forty pounds of weight within the first month, staying on the couch and never getting up. His once handsome face was never shaved, leaving a scraggly beard in its place, his hair growing long and greasy.

"You." He muttered once he saw her, squinting eyes small and pupils dilated, face flushed with alcohol. "Make me some food." She just stood there, shaking like a leaf, her twelve year old body feeling frail and weak. She tried to remind herself this was just a dream, that she was really in bed sleeping safely. She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep herself calm.

A pain bloomed on her cheek and her eyes flew open as she jerked into the wooden shelf behind her, the corner of it hitting her forehead. She whimpered, her hands going to her head, body curling into a fetal position. She looked up at her father, his hand still in the air where it had been when he had slapped her. Bile rose in her throat and she forced it down, shivering uncontrollably.

"I said, make me food!" He yelled. She wobbled to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen, forehead already bleeding. "I want pizza." He said from the other room, no doubt already on the saggy couch. The sound of the TV reached her ears, obnoxiously loud. She hurried to the freezer and opened the door. Her stomach sank. It was empty. Not a single slice of frozen pizza in sight. Fear welled up in her and tears followed. She bit back a sob and made some eggs for him, the only thing in the fridge. The bread had long since gone moldy, and he usually spent almost all of the money on his drinks. She finished making the eggs and put it on what looked like the cleanest plate. He hated noise when he was watching his show, and he hated light, so she didn't bother turning the light on. The sun was now under the horizon, the last sliver of light disappearing. "Wheres my pizza?!" He shouted from the other room. She hurried into the living room, trying not to trip on the beer cans littering the floor like mine fields. 

She handed the plate to him, trying to shrink back. She had long since learned that it would lessen the pain if she pretended it didn't hurt, or that she was someone else.

"This isn't pizza! I told you to make pizza!" He shouted at her. She flinched but kept her gaze down. He threw the plate at her drunkenly, missing and hitting the shelf instead. The broken plate shards went everywhere, a particularly large one cutting into her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. "Pick that mess up!" He shouted. Unable to take it anymore, she stood up and ran, tears flowing freely now. She could feel the blood run down her back, her shoulder screaming in pain.

She ran to her room, grabbing the only things she cared about; her stuffed bunny, Snuffles, and the knife her mother had given her for her ninth birthday. Her mother had explained that it was a family heirloom, and that it was very important to her. She had made Lyrical promise to never use it, and Lyrical had stuck to that promise. She stuffed them into the only backpack she had that was far too small for her and opened the window. Since her room was on the first floor, it was only four foot drop. Still sobbing uncontrollably, she jumped out and landed in the bushes with a loud thump, her ankle twisting the wrong way and shooting a spike of pain up her leg.

She stood up and ran, not caring where she was going, so long as it was away. She ran and ran, until her vision faded and her body gave out. Lying on the sidewalk on some unknown street, she let her eyes drift closed.

Maybe she would die here. Maybe that wasn't so bad. After all, it would make her father get up and do stuff himself. She'd be able to see her mother again. No one would miss her anyway. As she slipped off, she looked up at the sky and whispered a goodbye.

I'm coming, mom. I'll see you soon. She thought, her eyes closing completely, one last tear slipping down her cheek.

I'm sorry, but it had to be done. To be clear, she's not dead, just unconscious. Her dad began abusing her about a year after her mother had died, and she went on the mission so she could get away from him. She carries the knife around everywhere, but as mentioned in the dream, she won't use it on account of a promise she made with her mother, who made her promise never to use it. This chapter was more to just give you a larger view of what Lyricals character is from.