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╰┈➤❝ [i need a father. i need a mother. i need some older, wiser being to cry to. i talk to God, but the sky is empty.] ❞ ╰┈➤ sylvia plath
SHE GIGGLED AS THE YOUNG BOY SWUNG BETWEEN MONKEY BARS. "Are you watching?" He called out to her. She reassured him that she was indeed watching. Her eyes watched him jump from the monkey bars and quickly run over to the slide. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a sigh. It'd been a week since her outburst at Wayne Manor and embarrassment sent shivers down her spine at the memory. The wine had gotten to her, ripped her thoughts from her mind and sent them sputtering out of her mouth. When she'd finally been getting somewhere, making some amends for her nasty attitude as a child, she had gone and fucked it all up. But part of her felt some relief. Holding in her feelings always left her sick and tired. She'd felt almost rejuvenated after her outburst, no matter how harsh her words had been.
Maybe part of her wished she was soft and kind. That she could be poised and polite like her mother in public. But she was none of those things. She had realized at a young age that she'd inherited her parents' worst qualities. Her father's anger, her mother's coldness, both of their inability to connect with others. It left her feeling empty and alone. It ruined her relationships, no matter how few there were. Rubbing her face, she let out a sigh. Her arms crossed over her chest as a shiver ran up her spine. The little boy slid down the slide, giggling to himself as he ran back up the ladder attached to it.
"Can we play hide and seek?" He called out from the top of the slide.
With a chuckle, she nodded. "Fine, but let's play it inside. You're gonna catch a cold out here." The boy was quick to slide down and run up to her. His hand slid into hers, holding tight as they returned towards the mansion. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her life differently. This could be her son, dragging her back to the house to interrupt her husband's work so he could play hide and seek with them. But her eyes opened and she was reminded that this boy holding her hand was the mayor's son, not hers. And she was just a babysitter. Anything to get her out of the house, her mother had said.
Her father wasn't often home. It was no secret the women he took out to dinners and met at motels. At first, he'd tried to hide it. But the news had broken one night, when she was seventeen. She remembered hating her mother for staying with him. Some days, she felt the remnants of that hatred. Anytime her father's shouting was heard down the hall, anytime she felt the ghost his hand across her cheek, she felt that hatred. Maybe her mother couldn't stand leaving the wealth and power she had with the man. Or maybe she wanted to keep up appearances. It's all about optics, Siobhan, her mother had once said. Did that mean sacrificing your self-respect? She scoffed quietly as she followed the child inside the house.
