Darla Coldwell's backstory.

My "Perfect" Life. (Part One.)

Also, the music is incase you wanna listen to it whilst reading, etc!

Darla Coldwell—such a peculiar name. I could have been named Darla Elmswood, my Mother's last name, but no. I had to be named Darla Coldwell. To be fair, my Mother always told me my name was Darling, but Darla for short—or perhaps a nickname. I wouldn't mind either, if I had to be extremely honest.

I remember the early days of my life. Cradled by my Mother. Her comforting warmth, almost like a flame. Hearing her whisper my name.
'My beautiful Darling..' Her voice, hoarse yet comforting. I could listen to it for hours without ever getting bored.
Her smile, mesmerising, she was the light to my candle. Her pleasant blue eyes—like mine, staring right down at me.

My Father wasn't there. Supposed he had some ''Business'' to attend. In fact, I'm not absolutely certain he even had ''Business'' to attend to. I'm assuming he didn't feel like it; to see his wife giving birth to his first daughter.
Life is cruel, eh?

When I was younger, around 4 or 5, I remember yelling. It was late. I was woken up so violently by the screams and yells of my parents, I heard crashing and shrieks too.
Disturbed, I got out my bed, walking out to the top of the stairs. I remember rubbing my eyes.
'STOP YELLING, VICTOR!' My Mother howled.
I felt a lump in my throat. I didn't understand what they were saying.
'NO! YOU ALWAYS JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS, I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT!'
Being young and curious, I wander downstairs.
'VICTOR, PLEA—'
'Hallo, Mother!' I tug at the laced ends of her nightdress, watching the horror on her face as she turned around and looked down at me.
'You shouldn't be awake, Darling.' She stammered. I was clueless.
'Why are you guys yelling?' I question, staring at both of them. My Father; his face plastered with fury. My Mother's with terror.
'Go upstairs, now.' She mumbled. I frown.
'Why Mother??—'
'Fucking go, now.' My Father snapped. Now I was the one with fear in my face.
I wasn't even thinking straight, sprinting upstairs before he could scream at me.
Paranoid, I couldn't sleep all night. a couple of hours, they stopped screaming.

Now, this is where my worst nightmare begins.
I was thirteen at the time, quite mature.
My Grandfather came to visit. I was so excited! We hadn't seen him in ages.
'Woah, Darling! You've grown so much!' He smiled. I smiled too, then realising he was staring at my chest. I was quite.. big.. for my age. It made me uncomfortable—I didn't know how to react. My smile faded.

I was sitting at the dinner table, everybody chatting. I was still traumatised by what happened earlier.
My Grandfather was staring at me.
I nervously ate my food, he was sitting next to me.

I feel a hand on my thigh.

I feel it caress my thigh.

I was beyond uncomfortable.

I let it happen.

It's my fault.

All my fault.

Everything is my fault.

I let him do it to me.

I felt his hand running up my dress.

I was too stunned.

Too innocent.