Gotham: Panic Attack

Mother's Panic

The metaphorical noose drags me back down the staircase to meet my Mother. Excellent. Good feelings gone.
'Hello Violet' She announces in a boisterous voice that you would probably expect to emanating from the mouth of Henry VIII.

I hate the name, Violet, it makes me seem like the pretty little princess girl. I prefer V now. The letter is sharp and pointed, and you could probably kill someone with it. Not looking at anyone in particular.

I stare up at my Mother, and walk towards her - I embrace her and welcome her home in the sly hope that this warm greeting will distract her from making conversation. I don't really have a knack for killing conversation - I need to get better.

'Where have you been?' She asks, eyes filled with expectations of academia. Right now I could say that I've been sat in the derelict building of my torture-school, but I think that everyone hear would much rather hear a tale that they'd assume would be about a (fictitious) boyfriend.

'Yeah. I was at a friend's house.' I state with calmness akin to that of a corpse.
'Oh wow! Really? Are you going to make me some lovely grandchildren?'
'No.' I sat emotionlessly, failing to hide a little twinge of disgust.

'Oh. Are they a girl? It's okay to be gay, too.' She says, face changing to understanding as if I'd just come out at the annual city festival.
'Yes. They are a girl. But I'm not gay.' With this bombshell - I leave for the rooms that I was trying to sit in and drink some of my *vodka* - silence - alone.

To be fair, this was also a lie - I was planning to do something else that I actually hoped was only my thing, unlike silence: which the entire damned city would benefit from.