Gonna Be the Death of Me (adopted by Brendon Urie)

//thirty - flashbacks//

-----Eva's Childhood Flashbacks-----

Age 6

I sat quietly in my bed, watching the headlights on my street flicker into my window. I was only six, but I knew to be quiet when Mom and Dad were fighting. It terrified me. Dad had only hit me a few times, and my mom got involved fast. He went to therapy for awhile and now I guess he was all better. I still don't know why he would hit me, he said that he loved me but maybe he just didn't think of love the same way I was taught to know it. 

I heard loud bangs of a fist on plaster and footsteps coming towards my door. Before I could do anything, a dark figure was at my door and a stinging stench hit my nose. I never knew what it was but Dad loved to drink it for hours on end nearly everyday. "You're still up, aren't you?" he asked quietly. I nodded, hoping I wouldn't need to speak because I was so scared I don't think I physically could. "You should have been asleep an hour ago." 

"I'm sorry Daddy. I was just watching the lights. I'll go to sleep right n-" Before I could finish his hand followed through my face and left a stinging pain. I knew not to scream. It usually would only make it worse. "You need to start listening to me." I nodded and apologized again before slipping under the covers and waiting for the door to close before I broke down into quiet sobs. The next morning Mom kissed the slight bruise I had and took me to a hotel for the night after yelling at my dad all day. She never let him get away with anything. 

Age 10

Mom was working late and I had no clue where Dad was. He was probably asleep on the couch like always. I slipped in through the front door and closed it softly before going up the stairs cautiously. I heard him start to grumble something. "Why are you home so late?" he asked while rubbing his eyes. It was only eight at night, but to him that was late. Honestly, I just couldn't stand being in this house with him. Every time he saw me, he criticized something subtly. It may have been subtle, but that almost hurts more then just spitting the truth out. "I had a project to finish with a friend," I answered bitterly. 

"What friends? Last time I checked you didn't like people, or you were too shy to communicate with them." I rolled my eyes. "Well, I guess I did something right for once." He laughed as he took another swig from the flask on the coffee table. "Don't get ahead of yourself there. Now go take a walk or something. You could probably use it." I felt my eyes water but before I could let him see that he won, I walked the rest of the way up the stairs and locked my bedroom door. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt. I used to be secure in myself. Sure, I was shy and got nervous about seemingly stupid things. Sure, I didn't have many friends. But I was secure in who I was. 

Now, I couldn't stand who I was. I didn't like not having friends, I didn't like hating my body. I buried my face in my hands before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from my backpack and lighting one, blowing the smoke and my frustration out the window. I heard the heavy foot steps but didn't bother to move. So what if he saw me? 

"What the fuck are you doing?" the shadow of a parent asked me, stomping up to me and smacking the stick from between my fingers. "I think we both know you're smart enough to know, Dad." My voice had no edge like it usually did when I was standing up myself. It had no fear like it did when I was begging to be sent to my room. It had nothing but 'giving up' written all over it. I smoked because it was hurting me in a way no one could see. I knew it was going to hurt me, and I wanted to feel pain with no questions asked about scars or bruises. "Don't give me that, you bitch. Why would you smoke? Do you know how bad it is for you?" he screamed. "Do you know that I live in a house with a smoker?" I answered back in the same empty tone, scanning his body with my eyes as way to jog his memory that I learned what smoking was from being in a house with him. 

His fist met my stomach and the tar-tasting air escaped my lungs as I fell to the ground. "Don't give me attitude." I nodded and looked up to him. I saw that his eyes were like they were before the fighting, the drinking, the true him was revealed. He had sorrow in his eyes. "Dad, you're drunk. Go to bed. Mom will be home soon." He slapped me once across the face, but not hard enough to shock me. It's like he changed his mind too late. Then he nodded and left the room as I sat up against the window seat and cried.

Age 13

There was an echo of a phone ringing through the house. I sprinted to get it because I had just convinced Dad to go to bed and wait for Mom a few minutes ago after letting him tell me how much of a disappointment I was. I didn't disagree with his points honestly. They all made a lot of sense. 

"Peters' residence," I answered in a defeated and empty tone. "This is your local police station. Are you related to a Mrs. Lynda Peters?" My heart rate increased and my palms became sweaty. "Yes, she's my mother. What happened?" There was an eerie silence on the line and a deep breathe in from the officer. Maybe talking to the kids wasn't something they were trained for emotionally. "Your mother was in an accident. It was fatal. You and a guardian of some kind need to go to the hospital as soon as possible. Sorry for your loss, darling." With that, the dial tone rang out. One tear fell down my cheek and my mouth was slightly open. I ran to Dad's room and told him we needed to go to the hospital. He wasn't really sober enough to be driving, but honestly I didn't care if we died in a crash just like Mom. I was kind of hoping he'd just drive off the road and end all of the pain I couldn't even register yet. 

I ran up to the counter. "My name is Eva Peters. I'm daughter of Lynda Peters and this is her husband. We were told to come." A nurse typed quickly through a computer system and in a second, she started her pity and apologies. "Can I see her?" I asked, cutting her off from her rambling. "I don't know sweetie," she started. "Kid, are you sure you want to?" my dad asked, looking genuinely concerned like his eyes were when he continued punching and slapping and insulting. I nodded and looked back to the nurse. "Room number?" I asked impatiently. "24B," she said quietly, watching me walk all the way there alone. That number would be ingrained in my brain for the rest of my life. I saw my mother for the last time that night, kissed her for the last time, said the goodbyes and 'I love you' that we never said enough of before it was too late. "You're leaving me behind. I wish you wouldn't have, Mom. But, I still love you." I let one tear fall and no more. She couldn't see me be weak right now, if she could even be watching. 

Twenty minutes later, I walked back into the waiting room where no familiar face was. I turned to the nurse who handed me a house key and a bright pink post-it. It read "I'm sorry. You deserve better." 

My eyes went back up to the nurse who's eyes were full of sympathy. "Come here," she said as she wrapped her arms around me. All of what I had held back was falling down my cheeks. Everything I had, the good and bad, were all gone. I went to my house that night and got everything I needed. I was put into Ms.Green's home the next day and spent two years of my life there. I had no way to get cigarettes anymore, plus I started really hating it. So, I took razors to my skin. I had no parents to disappoint anymore so I stopped caring. Eventually I never left my bed, never ate or showered or talked. I was able to get out of bed eventually, but as I gave up cutting because I knew how dangerous it was I gave up eating too. It never made me feel full anyway, so why continue?

I still never knew why he left. Wasn't her death a way to renew himself? All I ever wanted was to hear him say exactly why he wasn't willing to fix himself up for the only thing he had left here. Maybe I was really just all the things he called me. Maybe it was never the alcohol or the self-hatred. Maybe I was fat, or useless, or disappointing. Maybe I truly just wasn't worth sticking around for.

Current day

I sat on my bed, replaying all the flashbacks and memories to my life before music and Brendon and Theo and Alex. "Maybe I'll never be enough," I whispered out into the open room. I had spaced out completely. Luckily Alex and Theo were both asleep so I was able to mutter all the bad thoughts. "Why couldn't I have been enough," I said one last time as I brushed my fingers through Theo's hair and stared out the window as if I was six years old again on just another loud night.