ivy. two. wip.

They had me pretend to be an Avox once.

I was damn good at it too. I'm good at being quiet, learning to speak without sound. Just facial expressions and these big doe-eyes -- I bet my mother was beautiful, whoever she was. I can say so much with a wink or an index finger pressed to my pursed lips to hint at the little ones that I've hidden treats for them in their pillowcases. They're still getting used to hiding smiles and twinkles in their eyes when it matters, but it sort of makes me happy to see them happy.

I was one of the first, one of the only ones to make it out alive of the original wave. And I didn't have a me. It should have made me cold and cruel, if I think about it, but if anything I just learned to cope on my own and make a list of all the things I could do for them. My reality was for training, but my dreams were for planning. When they brought a new batch of toddlers in I beamed inside, learning each of their names by heart.

Anyway -- where was I? They had me pretend to be an Avox once. I really had the household convinced, a backstory of being a runaway who's parents were shot point-blank. Pretending to be an orphan isn't hard when you are one, and I've seen plenty of people shot point-blank in front of me. Difference is, I'm the one with my finger on the trigger.

The first and last time I spoke in that house was when I whispered "Good night" to them in their beds and pulled, silencer thumping in my hands. They died with their eyes wide-open in shock, traitorous bastards.

And that's the thing about me: I can be cruel, but I wanted to be more than that. So I became kind, too, in the quiet moments. Tucking the girls in and planting a kiss on their foreheads instead of a bullet as I whisper "Good night lovelies". They think I'm hard on them, and when people are watching I am. But at night, in the shadows, in the blind spots - I look after the girls.