era murdock ; d4 | done

I am only worth something when I am suffering ; prettier with tears welling in the corners of my eyes. It must be true, for it is all they use me for. He puts bruises in the places the camera won't see, secrets best kept between a loving father and his loathsome son. Perhaps I once knew I didn't deserve this, but warm memories tend to wear away the quickest.

There's nothing left of the boy who could have been soft and could have been kind. I don't think of him often but on quiet midnights like this, the moon keeps me company as we mourn him.

It's a curse to wear my father's smile because he can't stand that I have it. I'm not sure if he despises me because he can find too much of himself or too little. In the years I've spent searching for an answer all I've discovered is that I hate those parts of me too. It's nice to know we have something in common.

Some of my siblings still have the heart to tug against the shackles I wear as jewelry. There for so long the edges of my skin have begun to grow over the chain. I've even learned to like the look of them, of all the ways I've been ruined. I'm at my best with purple stains beneath my eyes, wet curls pressed to my forehead. I'm only beautiful when I'm gasping for breath, curled on my side and retching up the remnants of my breakfast and saltwater.

None of them are like me, though. I won't let them be.

It gets harder not to resent them by the day. There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I braid Blyth's hair ; I snap something at Hudson because he keeps looking at me with those wide eyes. I get the impression he's scared of me, so I make myself into something to be scared of. I do hate to fall short of expectations.

"Devereux, you're not supposed to be out here."

A little garden leads up to the Murdock mansion, where the sand gives way to crawling ivy and beds of half-kept flowers. There, a pond full of speckled fish laps against the fountain at it's center, a mermaid with her head thrown back in mirth as water spews from her gaping mouth. When it's quiet, when I'm feeling brave, I sneak out to sit with her. The conversations are rather dull but her presence is comforting.

It's not the righteous rebellion of Lore but it's just as futile. Which is a bit silly, to condemn myself only for the chance to watch a statue drown.

I startle, but don't bother to turn around to address the newcomer. There's only one person who calls me by my full name- "Sorry, mother." Sometimes I wonder if father had this mermaid made in her likeness, they do so resemble each other.

I hear the padding of her feet against the grass and feel the warmth and weight of her settle beside me, still I don't look at her. "I'll have to tell your father about this." There's no emotion in her voice, not a hint of anger or regret. It's a simple fact. Father values loyalty above all else, and keeping secrets is akin to betrayal. She would never do that to father, she loves him. We all do.

"I know, it's okay."

This time of night makes the world softer, though. I think that's why it calls to me. Why I struggle to sleep more often than not. My mother never seeks the company of her children but I don't find myself wondering why tonight is any different. She sighs, almost melodic as she draws it out. She's close but her skin doesn't quite touch mine, I don't recall if she's ever hugged me. I don't think she has.

Kindness would be wasted on me anyway.

"It won't be too bad, there's a beach clean up this weekend. You'll need to be front and center." She says, like there aren't bones to break beneath my shirt, or lungs to fill with water until the world goes dark. Still, she's trying to comfort me and that makes it okay. It's good to be agreeable if it makes me lovable too.

"I'll make sure everyone is prepared for the interviews." There's a pang of regret in my gut, flashes of crimson pouring down Lore's face as Blyth tries to stop the bleeding. Frantic shouting - Lottie?! Where's Lottie? Don't let her see this! - the way I'd scrubbed the floorboards for two hours and the fact that there's still a stain. "Even the new kid."

My cousin, who's got rosy cheeks and knows what it's like to be adored. My skin starts crawling if I'm in the room with him too long, but I slip the disdain beneath my tongue as I speak because I'm a damn good liar. My mother nods and after a long minute, she wanders back toward the house. She doesn't tell me to go back to my room and I'm grateful because I would have listened.

The ocean breeze bites, I lean into it's teeth. It hisses my own secrets back to me.

I've gotten plenty of people to say those words and I've yet to believe a single fucking one. It's a little game I play, tricking strangers into believing that I am worthy of love. Even better, I convince them that they do love me. It never lasts, it's all vapid and pleasant as it chafes against my skin. Because I know-

That I am wretched, that I am wrong. Nothing like the man my father wanted me to be but nothing of the boy I wish I could have been. I think I'm going to be dead by the end of the year, anyway. I hope they bury me by the fountain.

I stay out in the garden until sunrise and imagine what that'll be like.