Post by mauve morganstern • 3f [kiah] on Mar 2, 2015 21:16:22 GMT -5
o l i v i a h a r p e r
"Dude, my grandmother can throw a knife better than you and she is basically dead." the words slip past her rosy lips with amusement as she struts over to the boy, his arm ready to strike again, the girl obscuring his view. "Like seriously, who taught you to even through? My dog?" Her hands are one her hips, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. The boy looks around nervously, not quite sure how to handle the girl out burst, his eyes looking at the ground, his arm falling to his side. "What, now your giving up? Come on man, I bet I could throw that knife one hundred times better than your fat ass." She challenges ripping the knife from his hand, her face twisted into an over confident smirk. "I'll show you how to throw like a girl."
She pulls her arm back, her face suddenly growing serious as her ice cold eyes take in the target. Then with a quick flick of her hand the knife soars through the air, hitting the traget in the dead center.
Her face transform as quickly as it change, her lips pulling back into a smirk as she turn to face the boy, her eyes flashing evilly. "Now, see there? Thats how you throw a fucking knife." I hiss at him, face so close to his that I could taste his foul breath. "By the way, you should brush your teeth because your breath stinks."
Then she is gone, her back turned towards the boy his eyes following the long scar that traces he space between her shoulder blades. An unspoken story.
She walks from the building quickly, her feet carrying her away from the place which she has spent most of her childhood, the place which she could easily call her second home. But was it really a place to call home though? Wasn't a home meant to be a place of love? A place of affection? The thought strikes her as odd at first but then the realisation dawns on her. It was home. Her first home not her second. Her real home. The place where her parents lived, thats wasn't a home. That was just a house with four walls and a roof.
There was no love, no affection in that household.
No. I lie.
There was love. There was affection and care, but not for me. Not for the oldest as the oldest was the heir, and the Harper family was a very rich family, a family with great power and influence and the first child, first daughter of this family was raised to be a warrior, raised to be the perfect daughter with the perfect manners- whilst in their eyes it lasts. She is the picture perfect image of the heir of the harper family, but when she leaves their eyes, when she is no longer under that roof she is no longer Olivia Harper but Oli.
Oli the bitch.
Oli the career.
Oli the bully.
Oli the mysterious.
Olivia Harper is no where to be seen.
Her feet come to halt outside a small bar on the edge of town. No one would no her here, no one would recognise her face, or her name or nothing. She was a nobody here, not even just Oli. A nobody. The thought makes her lips split into a wide smile as she slips open the door, the bell ringing in her announcement.
The bar is almost empty, a few people milling around in the corner- the girl walks straight up to the counter, her lips curling into a grin as she looks over at the bar tender, her fingers swirling a dark lock around the tip of her finger. "Bloody mary for one- two if your willing." She says smiling as the bar tender walks over to her, crossing his arms his lips mirroring her own.
After a moment he places both palm on the edge of the table, leaning in co close that he was only a breaths length away. "Get out. Children not allowed." He raises an eyebrow at her as she snarls at him, the bell ringing wildly at her exit.
It was time to return home.
Sighing she begins her long walk back to her house. The building looms high above her, with rooms empty and lights burning. She was late. Her parents would not approve, they would give her a few stern words before sending her off to bed without dinner- and the girl would apologise and dip her head, internally screaming at her parents to shut the fuck up, but her eyes would be apologetic, her words kind and professional.
She once let her manners slip, she had snapped at her parents at they had sent to live on the streets for two weeks before welcoming her back home, her clothes dirty, her hair knotted and her stomach growling. Since then she has learnt, learnt to never let her manners slip, she had learnt how to survive with the rich, but also the poor. She would never let that experience, that feeling of being useless and broken and pathetic, ever become something she would never be able to cope with. So as Oli she learnt. She learnt how to be poor, how to be pathetic how to survive.
She walks into the house, her hands fixing her hair, her shoulders pushed back, an elegant smile on her lips. Her mother meets her, her smile forced. "Olivia, dear,"it was never just Oli, not for her,"Your late," she nods at one of the servants and they quickly shuffle off with a small bow. "A tray will be delivered to your room. Off you go now, your sisters are in bed, you should learn from them."
There it was.
Your sisters this. Your sisters that. We love your sisters, but you are just our statue, our mascot.
Swallowing her anger she just give a quick nod, an apology slipping past her lips as she climb the stairs that lead to her room, her mother eyes glues to the scar that painted her back, a scar that was a constant reminder not to love.