The Night Vigilante

XVI. Grace

16. Grace. *Not edited completely*

~*~

            I stare at the mirror for a long minute, the eyes staring back at me a mere reflection.

            Flashback

            "You have your mother's eyes," my father tells me one early morning spent sitting by the nearest lake.

            I pluck at the small wild flowers by the riverbed, my toes embedded into the murky water.

            Having mom's eyes isn't such a bad thing, I think to myself.

            "But mommy has blue eyes daddy," I tell him.

            He laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "Different colors maybe but still the same. You have her same look of determination of resilient will, like you're going to get what you want no matter what. Stubborn."

            "Daddy, mommy says you're too stubborn and she gets mad so that's a bad thing," I tell him, not wanting to be stubborn.

            "Sometimes, being stubborn is the best thing to be kiddo," He laughs again, his fingers ruffling my hair, his jeans cuffed so he can stick his feet beside mine in the river.

            "Be stubborn when you know what is right. be open-minded when it comes to advice and be courageous when other's aren't because they'll need you more than you think," he tells me, his eyes skimming the quiet forest behind the river.

            "What if I'm tired? Do I have to help them?" I ask, my hands so small in his large hands.

            He is quiet for a long time, his eyes sad, his shoulders heavy as he brings me closer to hold by his side.

            "Yes." He tells me softly. "That is when you need to be the strongest."

            End of flashback

            My mother cried for days after he disappeared.

            She'd never do it in front of me, but I'd hear her late at night.

            I don't think I ever, fully registered just how much it must've hurt my mom to have my dad gone but looking back, I realize that it must've been the hardest because she loved him so much.

            I was weak. I cowered away, I hid away from people. when Thatcher's parents showed up at my house spewing crap about how our great grandparents were best friends and how I was the only descendent left of the early elite class of the founders of Citadel, I only sat back and allowed myself to be pulled into something I never wanted.

            I sat back and watched all the horrible things thatcher and his father did to the city.

            A nasty, purple blotch covers the right side of my rib cage, my bandage arm swollen from re-opening the wound so much. My face is speckled with red, the skin raw to the touch and a bruise blooming near my forehead but when I look into my eyes, I can start to see what my father was talking about.

            After my father disappeared, looking into the mirror wasn't something I wanted to do.

            I didn't want to look into my eyes- the eyes he had put so much faith in and see that I had disappointed him. I didn't want to see the fear, the submission in my eyes.