golden / someone's ugly daughter

I. fifteen

the front room was the one place you never wanted to visit.

thinking about its dark red walls, hardwood floors, and heavy curtains made you feel sick. you can smell the cleanliness of it, feel its tense aura emitting from the door, and hear the scribble of a quill on paper. embedded in your mind is the position of the chair turned to its side a little; a result as to not being pushed into the table. just thinking about it made you feel as if you were in the room again, basking in the sun's warmth as you stood in front of the large, wooden table. you can almost feel the carpet beneath your feet—but it was just the remembrance of good memories. you have erased the memories of the bad, so when you open your eyes to come back into the present, you see it in front of you, living.

your father, levi ackerman, was the bad memory you had erased.

—

you were born into a broken home surrounded by broken people. your mother, najiyah, was an independent woman who was far too smart for her own good and abused the mysteries of her mind for terrorists who paid her well. your father, levi, had incredible strength that was still yet to be discovered, yet, he never cared enough about the mystery surrounding him.

living in the underground was as if hell were on earth, especially as a mixed child. you were terrorized by its horrors, but you could do nothing about it. there were no laws and no protection from anybody. whoever you had at home barely did a thing to save your childhood and sanity, but once you were "of age", you were finally trained to live through this hell. your first skill was learning how to fight, your second was learning how to wield a knife, then your third was a gun. you were barely pushing eight.

your parents had no problem letting your mind be twisted to adapt to the horrors of the underground. then again, it wasn't their fault they were down here and had to raise you the way they did. you so badly wanted to live a normal and loving life, but that seemed impossible in your world. something so simple was something so out-of-reach and difficult in your life. the number of nights you went to bed crying with barely any comfort lingers in your mind each time you see your parents. at least your mother tried her best, while your father was out of the question.

there was a night you ran back home in a frenzy whilst clutching something tightly in your hand. your mother, who was standing out on the front porch talking to somebody, saw you running towards the front door. right as you hurried in front of her, she grabbed your shoulders and held you in place.

"ah, here's the star of the show," she said. you looked down at the ground anxiously but did occasionally glance up at the man in front of you. you have seen him multiple times before, and already, you can sense something bad. you gulped nervously.

"oh."

you could hear the surprise in his deep voice.

it was not an exciting surprise, but a disappointing one. you hated it. you hated feeling different all the time. hated how ashamed you felt for being you. you wished to be somebody else so badly. najiyah squeezed your shoulders in reassurance, but it barely did anything to soothe you.

"we were just talking about you, sweetheart," your mother said. "i was just telling him about how you always find ways to help us around the house."

you gripped the item in your hand more tightly—your knuckles turning white at the action.

"she's a bit shy," najiyah said. "i hope you don't mind her being at the house much."

the man cleared his throat. "no, it's quite alright," he said, looking up at her. they made eye contact, and all she could see was a look of disgust on his face and pure anger.