Lunatics (Gotham)

Just One More Day

Warning: The following chapter might contain content that slightly sensible to readers

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I remember the first time Robert laid a hand harshly on my brother.

I was five.

I'm not too sure of the cause. I don't really remember. Maybe it was that Ed didn't clean up a mess that our father made himself. It's hard to tell due to the fact that it became a custom to hit us for no reason.

It didn't matter anymore. All I remember is that I witnessed Ed backhanded across the face.

There was a small moment of silence. Fresh tears welled in my eyes as I watched my eleven year old brother lift his head up. Tears cascaded down his face along with a stream of crimson running from his nose. He probably couldn't process what had happened.

And it happened again. Probably harder.

I can still hear the sound of my world just flipping over. How Edward cried harder after he was hit again. My father screamed and yelled at him not to cry because it wasn't very 'manly'. Then he didn't let us go until he had insulted my brother enough. I can hear it vividly in my head as I'm writing this and it makes me churn and die a little inside.

After all was said and done, he snapped at us and told us to leave. I wanted to run and comfort my big brother... but he would not let me. He was too upset and he ended up not talking to me at all that day.

Sitting outside his door that evening, the sound of him sobbing in his room still strikes me as painful. I knocked on his door and asked him to let me in but he would either ignore me or ask me to go away.

Sadly, that one slap turned into a hundred others. Slaps turned to punches and other types of physical violence. Along with insults.

He tried everything to make us look bad in front of people. He would make us look like the ungrateful kids and he was the humble parent. If we ever tried to correct him, a look would be sent to us telling us that we would for sure get it at home.

I am completely sure Robert hated me the most. Growing up, I was constantly reminded that I was a whole lot like Lucielle. I'm not sure if it was more of my physicality or my attitude. Sometimes, I had her eyes or her silhouette. At times her stubborn attitude. I hated it. It didn't matter what way he meant it, either way were bad.

One way, was always an insult from him. I was reprimanded for 'lying' or for not knowing how to do anything. If I cooked something, which I had to, it was always thrown back at me. Sometimes he'd throw things just because and I had to take it. Glass cups, beer cans, books. A scalding cup of water to the legs just because he had came home in a bad mood. Scars still reside in my skin because sometimes my skin would be opened... blistered.

The second way was the worst.

Why?

Because I eventually hit puberty.

My body developed and when you have a father like mine... that wasn't okay. It was the hardest part of my life. When I first menstruated, I remember hating my body. Not only because it sucked to be a teenager but because I had no clue what would happen. Would everything still be the same with my father? Would he take advantage?

By the time I was fourteen, I could almost hear the inappropriate things revolving in his head. His disgusting hands would 'accidentally' be placed on my leg. At any given time, it was right for him to graze his skin against mine. If I looked like I needed help he wouldn't waste a second before he pressed his body on mine to 'help'.