..⃗. [genesis] 𑁍ࠜೄ ・゚ˊˎ
╰┈➤ ❝ [i need a father. i need a mother. i need some older, wiser being to cry to. i talk to God, but the sky is empty.] ❞
╰┈➤ sylvia plathSHE GIGGLED AS THE YOUNG BOY SWUNG BETWEEN MONKEY BARS. "Are you watching?" He called out to her. She reassured him that she was indeed watching. Her eyes watched him jump from the monkey bars and quickly run over to the slide. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a sigh. It'd been a week since her outburst at Wayne Manor and embarrassment sent shivers down her spine at the memory. The wine had gotten to her, ripped her thoughts from her mind and sent them sputtering out of her mouth. When she'd finally been getting somewhere, making some amends for her nasty attitude as a child, she had gone and fucked it all up. But part of her felt some relief. Holding in her feelings always left her sick and tired. She'd felt almost rejuvenated after her outburst, no matter how harsh her words had been.
Maybe part of her wished she was soft and kind. That she could be poised and polite like her mother in public. But she was none of those things. She had realized at a young age that she'd inherited her parents' worst qualities. Her father's anger, her mother's coldness, both of their inability to connect with others. It left her feeling empty and alone. It ruined her relationships, no matter how few there were. Rubbing her face, she let out a sigh. Her arms crossed over her chest as a shiver ran up her spine. The little boy slid down the slide, giggling to himself as he ran back up the ladder attached to it.
"Can we play hide and seek?" He called out from the top of the slide.
With a chuckle, she nodded. "Fine, but let's play it inside. You're gonna catch a cold out here." The boy was quick to slide down and run up to her. His hand slid into hers, holding tight as they returned towards the mansion. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her life differently. This could be her son, dragging her back to the house to interrupt her husband's work so he could play hide and seek with them. But her eyes opened and she was reminded that this boy holding her hand was the mayor's son, not hers. And she was just a babysitter. Anything to get her out of the house, her mother had said.
Her father wasn't often home. It was no secret the women he took out to dinners and met at motels. At first, he'd tried to hide it. But the news had broken one night, when she was seventeen. She remembered hating her mother for staying with him. Some days, she felt the remnants of that hatred. Anytime her father's shouting was heard down the hall, anytime she felt the ghost his hand across her cheek, she felt that hatred. Maybe her mother couldn't stand leaving the wealth and power she had with the man. Or maybe she wanted to keep up appearances. It's all about optics, Siobhan, her mother had once said. Did that mean sacrificing your self-respect? She scoffed quietly as she followed the child inside the house.
The house was empty, save for a housekeeper or two somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms. It made her smile. She liked being alone. Having so many people around her felt more isolating than actual isolation. The child ripped his hand from hers, taking off up the stairs. With a quiet chuckle, she took a seat on the stairs and covered her eyes. "One... Two... Three..." She counted loudly, his giggles echoing throughout the house. "I can hear you giggling!" She chuckled before returning to counting. "Eight... Nine... Ten! Ready or not, here I come!"
Standing up, she makes her way up the stairs. When she nears the top of the steps, she quietly slides off her sneakers, setting them to the side. Her footsteps are silent as she makes her way through the upstairs hallway. She stops in front of a bedroom - the door is cracked. Quietly humming, she pushes the door open. Her eyes scan the room. Everything was neat and tidy, just like the rest of the house. The bedroom was one of their many guestrooms. Why people needed so many rooms, she never knew. Her parents were the same way. So many rooms just to refuse to host others.
Peeking around the corner of the bed, she frowned at the emptiness. She checked the small closet and under the bed. All provided nothing. With a soft sigh, she left the room and searched the hallway for any other signs of life. Her silent steps carried her towards the room at the end of the hall. Pushing the oak door open, she felt a pit grow in her stomach. It was a large office. The desk was cluttered with paperwork and files. The mauve curtains had been drawn, leaving the room in the dark. She took a few steps inside, looking around. Blazers hang from the coat hanger by the door. Biting her bottom lip, she approached the desk.
The files and paperwork on the desk were strewn about, messy and cluttered. 'Gotham Renewal Project' a few of them read. 'Bella Reál' another read. Furrowing her eyebrows, she grabbed the Renewal folder and flipped open to a random page. A photo of the Wayne family fell onto the desk. Her soft fingers picked up the photo, looking over it with a frown. A young Bruce smiled brightly as he held his mother's hand. Thomas Wayne had his arm around his wife, holding both her and his son close as they all waved to the smiling crowd. Behind them were a crowd of children. Orphans, she assumed. The family had been big on that. Her father always called it a cry for attention and validation, a need to prove that your wealth hadn't turned you into the villain the people painted you as.
But the smile on their faces told her a different story. The sparse memories she'd had of the Waynes told her different. They really were just nice people, giving out of the kindness of their hearts. Her finger ran along the photo, staring down at the bright smile on Bruce's young face. He looked so different now. She'd never expected him to turn out like this - she never expected herself to turn out like she had either. Her words from the week before played on repeat in her mind. If she could turn back time, she might have done something different. Not drank as much wine would be a definite. Maybe changed her words a bit, but the sentiment was still there. Why spend all this time letting people worry about you when your end goal was your death?
Shaking her head, she continued to flip through the file. There were photos of buildings that were to be constructed. There were photos of construction workers and building plans. There were notes about the inner city of Gotham and the crime rate that had skyrocketed shortly before Thomas Wayne announced his mayoral campaign. Maybe he'd hoped these new buildings would deter crime. A frown crossed her face at a folded up piece of paper slid out from behind a photo. 'You're doing good things :) - M' it read in elegant handwriting. Had Martha written this note for Thomas?
A shuffle from behind her caught her attention. Grabbing the note, she stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans and set the file back down on the desk. She turned as the door opened. The mayor's eyes widened as he realized she was in his office. "Hey, uh..." she offered a forced smile, "sorry, we were just, y'know, playing hide and seek. I didn't realize it was your office until a moment ago."