Misfits (#2)

51.

Violet.

I remember mother had once told me that I was born to be pathetic. She said it was rooted in my blood, unavoidable. I hadn't understood and I don't think I'll ever understand the root of her hatred for me.

But I'm beginning to realise what she means. Weakness feels instilled into my make up. Like whoever I surround myself with, I'm the runt against animals so much stronger than me.

I wished to be strong for a long time. I looked in this exact mirror and avoided the sight of my scars. I longed for a time where I could keep my chin high in the face of adversity. I got that, didn't I? I'd gained confidence and esteem, the ability to feel safer in my own skin.

Pointless. It's pointless.

Strength isn't everlasting. It comes and goes, because it isn't who I am. A facade I put on and façades inevitably fade. There's no use in pretending as if I'm anything but less.

A constant level below. An incessant burden. Always less.

I sink onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, wanting nothing more but to sink into the ground too somehow. I can't get Everest's face out of my head. He's back in New York now.

From here, to Massachusetts, there's hundreds of miles. Hundreds. A several hour car ride and a whole world between us. I can't go to him when I need him and I can't see him, if I desire to.

If I need him, I can't get to him.

I know that couples can work out. Long distance is a thing, it can work but I'm not made for something like that. I've become as dependent on him as one can be and now the thought of being apart, it feels like any flame within me has extinguished. It scares me. Seizes my chest with a strangling, suffocating anxiety.

How long will I spend missing him? At that academy? Alone.

I stay here until I'm cold and my mind is quieter but soon, I hear the door to my room open. The clicking of shoes sound out across the bathroom tiles and I see Ruth's legs before I manage to look up at her. Before I can digest my surprise, she's lowering down to me.

Silence ebbs as she's face to face with me. Always poised and strong. An utter contrast to my swollen eyes and the way I'm hunching over my knees like a ghost.

I don't know why. I don't know why it takes the way her eyes soften just the slightest for cries to jolt through my body. Ruth encloses me in her arms.

She's not a nice person. She doesn't involve herself too much with us personally and as I grew older, we saw each other less. But she was the closest thing I had to a mother. Not enough, but all I had and better than the one I was born to.

She's not affectionate and her hug isn't the most warm but I almost like it more. Her strong hold and calm demeanour. She runs a hand down my hair and says, "Do you remember how often I had to clean your cuts? Always jumping on things, searching for trouble. It angered me to no end but you never cried."

I listen quietly as she pulls back so I'm face to face with her, "You are strong. Moulded from more harshness than your brothers and born of thicker skin than them all. If anybody can withstand this, it'll be you."

"I can't." I shake my head, breathing erratically.

Hundreds of miles.

"A wicked boy has no match to your heart. All the stars in the sky couldn't dim your light, Violet Amory. Do you understand me?" She doesn't say it softly but harshly.

A rare show of support that I wished I'd been witness to, even just once as a child. But she's here now. It's more than I can say about anyone else.

She stares at me until I nod. She straightens herself then, about to leave and I muster up a question, "Why don't you have children?"