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I tiptoe quietly down the staircase, wary of disturbing my no doubt drunk mother. Nonetheless, I still hear her silky smooth voice calling from the living room, "Y/N, darling, could you please come here for a moment?"
I inwardly roll my eyes and reply "Yes Mother." Walking to the living room, I see her slim poised figure sitting on the tattered couch.
Before I can say a word, she raises her hand and slaps me. I don't cry out nor make a sound. Not even a single tear escapes my eye. I'm already used to it. "I told you not to make any noise, I'm having a headache," she states in a sugary sweet voice.
She installs herself on the sofa again as though nothing had happened. "Mother, can I go to the park?" I query nervously. "Nag, nag, nag. That's all you ever do: disturb me. Even as a baby, all you used to do was cry," she grumbles.
"So can I?" The woman lunges at me but I don't flinch. It's been thirteen years of hell dealing with her idiotic games, and I've grown immune to her random actions. "Ah, you're no fun," she cackles as she sits down yet again. She waves a hand with nails as sharp as knives in the direction of the door "Just go. Leave me alone."
I try to stop myself from jumping with joy. "Thank you, Mother." "Be back before 3 because you have to cook dinner," she answers before continuing, "Make sure you don't look at anyone either." "Yes Mother," I dash out the door before she can say anything else or change her mind. The last glimpse I get of her is her tilting her glass back to sip the cherry dark red wine inside.
As I stroll to the playground, I'm lost in thought. My mind is often a chaotic place of jumbled up thoughts and emotions; mostly towards my mother. I cannot believe I have to deal with her for another five years before I am able to move out and live on my own as a legal adult. The thought itself makes me shudder and want to sob. I barely know how I've survived my life so far, what with her daily verbal and physical assaults. My only consolation is the fact that someday my life will change, and also my hobby of reading, which helps take me to a fantasy world far from here.
As the familiar park comes into view, I pick up my pace and start jogging towards it. Generally I'm the only one there, as there are practically no other kids on the block except in the neighbouring house.
I've heard them laughing and giggling inside and I'm often jealous of the way they live. Their life is utter happiness with a mom and dad, mine is chores with a Mother.
I heave a sigh of envy just as I reach the playground. The first thing I ride on are the swings. As I go higher and higher, I imagine myself soaring into the sky, away from all my problems.
From a birds eye view, I suddenly see a ramrod straight line of six children all wearing a black uniform with a red outline. 'Are these the kids next door?' I wonder vaguely to myself. A tall woman with fluffy blonde hair follows them and supervises them as they begin playing. She has subtle yet definite blankness in her eyes but seems kind enough.
Apparently they've decided to play hide and seek. One girl with curly brown hair shuts her eyes and starts counting while the others run to hide. I stop swinging; unsure if they've noticed me.
I should probably go home as Mother said not to look at anyone. But on the other hand, I really do want to get to know them. Perhaps having a companion or two could make life more bearable. After a few minutes of indecision, I choose the allure of new friends over the danger of getting a beating at home.
I rush under the brightly coloured slide at the same time the girl reaches 50. I quickly realise there's already another boy here.
His raven black hair is slick and neatly combed. The boy also wears the exact same uniform as the others except with extremely long socks which just about expose his knees. As he turns to face me with an expression of seemingly distaste, I look to the ground in the nick of time.
"Who are you?" he asks, unsure what to say. "Oh, I'm Y/N. What's your name?" I whisper, still facing the ground. "I'm Number Five Hargreeves. Anyway, I'm not really supposed to be talking to anyone who's not from the Umbrella Academy," he replies offhandedly. The interest in my voice is obvious and practically tangible "What's the Umbrella Academy?"
"Oh it's a school of sorts. For special people. All born on the same day." "Which day?" The boy mutters the date to which I reply jubilatedly, "I was born on 1st October 1989 too!"
My eyes are still fixated on the ground. "Really?" Number Five tries to hide it but there is a note of excitement in his voice. "Yup!" "Maybe you can come meet my dad and he'll let you join the Academy," Five suggests.
"Would he really?" "Yeah, he's an altraust," Five answers proudly. "What's an altraust?" I ask, not exactly sure what it means. "Its someone who's really kind and friendly. Although now that I think about it, I'm not sure you can describe my father that way." [Note: Five is mispronouncing 'altruist'.]
He runs his finger along the new cut on my cheek, one I didn't even realise I had until he withdrew his finger to see it spotted with a drop of blood. "How did you get this?" "My mother slapped me and her ring scratched me," I mumble, not really wanting to relive the recent memory. "Your mother slaps you?" he sounds incredulous and he caresses the cut gentler now. I nod once. I know it's not a regular thing, it just so happened that I was unlucky enough to be born into a house where it happened. Well, the only plus side is that most of the protagonists in the novels I read also have awful home lives, and they go on to make huge differences in the worlds they live in.
"Did you know it's bleeding?" he asks, concern in his voice evident even as he tries to smother it. Shaking my head, I keep my eyes on the ground. He takes out a spotless white handkerchief and dabs at my cut, murmuring a soft apology when I wince. "I've been learning first aid with Mom. At least the education is coming in handy." When done, Five smiles proudly "All better. " I gaze at him skeptically for being kind enough to clean my cut before whispering, "Thank you."
Too late, I realise I've broken eye contact with the ground.
I stare at his startlingly green eyes for a moment before I feel myself changing. My bones start growing, my muscles rearrange themself, my hair grows shorter and my clothes transform entirely into black and red uniform. Distantly I can hear Five asking, "Y/N, are you okay?"
When I'm able to stand up again, I look Five in the eye and he gasps. I am now an exact copy of Number Five from the Umbrella Academy.
