torment / a michael langdon fic

1

As long as I can remember, as a kid, I felt like I didn't belong. I didn't fit in, and always felt just slightly out of place. Like, don't get me wrong, I could probably have led a normal, relatively happy life outside of the coven. But I would never have found my place.

One of my earliest memories is levitating during recess in third grade.

I was playing hide and seek with my best friends – but everyone is your best friend at that age, or so I thought. It was one of those moments...when you're hiding in a dark corner of the playground, breathing hard from the adrenaline coursing through your tiny body at the thought of being found, smelling bark and sweat and salami sandwiches, where time and space doesn't exist. You're so focused on hiding, on making yourself invisible and winning the game, that you forget who and where you are. I forgot. And I paid the price.

When I finally opened my eyes, I wasn't in a dark corner of the playground. I was floating seven feet in the air, and below me were the horrified expressions of my friends and teachers. Frozen in time. That moment is frozen in my memory forever. It was the first time that I realised I wasn't just weird, but special. There were powers inside me that other people, and even myself, didn't understand yet.

My teachers, missing a handbook on protocol for dealing with young witches coming into their powers, did the only thing they knew to do - sent me to the office. The other kids were still shaking like leaves, hiding behind our teachers' legs like toddlers.

My mother picked me up an hour later. I ignored the concerned glares of the office ladies. Mom and I got McDonald's, like we always did when I had a doctor's appointment or a day off. At the time, it felt completely natural. I thought she just 'got it', like floating in mid-air was a regular Tuesday occurrence. In hindsight, I remember her staring at me with a mix of fear and awe through the rear-view mirror. She was shitting herself, and didn't know what to do next.

She sent me back to school the next day, which was the worst possible option.

The other kids had grown braver and meaner overnight. I was their new favourite toy and punching bag. They called me a witch, and I took it as an insult. (If only I knew!) They called me evil, ugly, dirty. They said I'd grow fat moles and that my skin would turn green. They told me to stay away from them. So I did.

Within a month, I didn't have a single friend. They were repulsed and terrified of me, but loved to poke fun from a distance. All I wanted to do was play handball or tag.

"Lyla. Enough is enough." Mom said one night over dinner.

I was playing with the food on my plate, but not with a fork. I made them spin and dance, like a potato and broccoli ballet. My face fell, and so did my dinner, collapsing sadly onto the ceramic. Gravy splattered onto my thumb. 

I apologised. I learned to push my powers deep down inside of me. Whenever I felt like they'd spill out, I pinched the skin near my knee. It kept me grounded and in control.

In tenth grade, I pinched myself so hard I bruised. It still wasn't enough.

I'd kept to myself and stayed out of everybody's way, from my mother to my teachers. I was the quiet polite girl who sat in the back of class and got her homework in on time. I minded my own fucking business. That was, until Mrs Brooks called me a freak in front of our entire geography class.

Mrs Brooks ended up with a broken arm and I ended up in the principal's office. I hadn't actually touched her at all, and I guess that was what scared my teachers. I hadn't been called into an office since third grade. Mom was already there, sitting in one of the black fold-out chairs, with her keys in her hand and glassy eyes. She held a few sheets of paper in her hands. Signing me out, surely. We'd be at the drive-thru in twenty minutes.

Mr Petersen, our grey-haired principal with a passion for 'fun' ties, sat beside my mother, with his hands neatly in his lap. He had been whispering softly to Mom, but stopped as soon as I approached. He looked at me with sad, brown eyes.

His tie had dinosaurs on it. It feels stupid that that is the one thing I remember so clearly.

"Hi," I said quietly from the doorway. I scrunched the hem of my tee-shirt up in my hand.

The disappointment was palpable. Mom ignored me completely, like looking up at me would make it all so much worse. She stared at my converse, or the carpet, or the fish tank humming gently by the door. Anything but me. Her leg bounced up and down, like she'd had too many coffees that morning. But it was two in the afternoon and her nerves had nothing to do with caffeine.

Two men in suits approached the office. For a moment the sinking feeling in my stomach froze me in place, blocking the door. Shaking off the feeling, I stepped aside to let the men in. Their suits were far too nice for a small town like ours. I'd assumed they were here for some important government business with the principal.

They smiled softly and shook their heads, almost in sync.

"Mom? What's going on?" I asked. Panic was bubbling in my throat like bile.

The realisation came as one single, simple thought: They're here for me.

Their hands were tight around my upper arms and wrists like shackles. They barely struggled.

"Mom! Mr Petersen! Mr - what's going - where are they taking me? Mom!" I kicked and screamed until my throat was hoarse. After a while, I went numb. Wherever these men were taking me, I was helpless. They were so much bigger, taller, older, scarier, than fifteen-year-old me. A small part of me, deep, deep inside, thought, wherever they're taking me, it has to be better than here.

---

"Happy birthday Lyla!" Zoe yelled, tackling me into a hug in the middle of the kitchen.

"Keep your voice down," I laughed. It was barely seven in the morning.

I loved the way the light streamed in through the kitchen windows here. Making my morning cup of tea was my favourite part of my day. Or at least one of them.

There were a lot of favourite parts now.

"I will not. It's not every day you turn eighteen." She said as she stirred a bowl of pancake batter.

I smiled softly, pouring the milk into my mug. Watching the white-brown patterns swirl, I couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Zoe smiled.

"I'm just really glad to be here. I didn't think I'd make it to eighteen a few years ago." I surprised myself with my candour so early in the morning.

"Well, I'm very glad to have you here. We all are." Zoe's warmth brightened the entire room. I believed her.

"Morning girls. Happy birthday, Lyla." Cordelia descended the stairs with her usual poise, already dressed and made up. Her smile faded after quick greetings were exchanged.

"I need you to wake the other girls and get dressed. We have visitors coming."

---

A/N: Hey! I've started this fic as I fun exercise to get myself to start writing again. I finally watched season 8 of AHS so now I'm obsessed, and I haven't really written anything substantial in like a year, so I figured I'd use this passion/interest and make something of it! 

God, I've missed Wattpad writing. (I wrote The 1975 fics when I was like 13/14 and they're pretty tragic but they were so fun...so I'm back!) I just wanted to say that while this is based in America (LA, I guess?), I'm not super familiar with American schooling systems (and I'm sure there are other things I'll slip up on)...so things might be just slightly out of whack for you guys. I'm Australian, so I'm going to base the ages/grades off our system and assume the system in the US can't be that drastically different (e.g. in grade ten I was fifteen). A lot of this fic won't be based on formal schooling systems anyway but I thought it was worth a mention. Just go with it lmao. Super keen to keep writing! x