Chapter Text
I am kind
I am funny
I am brave
I am strong
I am confident
I am worthy
I am grateful
I am resilient
I am creative
I am loved
I am a magnet for good things
I am filled with joy and enthusiasm
I am at peace with the world around me
I am living my best life.
Vox pushed the bathroom window open and dropped his phone out of the gap. He wasn’t living his best life, nor filled with joy and enthusiasm.
“Stupid bullshit” He muttered through the toothpaste in his mouth before leaning down and spitting it out. One hand went behind his neck as he did, instinct to hold his hair back. He scowled and pulled his hand back to his side like it’d been burnt by an imaginary flame.
His therapist seemed to think he was five, recommending him that “I am” app for daily affirmations and positivity and sunshines and rainbows and shit. He had better things to spend his time on, like work.
Vox sat down on his bed again, legs crossed and staring at the mirror. Having his face on practically every wall in the Entertainment District wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sometimes he missed the old days - ugh he sounded like that red prick now - where he just had his simple little company and enough to live on. But he had wanted more. Of course he had, he never stopped wanting. It had driven others away, and he had to admit it hurt to think about them, think about how easily they would turn their nose up and leave, how easily they could just be done with him.
He was scared Valentino and Velvette would do that too, that he’d grow too attached and they’d lose interest in him. Everyone did after a while, so he’d stopped trusting people for a short period of time (totally not after the radio demon left). He’d given up, locked himself away.
Sometimes he wished he could do that whenever he liked, but he had a company to run, to expand. It was hard to talk to anyone, not that he’d ever show his real feelings anyway, that would be preposterous, but he was brushed off anyway. When he’d asked Velvette what she thought would happen after death in Hell, she had laughed in his face and called him an emo bastard.
When he’d asked Valentino the same question, he was yelled at and reminded that Val had bigger problems than him, so he shut up about it. Sometimes Vox thought of going back to—
No he didn’t. No he fucking didn’t.
His claws dug into his thighs at the thought, and he glanced down with a sigh. He wished he could turn off his thoughts, make them vanish like people did. Maybe that would make him focus more. He wished he could turn off his hearing too, have everything be quiet just so he could think. Maybe that would make him feel better. There was no winning, his mind was a mess that couldn’t be cleared up, a puzzle that couldn’t be solved, a stain that couldn’t be cleaned, a wish that wouldn’t come true.
Once, long ago when he was just a kid, he thought that princesses and princes did exist, that one day someone would waltz in and understand him. That was just another false hope he’d gotten used to the idea of not being real.
He had, however, gotten used to the fact that evil was real. The fact that there were bad people in the world, that everyone was at least partially bad. He’d even gotten used to the fact he was one of those people, whether he wanted it or not. His parents certainly hadn’t wanted it, and if *they* didn’t, who would?
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The bell would ring. The door would open. The director would call out.
“Breakfast, girls!”
The giggles and squeals and chatter of girls would fill the spacious room, seemingly echoing off the walls and remaining even after everyone else had left.
“Valieva! Breakfast!”
The director would call out upon seeing one bed remain unmoving, before pulling the heavy door shut and leaving the final child alone in the empty room. Valieva would sit up, black hair all over her face and shoulders and chest. She would wince and huff and drag herself out of the small single bed. The beds were in rows, at least 6 rows in one room, and all belonging to girls under the age of 18, and weren’t much more comfortable than a towel on the floor.
She would pull at her nightie. It just about went past her knees, and felt way too tight for comfort, yet way too loose for safety. She’s never liked changing. That short moment of being bare in such a large, bland room made her feel too vulnerable, made her feel uncomfortable.
It was frankly disturbing.
She dressed quickly into her dress, about the same length of the other one, with a bateau neckline. It was white, like her nightie, like the beds, like the walls. Like everything in that damned place.
Her black hair was always knotted, but she didn’t much care. She’d just hold it behind her neck when brushing her teeth. The other girls all had short hair, and were adopted when they were young.
Valieva was the oldest there, at fourteen, turning fifteen in November. She had been foolish to get her hopes up and think anybody would want to adopt her. Each week she’d watch the young girls grin upon hearing they’d been adopted, and it was all so predictable.
“Valieva. Now.” The director snapped softly, pointing down the stairs.Valieva would say nothing, having learnt to not say a word in case she was accused of talking back. She would simply nod, and walk down the stairs. It was all a repeat, and a girl could only go so long until she would snap.