Chapter Text
° Dianthus Carophyllu-Anemone Coronaria °
Samantha 'Sammy' Greenway's life has always been full of fear.
It is not surprising, given the broken home she was raised in. Her father is a wolf in sheep's clothing, an unwavering pillar of the community, a good father full of love and kindness to those who looked from the outside. Inside their home, in the cage she had lived all her life, he was an abusive monster; to him, she was nothing but a rotten little thing that should have been drowned at birth.
Nothing she ever did was enough for him.
She wouldn't ever be deserving of his love, of his attention.
Her existence would always be his shame.
Her mother was no better, a perfect housewife, elegant and delicate, always ready to help those in need. An empty-eyed doll, too broken to care for something other than her husband's happiness.
Sammy had grown agonizingly aware of her place in her family, that she was less, an unloved burden her parents put up with because of appearances rather than love. In her life, there was no escape other than running away or surviving to her 18th birthday and finally leaving for college.
Which is why her life consisted of nothing but studying and working.
Her freedom depended on a good scholarship, so doing as much extra school work for points was a must. When she wasn't studying to the point that her eyes became blurry and the words blurred together, she was working, washing flea-infested dogs at the shelter, mowing the lawn for the elderly, or going shopping for them. She didn't care what the job was; if it paid and was legal, she accepted it.
Housing wasn't cheap after all, and there was no way her parents would put a dime on her education after graduation.
She was sure that she would be homeless by the end of high school, maybe if she was lucky, her father wouldn't throw her out on her 18th birthday, but she knew him too well.
There was no kindness in his heart for her.
She had to be realistic about her situation, and the odds were not in her favor, so working was a must, no matter if she wasn't popular at school, or the mocking because of her ratty clothes, or the bullying, high school would end and everyone would go their different ways, but college, college was her end-goal, her freedom.
The opportunity to be herself and be safe.
°•°•°•°•°
Sammy gave a tired sigh, body curled to the corner of the bus seat, her head pressed against the window, gazing as the world passed by. Today had been more exhausting than she expected. Working double shift on Christmas week was not her cup of tea, but with graduation and her 18th birthday fast approaching, she needed all the extra money she could get. It was not a secret in her household that her father was counting the days until he could legally kick her out of the house and tell everyone else some sob story about her running away with a boy or whatever else he could invent about her that would make him look like a disappointed father instead of the monster he really was. It was the reality she had lived with since she was small, being told she was nothing but a burden, a disappointment because she wasn't born with balls between her legs.
She was the grotesque thing that broke her mother, who took from her family the hope of one day having their desired little boy.
If you asked Sammy, it was a blessing that her parents couldn't have more children, that she was an only child.
She wouldn't wish her life on anyone.
Her mother was too broken by her father's abuse to love a child - no matter if that child was a boy or a girl- she was the perfect housewife, ready to obey her husband on her hands and knees, his happiness would always be her top priority, never disobeying his orders, no matter if those orders would cause her and Sammy pain.
Her mother was a shell of something that once resembled a strong woman. Sammy had seen videos of her, of the woman her mother had once been, strong, vivid, full of life and dreams and happiness, human instead of the doll she now was.
Her father had broken her into pieces and then put her back together the way he wanted.
Her father was a narcissistic monster, whose hands only caused pain and broken bones, a man who couldn't accept his own failures and became jealous of his child the moment it became apparent that they were better than him in anything. She already had trouble hiding her grades from him, and for the past month, she had been very careful about hiding all the college acceptance letters she had received.
The last thing she wanted was for him to ruin her chances of a good college, for her one-way ticket to freedom, to go up in flames.
The rest of her family was not better; she had uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents. Her mother had siblings, her father too. They simply lived with rose-tinted glasses perched on their noses, oblivious of the pain her father and mother inflicted on her.
Or perhaps, they never cared about her, of her pain, of the broken bones -oh Sammy, you're such a clumsy thing- or her cries for help -Darling, don't be silly, your daddy loves you a lot- she learned very early on that they won't be of any help, that their indifference doomed any kind of help she could have received.
In the end, she would save herself, even if it meant running herself ragged.
Shaking off the thought of her family, she got out of the bus to jog the rest of the way home. It was nearly seven by the time she made it home, so her parents should have already left for church, letting her unwind from a heavy day of work in peace and alone.
Humming softly as she opened the door, she was greeted by her mother, whose face was somber; it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Lo Mom…You didn't go to church today?“ She asked, moving slowly, cautiously.
Her mother's eyes were empty as always, soulless and dead. “Everything is your fault.“
“Huh?“
“If only…if…only.”
'So, it is one of those days,' she thought, grimacing; she was always at fault for something. Sometimes it was simply the bad weather; other times, her mother decided that every misfortune in her day, her life, was her fault.
That she had decided to be born and cause everything bad that had happened to her family.
“Sorry, Mom, but I'm bet, double shifts on Christmas week are no joke,” she comments without a pause, trying to pass her mother, but the woman just moves in front of her, closer than Sammy would have liked. “Mom, really, I just want to take a shower.“
“Devil,” the woman spat at her, “Good for nothing child, nothing but a curse, should have drowned you when I had the chance. “
Sammy signed tiredly, this was the same speech her mother always did on her bad days.
Well, except for the drowning thing, that was new.
“Mo-AAGGRRHH!” Sammy screamed as a sharp, hot pain bloomed in her torso. Looking down, she could see the handle of a knife sticking out of her. “M-Mom?“ She stumbled backwards, trying to grasp what had just happened.
Her mother came at her, face full of fury, showing more emotion than Sammy had ever seen. Skinny hands closing around the handle, twisting viciously at the knife inside of her, making her scream again as it was pulled out, her legs fold under her, making her collapse on the floor.
Her hands go to the wound, pressing it in panic as blood bubbles out of her faster than she could imagine. Gasping for air, she tries to move away from the thing that was pretending to be her mother.
This wasn't real, it couldn't be real, she was so close to finally being free!
'Move! Move away, escape!' she screamed in her mind, but her body didn't respond to her, frozen in terror on the floor.
“If only you weren't born! If only you had been a boy!“ Her crazed eyes focused on her, malicious and full of hatred.
“That's right, love, it's her fault, isn't it, not yours.” A coy voice says. Sammy whimpers, head snapping to where her father was watching them with glee-filled eyes, taking in the scene as he moved into the room. “If only she hadn't been born, we could have our little boy, our perfect family would be completed, I could love you so much more.”
Her mother sobbed, rocking back and forth, murmuring to herself, “Her fault! It's her fault!“
“Her fault.” Her father agrees, “ You know, beloved? if she were…gone, I wouldn't need another woman.” his hand gently caresses her mother's back, a macabre smile adorning his face. “Oh, darling, we could be so much happier together if she were not here.”
Sammy froze, words burning into their mind. Her mother's gaze became gleeful, wild, believing her father every word, knife gleaming in her bloodied hands.
“Mom, mommy, he's lying to you, no...nonono.” She was scared, she didn't want to die, pushing the pain away, she tried to crawl to the door, her mind becoming more and more foggy as her body lost blood. “Pleasepleaseplease,” she begged, hand grasping at her mother, trying to push her away, “P-Please Momma… I want to live”
But her begging fell on deaf ears.
Nothing she could say would stop her mother, not when she could see her father smiling, murmuring praises, like her mother was doing God's work. His empty words, hollow promises, were more valuable to her mother than her daughter's life; her empty-eyed mother would always put him first. Sammy didn't think she was so unimportant to her mother that she would attack her so violently, but she had forgotten that her mother always put him first; she would do anything for her husband. Murdering her own daughter, it seems, was not something her mother would flinch from doing if to meant her husband's praise, his approval.
Sammy screams and screams, to high heaven for help, but knew no one was coming, there was no one around them, no neighbors to hear her scream, church day was never skipped, and she was never lucky.
No one was coming.
This time, she couldn't save herself; she would die alone.
She never had the chance to be happy…not even as a child, she wasn't a male, the boy her father wanted, she was only the baby that tore her mother apart to the point of leaving her broken, with no opportunity for another pregnancy, for the boy her parents wished for.
Maybe this was for the best?
'Perhaps'…she thinks as the world fades, 'perhaps if the Gods are good, are kind for a sinner like me, for the little girl that broke her mother apart, my next life may be better… perhaps I will be allowed to be happy. '
Please, let me be loved.
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
In a hospital, a baby girl is born.
She's a small little thing, she fits perfectly in the palm of the doctor who had received her into the world.
A lifeless little thing, with unhealthy gray, nearly translucent skin and undeveloped lungs that are unable to function properly, a premature baby with too many specialists hovering over her, murmuring in low voices prayers and pleas.
For the past month, those doctors had seen children be born into the world wrong, genetically modified by greedy monsters, whose only motivation was money and power, uncaring of the pain the newborn would be in.
“Too small,” one of the doctors said sadly.
“She's not responding,” another one comments.
“Come on, starlight, fight,” they plead.
They haven't been able to save any of the babies, so they pray and plead to God for a miracle, for this one to be the one they can save.
As if to answer their pleas, the world turns and twists.
A little girl breathes for the first time.
And destiny unravels.