•••-lots of twists. reader insert-•••
You were perched up on your window, hands against the ceil as you blew a wish. It was your birthday, and the air was cold against your face as the night had a shone yellow from the lights in the distance. You fiddled with the knife in your hand – your father’s knife, which he had given to you before he had passed. The way the cold handle felt against your skin felt real – it felt like he was still hovering over your shoulder, watching you grow.
“Darling [Name], how about bed?” Your mother asked, looking down at you, her hair falling on her forehead. She looked tired, yet she stilled seem rather young – her eyes intact with the rest of her figure, thin, with a belt wrapped around her tiny waist. You wished to be like her – her beauty was something you aspired to be like, but still, you liked the way you were made.
“I want to watch the stars take off,” you said, jumping off the window rest. You just turned sixteen, but you still acted like a child in front of your mother – but at school everyone teased you for how you looked. It was either you too skinny, too fat, or too normal. It was a wish for your birthday you could go somewhere beautiful – somewhere that no one would harm you.
“Fine, a little more but your big brother is coming home soon,” your mother had said as you bobbed your head. She didn’t look like she was the mother of two, one of them being nineteen, the other sixteen. Though, she always did fret about work – which made you worry about her mental health as well. Like when she would be sitting near the sink; just waiting for the water to trickle down.
“You mean – Luca’s coming home?” you asked, hopping up under your blankets, rubbing your legs together to radiate body heat. It was a cold day. To say it was irregular was a lie. Your mother had shut the window tight, the glass falling on the same rest you dangled your feet from. “What are you waiting for, (Name)?” You perked up one of your brows, confused by the woman’s lecture.
“I mean – why have you been sitting on your window ceil?” You straightened your back and ran your hand through your hair. “What do you mean?” You asked, uncurling your hair by running your fingers through it. You weren’t fond of how your mother did your hair.
“There’s never anyone out to greet you, is there? I know your growing older, but if there is a boy that you like—”
You stopped her quickly, almost mocking her at her attempt to understand why you did the things you did. “No, I just like the lights outside,” you fell back in your white, thin sheets that softened by the touch. You laid your head peacefully on your feather pillow, rubbing your hands on it. The pillow was cold to the touch. It was unsettling, and you only wished to sit by the fire placement tonight.
Her glare was strong.
You wished maybe your mother could fly away to the land you wanted to go to, too—off to someplace that would never exist. Some place where there would be magic, like in your drawings. But your mother seemed to scowl at that of yours—like it wasn’t meant to be. But still, you would miss your brother, who worked to get his dream job he longed for.
There was a nonchalant sound surrounding the room.
One that was blasé, one that was thick in sound. ‘I’m home!’ It was Luca’s deep-rooted voice entering the halls—his feet clambering against the wooden staircase. You grimaced, a broad smile appearing on your mother’s face. She perked her head to her side, her white dress tightened against her midriff, her soft hands caressing the sheets. “(Mother’s Name), I got me some money today,” he spoke.
Your brother had dark hair—clothes with coal usually scattered across it—and of course, his red trousers and white button shirt to emphasize the coal that laid on his blouse. “Oh, hi,” you spoke calmly—you almost sounded saddened by his appearance. Yet, you remained to be strangely dull.
“I’m going to bed very soon, it’s 9 ‘o clock,” you spoke daftly, closing your eyes as your mother’s breath hit the lamp’s golden flame. Your head relaxed back in your pillow—and your eyes forcefully closing, which looked as if you were trying to push your orbs into your skull. Of course, you weren’t actually sleeping. As a kid, when you wanted to stay up, you would close your eyes and pretend to snore. As of course, it seemed rather fake, and your mother never fell for it.
She left rather quickly—and then there was only the sounds of your brother and mother rambling about work. It was always things about growing up that bugged you. You knew that very soon; you’d have to grow up too. Like your mother, like your brother, and even your deceased father.
You pounced up, scampered across your beige carpet floor and glared out our window. You were wondering if someone—just someone would come and save you from your life, so you wouldn’t have to grow up. And you wouldn’t have to go to school. And you wouldn’t have to hear your demanding mother, and your brother telling you what not to do.
chp. 2 of another dead story i might cont, or do
anyways buds welcome to my peter pan obession
luca's name is that for a reason hun
