Post by Rossmaria Aibrean MacMillan on Dec 19, 2013 23:18:49 GMT -8
Rossmaria MacMillan
[/size]
a melody for thee (and bruises for me)
a beautiful travesty (come and set me free)
(save me...)[/center]
[/i] Her mother scolded coldly, critically. Ross flinched.Rossmaria had the worst luck. At least, it seemed that way, as she stared her parents in the face. What were they doing here, in San Francisco? In her dorm, no less? Looking all the world like tourists, in their prim and proper, tidy style, her mother eyeing the young woman before her. The triumphant look in her eyes was enough to make the blue eyed Scottish woman sick to her stomach. She thought she'd won, simply because the once-tomboyish woman was now in a dress.
Of course, that wasn't the only reason she felt ill to her stomach. If anything, it was because she was alone with them. Alone, unguarded. Ross plucked at the pleats in her skirt uncomfortably, shooting a glance over at her keyboard, as if she were five years old again. She'd been excited – Travis was supposed to come over today, and she would finally be able to play the song she'd written for him. Ross had never been that great when it came to giving gifts. She always over analyzed things, never really knowing what to give someone. When she decided to write a song for him on piano, the melodic embodiment of her feelings for him, it was as if it was a sign from heaven. It seemed like the perfect idea.
Now, she wished they hadn't agreed to meet up. Not because she didn't want him to see her in her outfit – a navy blue dress, with black flats and snowflake jewelry – in fact, she'd carefully curled her hair and did her makeup especially for this. Even if she did still have her tomboy roots, she had always loved dressing up for a recital. No, that wasn't the reason.
She was terrified.
She didn't want him to meet her parents.
“Whit are ye... Ah mean.... when did ye arrive?” She asked anxiously, tugging at one of her curls as she abruptly changed her sentence. The room smelled of baking. Shortbread cookies lay on a plate while a gingerbread village sat upon her table. She didn't want them here. Her eyes flit about, worrying at her bottom lip as she refused to meet her mother's eyes.
“An hour ago. Do ye ever clean up in 'ere, lass?”
“A-Ah cleaned this mornin', mummy.” She said quietly, “A-anyways... are ye here ta spend th' Holidays?” That didn't sound like her mother. In fact, it wasn't like her at all to randomly take a flight and spend time with her eldest daughter. Not if past scars were anything to go by. She glanced at the clock once more, biting her lip again. She hoped Travis was late.
Her mother gave her a disgusted look. ”Don't be absurd. Why would we spend th' holidays here?”[/i]
”Then why th' bloody 'ell are ye even here?” Ross snapped in annoyance, ”Ah mean, ye dinnae like me, I dinnae like ye, sae why bother?”
Her father turned to look at her, a cold look in his eyes. ”How dare ye, ye ungrateful wench.”[/i] He said, clenching his fists. Ross paled, eyes widening as she took a step backward. ”How dare ye speak ta yer mum that way, after all she's done fer ye!”[/i]
Her back slammed against the wall, her fists flying up to protect her face. ”No, no daddy!” she cried out, even as his fist connected with her stomach, causing her to gasp and wheeze, ”A-Ah'm sorry! I didnae mean it! Ah'm sorry!”
Mackenzie huddled close to her mother, looking uncertain. ”Mum...” Her mother shook her head, eyes narrowed in disgust for her eldest daughter. She reached down and picked up a short bread cookie, taking a bite from it before spitting it out. ”Too much sugar.” she said with contempt.
”Ah'll learn ye good, ye mis'rable wench. Ah'll learn ye real good. Teach ye not ta talk back ta yer mum like that. Who th' fuck do ye think ye are, eh?!”[/i] He snarled, grabbing her hair and pulling her face up to look at his irate eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, crying out as he shook her head violently. ”EH?! Who the FUCK do ye think ye are?! Goin' 'round, actin' as if yer all high n' mighty, just 'cause yer livin' in bloody fuckin' America! Ye piece of SHIT! Ah'll show ye whit yer really worth!”[/i]
She tried desperately to fight him off, and though she had years of training designed specifically for situations like this, she simply could not bring any of it to mind. All she could do was cry and claw helplessly as his large hands wrapped around her small neck, squeezing tightly. The ginger woman gasped and wheezed, kicking and flailing valiantly, unable to do anything more. ”Yer NOTHING. Nothing at all, DO YOU HEAR ME?!”[/i]
”Daddy...” She croaked out, tears rolling down her cheeks as her vision started to pulse and fade, ”Da... ddy please... let me.. go..... da...ddy Ah'm... s-sor...ry....”[/blockquote][/blockquote][/font]
Outfit;; here
Words;; 849
Notes;; I'm sorry, despite the amount of words, it actually really sucks.
