Unmasked / Platonic!Alastor x Teen! Daughter Reader
Chapter II: Sneaking Suspicion
Summary:
After reading over thirty-one entries, three disturbing pages are brought to light….or the darkness, depending on how Emily wants to look at it.
WARNING: This entire chapter (and probably the next one) depicts a very disturbed, traumatized, paranoid child (who is you, the reader.), who has just lost the person she loved most in the world. A HUGE deterioration in her psyche is seen here.
Look out for: Murder, Mental Illness, Paranoia, Anxiety, Delusions, Cannibalism, etc….
November 12th, 1933
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, my dear diary. Please, Jesus, please help me find my way back, I’m…I’m shaking relentlessly and the monsters at night won’t leave me alone.
My Pa….he’s not come home in three weeks. I know he will never open that door again, but I wish he would just one last time.
It started with a simple hunting trip. I saw him bringing a large trash bag over his shoulder whilst he was going out, and I just assumed it held his gun and other necessities.
A few hours later, people heard gunshots go off in the area he hunted and now he’s…..
When they opened the bag they found another mangled body….and concluded that my Papa was the serial killer terrorizing New Orleans since 1922.
No, he couldn’t have done anything of the sort. He was a good man. PAPA was a good man. He was. He is.
I read it in the papers…nobody wants to see me anymore. I’ve tried contacting everyone I knew and loved, and they told me to never set foot on their property again, they thought I was involved in this hellish situation!
Anne, James, Elbert, Carol, Mr. Devereaux, Charlotte, Martin…..EVERYBODY has abandoned me!
I wanted to desperately contact Grandma, so I wrote her a series of letters. Her caretaker wrote me a letter back that she went into shock after finding out Pa died, and she’s….well, she’s in Heaven now too.
I just turned sixteen, please. I need my Papa back….my Grandma….
I’ve been in the house surviving off of scraps. I’m afraid to leave again; I don’t want to be shot, I don’t want people coming after me because of what my Papa allegedly did. I’ve lost so much weight, I’m tired, I feel sick….
I’m not ready to be a woman, to grow up, quite yet. I grew up taking things for granted; I thought I would have my family and friends for life. How will I find a job? Will anybody take me in? Can I find a new family?
I’m still here, I’m still here, my dear friend. My beautiful…I’ve not lost my mind, not yet. I’m not crazy, am I? No, no….I’m just….going through some traumatic moments!
I’m hungry….
My stomach is hurting so bad, I’m perspiring and my toes are curled…I need more food. I’ve eaten nearly everything, I have no money to purchase anything else…
Every time it growls, there’s a new tang of pain….
Papa, you would never….you’re a good man, Pa. I love you, I’ll always love you….
Oh, it all makes sense now! Why you never wanted me to see what you brought home, why you were always out late, why you were so secretive…oh, Pa, why didn’t you tell me?! I…I would’ve….contacted the authorities.
Which is what you didn’t want.
I HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING DEMON! HOW DARE YOU BRING THIS UPON ME AND GRANDMA, I HOPE YOU ROT YOU SICK, TWISTED, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN-
I miss your kisses and your hugs, Pa. Please….please come back. At least tell me where your grave is so I can hug your body one last time….I’ve never wanted to hear your voice more, whether it be in real life or the radios, please!
Oh my god, what are we having for dinner? I’m starving, Pa….
I have a headache, Pa….please give me some medicine to ease the pain…..
I need you, I need somebody. Anybody. Please….
I never want to see you again. If I ever see you again after this lifetime I will do everything in my power to slaughter you a second time for all the pain that you’ve caused….
I’m going to take a breather soon, my dear friend. I need to let off some steam. I’m….I just need to find an energy source. I’ll be back, I promise.
——————————————
November 13th, 1933
Oh, I’ve found something to eat, finally. It didn’t taste as terribly as I thought, and in fact, it tasted similar to how you cooked our meat, Pa. So tender….so, so, tender…..
The gangster didn’t even see it coming. I don’t think he liked me, he was looking at me like I did something wrong. I hushed him, hushed him well, and said,
“No, no, sir. Why are you giving me that look?? I’m only hungry! I’m just trying to survive! Please don’t let me starve!”
I hated that gaze. That look on his face made me feel like a monster, like I wasn’t justified in my action to cut him into tiny little pieces-
Pa, it’s just like you used to make. I never knew how…similar the meat tasted until now. Why did you do that? To so many innocent people….this man was not innocent, Pa. He was part of a cartel, I was doing this world a favour!
I feel better, I think. My stomach feels more satisfied than it has in days.
I don’t feel any better, though. I just…I just ate somebody….
I don’t know what to do! How is….how is his family going to react when they find this out?! I….I caused him pain, so much pain….
But I need more. I want to live….I have so much goodness to offer to the world, I promise I can be better! I’m not usually like this! I promise to make you proud! To make everybody proud…like I’ve always tried to do!
I know how much I was lacking in performance, I’ve never been cut out for the big leagues, but I am positive I can amount to something! If this world will give me a chance, I’ll be the best version of myself I can ever be. I can, I can! You always said I could do anything I put my mind to, I can do this. I can still be a happy girl and young woman, I can still grow up, I can make new friends. Perhaps I’ll move? Yes, maybe that’s a good idea…
I miss you. I miss Grandma, I miss our talks. The things you would do with me…how you used to sing to me when I was scared of the monsters under my bed, our weekly theatre nights; we’d always go to see Charlie Chaplin, that was your favourite; and it grew to be mine too.
I miss how close we were to each other. We were like….we were like two peas in a pod. We couldn’t be one without the other.
1917, was the year of my birth. How well do you remember picking me up that day? When I was alone, cold, nearly dead…in a dumpster? You saved me.
That’s why….I don’t want to believe you did those things, Papa. I don’t. I have a very strong sense of morality, you know that. I….I can’t fathom you ever being capable of something like that.
I…I don’t think I knew you, Papa. You…
You betrayed me.
Everybody was right, you know. The suspicions people had about you. Anne…she always talked about you with a certain look of fear in her eyes, and I always made the time to defend you to anybody who ever judged.
How was it, that the only person who never saw the signs, was me? The person who lived with you for sixteen years?
Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.
And now look at what you’ve done. You’ve killed a part of me…you killed Grandma; your mother! I was supposed to meet her up for tea a few days after your death, but time had beaten me to it. What ever will I do, without your love?
I miss you, Pa. And I love you, so very much. But you better pray to the devil himself; that I do not die for another five decades. I won’t be able to hold myself back…from hurting you. And I’ll hurt you bad.
To be hated….to be attacked by somebody you protected, nurtured, loved with all your heart….yes, that’s the pain I want to inflict on you. Your daughter, the person you’d kill for, turning against you.
I love you, Pa, I really do. But….a serial killer will never be somebody I bode well with.
———————
January 10th, 1934
I am sorry. For everything. It’s very frigid out here due to winter, and I’ve been camping outside for quite a while…I can’t feel my legs anymore.
To….anybody I may have scared or hurt, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry.
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Suffering abuse at home doesn’t make you want to talk about it and tell it to your friends. You don’t want to see their horrified faces, you don’t want them to think about you like that, you don’t want their pity, you’re afraid they could react with anger or disgust, or tell someone and create more trouble for you.
Instead, you want to cling to anything normal you have in your life. Let me have this friendship, free of abuse, let me have a field trip away from my reality. Let me exist and be normal among my peers, let nobody suspect anything else is going on, because I want this to be my reality so bad. Let me have a relationship that is normal, that I can depend on, let me have a normal school experience, let me pretend nothing is wrong, because in these moments, I can almost feel like nothing is wrong, like I’m one of these kids, like I’m normal too.
We don’t want to think about the abuse, or acknowledge it, we want to run away until we forget, until we can be normal too. We want to be normal. We need to experience normalcy so at least some parts of us, could grow up normal, could develop in a context of society, of community. We can tell, as children, that this is the best that we can get in life, a part of existence outside of home, where we’re not powerless, where our words matter and our feelings are acknowledged.
We do this because we don’t know when this ‘normal’ will be taken away too, and we’re scared we’re going to lose it. Only when the normal is guaranteed, when we feel safe and sound with our life and our safety and our future, we can begin to break down about the abuse. Only then it doesn’t cost us losing our normal.
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You know what, my parents have always been so great at comforting me
I could be really shaken up and scared cuz someone just tried hurt me and my mom would say 'ah, get over it, she couldn't have hurt you anyways', when the same lady beats her grown ass brother to a pulp everyday and would've with me if I hadn't ran away when she gave chase.
My father could always complain like fuck to ME about me being bullied. What am I going to do? Why don't I tell you I'm being bullied? Oh because you yell at me for being bullied because you're complaining to me about what THEY'RE doing. That's really fucking nice.
Why don't I tell you about my mental state, father? Oh because you tell me I have no reason to be depressed and that I'm being ungrateful or accuse me of being indoctrinated by the internet and trying to to waste your money on therapy when I open up. Or maybe because I've had multiple instances of you screaming at me for 5 fucking hours about how much of a disappointment to the entire family line I am for being the 'only depressed one/the only one who's 'given up',' or you just insist I'm depressed because someone convinced me I'm gay or trans on the internet.
Why don't I tell you I have a cold, father? Because I'd rather pretend I have a dry cough and take medicine behind your back then be screamed at about how you'd die if I gave you a cold, (which you won't), or how I 'definitively have covid' and then not let me in the living room with you. I don't want to be screamed at until I'm crying, and then you tell me I'm selfish for crying. It's happened too much, I'd rather just suffer in silence even if I do have a bad cold.
Why do I always stay up in my bedroom and avoid you, father? Because, you sleep half the day and scream at me if I make a singular noise. I can't live in my own household nor even go and eat something if you're asleep. I'm not allowed to. You could sleep the whole day and I could starve, yet if I moved and made a noise, you'd make sure I have a reason to cry. Then pound on me for crying.
Why do I always stall and not tell you I may need medical attention until I'm crying from pain? Because both of you complain about the hospital bills, how I'm faking, and how I'm a waste of time. Why did I need to get taken to the hospital from school before from passing out? Because you convinced me I shouldn't care enough to let you know something is wrong until something bad happens to me if it costs you time and money. I hated the back of that ambulance, and you're the reason I had to experience that.
I hated the way that boy laughed at me as I was picked up half-fucking conscious and dragged to the stretcher and loaded into the damn ambulance.
Why do I not tell you I need help with schooling? Because you helped my brother with one homework paper in kindergarten, and that was the only one he failed. Then you complained to him and said I was the smarter kid. Now that I'm failing, if I say I have one problem, I'm automatically fucking stupid since I was straight A's and B's in ELEMENTARY.
Oh and my cat could be dying, so keep making side-comments, 'he's going to die'. That's very comforting. I love it when you say that.
Why must you always tell me I'm going to fail when I grow up? I can't have ADHD when i grow up or else I'll be 'dysfunctional' and never get a job? I should grow out of my problems? These problems never existed in your generation because you just dealt with it and got through it and now we 'dramatise everything'? I can only grow up to marry--and I need to marry--a straight white boy? I'm never going to college because I'm a fucking dumbass and I'm failing at everything?
I can't be a child right now? I can't have mental problems? I can't be experiencing the aftermath of every fucking thing you've done to me? I need to be perfect, and I need to comfort myself? All I ask is for you to say one thing when I'm sitting here and ASKING for your help..
I just want you to say it's ok.
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