Bad Girl

"Sweety, is everything okay?" Why is its voice so sweet? So soft?

Okay. What did such a word even mean to a girl who was shaking like a leaf with her knees hugged into her chest? She couldn't remember the last time she felt okay. The last time she wasn't afraid. That she didn't dread coming home for fear that she wouldn't leave the next morning.

"Please...Please just go away."

Her words are quiet. She'd never been so quiet before, but what was the point of screaming anymore? No one believed her. They looked at her like she was crazy. Like she was the monster. They lamented how she'd changed from the nice girl they used to know. They laughed and gave that thing well wishes with the horrible daughter it was stuck raising.

"I know things have been hard for you and I've tried to give you your space. I really have. But I think it's time we had a heart-to-heart." What was the point of this game? Why is it pretending even when they're alone?

She hugs herself tighter. The irony that it was the only one willing to listen wasn't lost on her. Her mother had always been willing to listen to even the most petty of her troubles. What was she supposed to do now that her mother was the trouble?

"I know you don't want me in your room, but can you open the door so I can see you? I'm worried about my little girl." It sounds like its heart is breaking and she desperately wants to let it in.

My little girl.

A shiver runs down her spine at the unassuming phrase. They aren't a veiled threat. They don't sound menacing at all. But the apparent sincerity drives her mad. She feels sick at the idea of being its little girl.

"No!"

The words are repeated until her throat is sore and then forced out in cracked whines. It says something and the sound of the doorknob rattling joins her pleas, but all that reaches her ears is the sound of her heart pounding. The door had to hold. The book had to work. She needed them to.

She didn't know what to do if they didn't.

But darkness creeps in as the door creaks open. Her sobs quiet and her mind goes blank. She can't breathe.

"I'm opening the door now."

Druella wakes in a cold sweat. Her chest heaves as she gasps for air and her eyes wildly scan her surroundings. The only thing that greats her are piles of files, books, and newspaper clippings messily scattered around her desk. The lack of a visible threat does nothing to loosen the iron grip she has on her revolver. She didn't even remember grabbing it.

Eventually, her gaze lowers to her current project. Mascara stains her notes, only the name 'David Dunwich' visible. This couldn't have happened if she simply typed the, but some scraps of paper were easier to keep secure or quickly destroy if she had to.

She'd have to start over.

The ruined material is discarded and she starts fresh on a new page. It's only half an hour in that she notices that the entry is completely illegible even to her.

"Shit."

Her body won't stop trembling. It still remembered that scared little girl.

A small, metal case opens and a cigarette floats from it to her lips as a lighter finds its way into her hand. She takes a drag while checking her phone. It was unlikely for anything interesting to find its way to the "reputable" outlets, but their puff pieces on the mayor usually had bits of truth woven in. Every convincing lie needed some.

Druella's eyes drift from the bright screen to her gun. Her warped reflection stares back at her.

"It's been a while since I talked to someone who still had a pulse."

The weapon is tucked away and she makes several quick taps on her on her phone. She didn't particularly feel like opening up and she'd yet to have a good experience with a shrink. Still, it could at least make her angry enough to focus.