Daddy Loves Me
Disclaimer: Don't own. I was working on the second part of Temporary Solutions (which you should go read, by the way) when this suddenly came to me. I'm not going to continue this so enjoy it while it lasts. R/R as always.
Where am I? My body's moving, walking down a hall that for some reason seems familiar. Men are with me. They're not hurting me or dragging me. They're just walking with me, escorting me. Where? Where am I going?
I look around but everything's hazy, indistinct. I can't make out anything except rows of cells ahead. Am I in a prison? Am I visiting someone? Who? The men lead me down the hall and stop me at a door. One of them opens it for me. My feet move on their own and lead me into the darkness. The door slams ominously behind me.
I survey what I perceive as an empty room. A bed holds the title of the room's only piece of furniture. Bars on the window, the only window. No sink, no mirror, no closet, no dresser. I immediately long for my room, for my satin bed sheets and fluffy carpet. I long for better, happier things.
"Hello," I call out to the darkness, "Is anyone there?"
"What's your name?" hisses a voice, "Who are you?" The voice is familiar, a bit like my own but twisted by harshness and cruelty.
"Wanda," I reply nervously, "Where are you? I can't see."
"No," replies the voice coldly, "you can't." I can't tell where the voice is coming from; it seems to be everywhere. I'm beginning to get very scared now.
"That's my name," says the girl as she steps into the moonlight that streams through the window bars, "That's my face, my voice, my life. You stole it." She looks exactly like me except for the evil smirk. Same raven-black hair, same icy blue eyes, same everything. But she can't be me, can she?
"What?" I ask as I try to comprehend what's happening. The girl simply smiles.
"Are they treating you well out there?" she asks though she obviously already knows the answer, "I bet they are. Daddy's little girl never gets anything but royal treatment, right?"
"Who are you?" I demand.
"No, the million dollar question is who are you?" she asks as she points at me, "You sure as hell aren't Wanda, that's my job." I was confused for a second.
"No, I'm Wanda," I reply. The girl smirks at this. God, I can look evil when I want to.
"Like hell you are, princess," spits the girl, "You want to know where we are? We're in your head, my head, our head. This cell right here, it's where your dad, our dad, keeps me locked up with false memories and sedated with pretty fantasies. Look familiar?"
"No," I reply honestly but with a hint of fear. This place seems familiar in a way. Like I was here in a past life or something.
"I didn't think so," replies the girl, "You never were here in the first place and it seems like I never left. Funny, huh?"
"I'm not laughing," I reply. At this point I'm too scared to laugh.
"At least you still can," snarls the girl, "They zapped that right outta me real quick. I wouldn't know how to smile now to save my life."
"Why are you so angry?" I ask. I know I have a temper but this girl seems to have an almost inhuman cruelty about her. She has an aura of violence, madness, coming off of her that scares the hell out of me.
"God, you're so clueless," replies the girl, "Then again I wouldn't expect Daddy's princess to understand. She's too busy walking around with a trashcan for a head that's full of trashy, plastic, fake memories."
"Answer my question," I demand. This amuses the girl and she puts herself right in my face. The process of staring myself in the eye is really unnerving.
"Well," she says, "Where the hell should I start? Dad locked me up in a real asylum when I was a kid but I wouldn't expect you to know that. Then when I got out and became a problem he locked me in here by filling our head full of lies and creating you. That about answer it?"
"Dad wouldn't do that," I state firmly, "He loves me."
"Yeah, that's exactly right," snorts the girl, "He loves you. Why wouldn't he? He created you. Me, I'm the problem. Dad hates me and I hate him too."
"What do you mean Dad created me?" I ask, not sure I understand. The girl just sighs and puts her head in her hand.
"Wake up and smell the damn coffee," she snaps, "You're not real. I'm Wanda, the only one, the real one. You're just a carbon copy with glossy, white-washed memories." I didn't respond. I was Wanda, wasn't I? This girl couldn't be Wanda; she was too cruel.
"I am," she states as if she hears my thoughts, "and I'll tell you something else. When I get out of here I'm going to kill you, Dad, and Pietro."
"You can't get out," I plead, "Please, I don't want you to hurt them."
"Oh I'll do it," assures the girl confidently, "in a fucking heartbeat. I'll rip Pietro's legs off, that rat bastard. Then, I'll kill Dad. I'll rip out his heart, break him in half, and a hundred other things too painful to even comprehend."
"No," I state, "I won't let you."
"You won't even exist," spits back the girl, "When I get out you'll shatter into a million pieces and never come back."
"Then I won't let you get out," I tell her. The girl smirks again with an arrogance that matches Pietro's.
"See this," she says as she rolls up her sleeve and shows me a scar on her arm. Instantly it starts bleeding again as if the wound were newly made.
"Our body has a scar just like this one," she says, "exact same place. I got it in here. See this one?" A wound on her neck reopens. I am terrified now.
"Got that in here too," she says. I stare and watch as what must be a dozen scars and scabs begin oozing fresh blood.
"What?" I ask in confusion. She touches my forehead with a bloody hand. Instantly I'm the one who's bleeding in exactly the same spots.
"Every one of those is you turning back into me," she hisses, "I will get out and when I do no one's going to cage me again." I can barely see now. Everything is turning into a red haze.
"See this one," says the girl as she shows me a huge, deep cut where her heart is, "That one never heals. No matter how long it stays there it never gets better. You don't have that one. The only thing that will make it go away is revenge."
"No," I beg as the men come and drag my bleeding body away, "Daddy loves me, Pietro loves me, don't hurt them." Tears mix with blood and I can no longer see.
"Good for you," hisses the girl, "because they never loved me."
"Daddy loves me," I wail hysterically. I'm an emotional wreck now. I can't see and I can't stop crying or repeating my mantra. That girl wasn't me, she couldn't be. I could never hate anyone like that, especially Father or Pietro. They loved me, didn't they?
My eyes finally open. Cool satin makes my skin tingle with goosebumps. I am in my room, I am safe. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. I shudder. If it wasn't real then why can I only think one thing? If Daddy loves me why do I want to kill him so much?