lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lies.
this is what she does: she looks at her image in the mirror, and knows it’s time. she has done this a thousand times – she was raised to do this, lies spilling off her lips, sliding down her tongue as truths that were just waiting to be told, as a well known, shared HISTORY. it’s an ancient trick, one that her father taught her merciless and relentlessly: to convince someone of your lie you must convince yourself first, even if momentarily. she looks at her reflection in the mirror and repeats it like a prayer — it was all a game.
she hates herself. a sickening, poisonous, hatred, that runs through her veins and infects every ounce of her blood, her cells, her body. scarlett can’t tell when it started, so there’s no point asking – she can’t remember ever not hating herself, not hating the body that she’s in, not hating the blood that she carries — your mother is a WHORE, phillip would spit in her ears, why would you even want to meet her? ( your mother is a whore, just like you, just like you just like you. ). scarlett can remember when she didn’t hate herself though, or when she could ignore the black goose that her heart pumps — when she was with him, and he looked at her like she meant the world. it doesn’t matter anymore. none of it matters anymore.
scarlett lets her hair down, and looks at herself once more. she looks prestigious. she looks cut clean, diamond sharp, she looks like a LEFURGEY. you can’t escape who you are, little sister, you never could. she pins the fronts back, and pats the jacket she’s wearing until it has no flaws – nothing can be flawed today, nothing can go out of plan. it was all a game.
henry isn’t on the living room when she gets out, and a part of her is thankful. she has no idea if she’d be ready to do this were he there, looking up at her with his worried and loving eyes, his forehead slightly frowned and his brows furrowed — are you okay? do you want to get out of here? what’s wrong? please talk to me. always so sweet, always so kind, always so caring. she feels her stomach churn and swallows it away. always so careful, she takes a knife out of her purse, and holds it, one on the handle and fingers of the other running through the heel.
❛ you know when a game stops being FUN, henry? when you know you’ve won it. ❜ she says as she hears his footsteps and tilts her head, eyes fixed on him as a predator eyes a prey. you are a lefurgey. this is just a game. she smiles, a sickening, perverted smirk that feel heavy on her lips, and wrong on her face. you are a lefurgey. this is just a game. ❛ that’s what you’ve become, love. an old, tiresome, useless game, that i’ve played so many times and yet never struggled to win. ❜
henry stands there, shocked, brows furrowed not with concern but confusion, and scarlett can feel something rotten growing, growing, growing inside of her. she smirks, and gesticulates. ❛ take a sit, now, love, i’d like to tell you a little story. ❜
and for a moment she all but looks at him quiet, mind searching for the right word, the right lie, the right in which she’ll hit him harder, make him loathe and HATE her. she deserves his hate — it is the least the can give him ( you don’t care, you’ve never cared, it was all a game. ). ❛ did you ever wonder how i knew who you were? why i knew who you were? why i was on a bar, at night, so far from my home or my job or anything? i was waiting for you, you see. all this time. ❜
>❛ you, henry ackerman, had something that i needed very, very badly. connections, names, weapons. oh, it was the whole lot, was it not? just there, waiting to be won, waiting to be conquered. ❜ she hates the words that come out of her lips, hates how NATURALLY they flow from it. she hates the skin that she’s in, hates the heart that beats underneath it. she hates her soul, her body, her mind. ❛ and i did, obviously, quite a long time ago. see, love, you’re so busy with your CHARITIES that you don’t see what happens in your company. and oh, what a rotten bunch that is, all waiting to sell it for whoever is paying more, benefiting on war and casualities. i need that, you see. i need that to build and win and grow. please, don’t tell me you are going to CRY. i couldn’t stand such sight. ❜ she means that. not the disgust that comes on her tone, the SARCASTIC nature of her words, but she means it. she would not forgive herself. she could not forgive herself ( already ).
❛ oh, please, HENRY! you can’t actually have believed in all of that bullshit. ❜ perhaps it’s his quiet i know that cuts the first wound.