06-25-2019, 11:54 PM
[div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 250%; font-family: karla; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 1.5px; word-spacing: 0px; margin-top: 10px;"]content warning for mentions of death, murder, abuse, loss
she'd been soft, once upon a time. soft hands, soft eyes, soft words. once upon a time she'd been a girl on a border, with rope burns on her wrists and dirt scuffed clothes, carrying the weight of her father's passing and a fear of the world. she'd been innocent once, she'd been untainted by the world and unwilling to harm a hair on anyone's head. god, how far she'd come since then, since being wide eyed and naive. blood stained her hands now, but it went deeper than that, it stained her soul. she'd killed her family, her friends. she'd killed for love, for loyalty, for desperation. she could throw a punch, she could pull a trigger. she wasn't afraid to hurt, to kill, to do what she needed to do for her own survival. the world was dark and dangerous, and so was she. she'd changed, she'd evolved, she'd become the thing she'd been afraid of for so long.
[align=right]( and yet, she still remembered the flavor of fear so vividly. )
she'd been soft, once upon a time. soft hands, soft eyes, soft words. once upon a time she'd been a girl on a border, with rope burns on her wrists and dirt scuffed clothes, carrying the weight of her father's passing and a fear of the world. she'd been innocent once, she'd been untainted by the world and unwilling to harm a hair on anyone's head. god, how far she'd come since then, since being wide eyed and naive. blood stained her hands now, but it went deeper than that, it stained her soul. she'd killed her family, her friends. she'd killed for love, for loyalty, for desperation. she could throw a punch, she could pull a trigger. she wasn't afraid to hurt, to kill, to do what she needed to do for her own survival. the world was dark and dangerous, and so was she. she'd changed, she'd evolved, she'd become the thing she'd been afraid of for so long.
[align=right]( and yet, she still remembered the flavor of fear so vividly. )
it had been for him. for the man with dark eyes and a secret softness just for her. she couldn't put all the blame on him, she'd become this way before him and remained this way after him, but in the end, she wouldn't have become this way without him. if she hadn't felt like she had something to prove, if she hadn't felt like she needed to impress him long before she'd ever loved him. charlie was all sharp angles, rough and coarse. he wasn't easy to match, neither mentally or physically. he'd lead the badlands, and he'd helped engineer her escape from imprisonment not once but twice. the first escape, from the wolves, that's when they'd started charlie and kit. the last escape, from their captors, it'd been the end of charlie and kit. she'd been pregnant and they'd been mutually desperate to save their child, and awful as it was, she regretted leaving. she regretted the fact that charlie would never meet his son, and she regretted the fact that, when her end came, it wouldn't be in the comfort of his arms.
( at least she'd go quietly into the night with him. )
that was what her life had come to. living in the fantasy of death, because in that fantasy, at least they'd be together. over nine months since she'd last seen him, and she was left with her life in pieces. the badlands and the people within it had moved on, she was forced to raise their son on her own, and the world wasn't a safe place. for some time, she'd found comfort in daniel, if only because in low light he sort of resembled the man she wished he was. daniel was kind enough, pleasant enough. he was enough for her to enjoy, but he wasn't charlie, he'd never be the man she'd fallen in love with. she told herself charlie was dead because it got her by, and that was all she wanted anymore, to get by.
( this wasn't living, this was getting by. )
she'd tried that shit before, tried to be soft. she'd spent months living in bluestem, farming and cooking, playing the quiet, doting mother. she tried to be the girl she'd grown up playing, but the truth was, that girl was long dead. kit didn't take to that life as well anymore, she couldn't pretend to lay down and ignore the footsteps over her back. she couldn't be the one people ignored, the mild little blonde with a vague history and a son who shared her name. she couldn't raise her son, charlie's son, as vincent beaumont. he was a luciano, through and through, and he deserved as much. he might not have that empire spoon fed to him as he'd once had the chance to have, but she couldn't raise him to sit quietly with his head bowed. he needed to know who his father was; the good, the bad, and the ugly of it all.
( she just hoped her son would forgive her, for abandoning his father. )
so, some weeks before, she'd found herself turning up within the borders of los santos. her son on her hip, wearing a cool composure, she'd introduced herself without hesitation, and she didn't duck from the eyes of anyone who might have recognized her features or her name. kit beaumont, the former underboss of the badlands, the woman who's murdered the leader of the wolves, who'd disappeared almost exactly a year prior. hiding quietly in bluestem like a snake in the grass, turning up to this young group seeking a new hope, a place where she didn't feel as though she had to hide who she was, pretend she was otherwise.
( she was tired of pretending to be meek. )
they were on the edges of the city, where civilization met the world beyond. kit sat on the grass at the very edge of the forestry, in a fairly decent patch of sunlight, her head tilted back and eyes shut, leaning back to enjoy the heat the sun offered, reminded of what felt like another life. a time when she was young and stupid, held prisoner by the walls her father had built, naive to the life that awaited her beyond them. she had to wonder if she'd change it all, if she could go back again. never leave, never join the badlands, never meet charlie, never make stupid decisions that landed her there, sunbathing but still acutely aware of the gun in the waistband of her jeans, visible to the world.
( even in her new home, trust was a foreign concept still. )
❝mama!❞ her son's delighted yowl distracted her, eyes opening and head shifting to see the toddler sitting a few yards away, holding a blade of grass in his hand. ❝look!❞
( his smile seemed to melt her, inside and out. )
she'd do it all again for him. for those big brown eyes and mousy curls, looking too much like his father, making her heart ache a little. she'd take the good, the bad, the highs, the lows; she'd do it all again for her son, getting excited over a blade of grass. he might not have a kingdom, he might not know his father, but she was determined to do right for him, make sure he got the best she could offer.
( even if she couldn't offer all that much. )
❝very cool, vinny,❞ she responded with a warm smile, and he seemed to grin at the praise, immediately looking back down, fingers shifting through the grass in search of another to show off to her. she had to wonder if charlie had been like him once, wide eyed and happy, before the world had broken him.
( it seemed to break them all eventually, no matter how hard you fought. )
she sighed a bit, lost in thoughts that made her chest ache, and after a long moment of watching her son, she let her head tilt back again, eyes shutting halfway, embracing the pain they brought. it reminded her she was alive, and that was all she needed anymore, that reminder. she'd spent so long telling herself that charlie was dead, telling herself that she needed to move on. she told herself over and over again that charlie would want that for her, he'd want her to find some piece of happiness, even if he wasn't a part of it. but it still felt like a lie, sour on her tongue.
[b][i]tore my shirt to stop you [color=#825346]bleeding