earpangel:
brows knit together in a crease across her forehead. it’s curious just how quickly defensiveness can turn to melted confusion with the earnestness of a few simple words. it’s a truth waverly has known her whole life –– hated by the man who was supposed to LOVE unconditionally –– but to hear it from another ( especially willa ) sparked terror inside of her that her unworthiness might be unmasked. a pang in her stomach telling her to flee, suddenly softened with the words that follow. the apology goes unacknowledged. she’s not ready to let go, and right now, she’s more interested in answers.
“ back up. what do you mean ‘ we ’ ? daddy, he–– he loved you. ”
or so it appeared to her little six year-old self. to see her oldest sibling get the attention she so craved. it never once occurred to her it might not have been good. but while waverly’s never been good at understanding anything about the other’s motives for doing anything –– she can never quite tell if their words are sincere, always walking on eggshells around them –– it seems a strange trick to play if it isn’t true. she’s not asking to sound condescending, but even knowing the whiskey-based a-hole ward earp had been, somehow it’s hard to grasp. somehow it’s hard to imagine willa as anything but the cruel one.
“ –––– i know he was–– but you were his favorite. ”
favourite makes them unexpectedly sickly. something in being the favourite of a man like that makes them think of lou; eve’s empty, empty head, so easy to get your hands on. either they’re a little girl being yanked around the homestead and made to shoot or they’re a grown - thing, trapped in the viper’s nest of yiska’s commune, but they’re not, they won’t be either. they don’t want to be. they want back the warmth of the later years in the treehouse. the closest thing to happy. ‘ yeah. i was. ’ their fingers press down at the edges of the dressing, through their shirt, directing the nauseous feeling towards that, instead.
‘ what do you think being the favourite of a man like daddy meant? ’ without giving her much time to mull it over: ‘ it meant being dragged out of the house at four in the morning. making me shoot bottles, telling me that if i didn’t get good at killing then everyone was going to die. that it was all on me, even though he was the heir, even though he was a police officer. even though he was working behind our backs to get us killed by demons. daddy telling me that i wasn’t good enough, working hard enough, that i wasn’t obedient enough. ’ then, a loud, sharp, cruel thing to put voice to: ‘ the only reason he didn’t hit us is because we had to go to school. because sheriff earp putting bruises on the little girls he supposedly loved so much would get him run out of town. ’
long, sharp inhale, mouth closing. they exhale through their nostrils and there’s something draconic about it, eyelids heavy over their eyes, looking at no-one and nowhere in particular. ‘ at least you know where i inherited my bitch sibling traits from, right. ’
