FULL NAME › Rosalie Grace Kerrigan
AGE › twenty two
GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers)
FROM › Boston, Massachusetts
LODGING › Silk Bonnet Hotel
PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Figure Skater
NOW PLAYING › One from A Chorus Line
trigger/content warnings: child abuse, sexual assault/rape
rosalie was never an overly ambitious child – but her mother was. desperate for her daughter to succeed in the area where she had started her own training far too late to flourish, laura kerrigan put her child through gruelling hours of private lessons daily. but she didn’t just want rosalie to succeed; she demanded that she do so. at the age of six, mistakes were met by a sharp smack and pointed words. by age ten, it was a backhand across the face so hard that she was sent reeling to the floor. her father was apathetic – he indulged his wife’s desperation for their daughter to succeed, ignored the abuse that left rosalie terrified to breath, to mis-step, to do anything other than achieve perfection – even though it was his money funding the lessons, the custom rhinestone costumes, the racks of skates across her bedroom floor.
at sixteen, her mother pulled her from school to focus on her training full time, and rosalie lost her only anchor to safety – she had never been overly popular, never surrounded by friends due to her inability to go to parties or attend anything outside of school hours, but she had been surrounded by normal people, normal teachers who praised her rather than constantly criticising like her coaches. suddenly, she was engulfed in a world where she would never be good enough – never thin enough, never fast enough, never pretty enough, never perfect enough. a world where her only destinations were the rink and her home. when she was raped by the janitor behind the seats, came home with tears staining tracks down her face, her mother refused to report it, refused to sully their reputation at the rink. no matter that she felt sick every time she arrived, no matter that she had to see that man every day – because image was everything.
and rosalie’s image was the princess, with her beautiful dresses, silky hair, white teeth and big eyes. the other girls crossed their arms, cut her out of their circle. she tried not to care – she always beat them. the men hollered, yelling obscenities and trying to get a glimpse of her changing. the judges scored her highly, gave her marks which she could scarcely believe she deserved – her mother was happy, so she didn’t say anything. She was on track to make the olympic team, training with the best coaches in the country, the envy of all of the girls who shared her dream. and yet, deep inside, she knew it was never her dream. she enjoyed it, enjoyed her talent, enjoyed feeling free on the ice, yet could never fully enjoy it, always fearful of making a mistake even when no one was watching.
then, when she was nineteen, rosalie met the love of her life, completely by chance. he was serving at the diner where her and her mother stopped on the way home from a competition, and something about the twinkle in his eyes just drew her in. on the way back from the toilet, he pulled her aside, and they began to talk, until her mother whisked her away with an excuse that was almost a dare for him to object – he didn’t, mainly because he had already handed her a slip of napkin with his number on. they began to meet whenever she had a spare second, sharing stolen kisses and shared drinks. will’s mother had died young, his father an uncaring alcoholic, and he had made his own way, in the complete opposite to rosalie’s carefully controlled life. he was different, he was special, and he loved her. for rosalie, that was enough.
for her mother, it was too much – a distraction, a risk, an invitation to a world outside the carefully crafted one for the perfect skater. she confiscated her phone, kept tabs on where her daughter was going, and broke her heart. this was too much for rosalie. when she made the olympic training team at twenty one, she left home, moved away and cut contact with the mother who smothered her and the father who didn’t care. she tried to contact will again, but either he had changed his number or just didn’t respond – she couldn’t blame him.
before she started her training, rosalie wanted to take a road trip across america. she set off with two of the girls she knew from skating – they were hardly friends, but the closest thing she had. they split off in new mexico, rosalie continuing on through arizona until one night, she was so tired all of a sudden she stopped off in a little town called boot hill. it was everything she wanted – anonymous, slow-paced, unambitious, quiet. she thought she would stop for a few days, appreciate the different way of life.
she’s been here a week. she likes it. maybe, just maybe, she’ll stay.
❝ it doesn’t get easier, you just get stronger. ❞
FACECLAIM › Victoria Pedretti
AUTHOR › Madelaine
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
amandla
titsay
