[ there's something about that that makes him smile a little further, expression warming into something - nostalgic, maybe, a little sad, too. ]
How profound.
[ it's a little bit of a reaction he normally wouldn't show - a little more emotional, a little less closed off, for reasons unknown...
...until a pig runs by. cws: domestic abuse, suicide]
[ your mother is, and has always been, the epitome of a kept woman.
not in the nice way. no. in the way that fei chengyu keeps her, in the way that fei chengyu has to own her, has to force her into a vase and prune her branches until she grows the way he wants. you weren't really that cognizant of it when you were growing up until recently, but what you were cognizant of was this: your house had many rules for your mother, and when those rules were broken, there were punishments.
one. don't talk to outsiders. that includes the housekeepers and the cleaners. two. don't make eye contact with others. three. don't read books fei chengyu doesn't approve of. four. don't watch tv shows fei chengyu doesn't approve of. five. get out of bed at seven. six. sit at the dining table at eight. seven. take care of the vases and put in new flowers at eight-thirty, and so many more.
you pick these things up by observation, as you grow older. as your mother, a frail, hollow shell of a woman, moves through each fragment of her life. when she's even a minute late, fei chengyu makes sure she knows the price, and you, unfortunately, know too. he brings you downstairs into his basement, sometimes, past the relief dragons carved into the wall, sits you down at a child sized rosewood desk just like his, and makes you watch as he beats her. as he shocks her with electricity, enough that it rattles her body and her eyes roll back in her head. he wants you to learn. he wants to teach you, how to control someone else the way he has. he wants you to be just like him.
fei chengyu never hits you; you are his precious heir. instead, his punishments for you when you misbehave are more complex, and you - learn very quickly, how to act. you learn by eight how to become aloof. by ten, you're unconcerned, showing no emotional reaction when your father slaps your mother so hard she spits blood out of her mouth. that's what fei chengyu wants from you, after all. no emotions. no attachment. a perfect little monster.
(you school yourself not to react. you fight with the urge, your survival instinct strong and your heart stronger, but you watch. you pay attention. when you become aware enough, you know - you know you want to break free of this mausoleum of a household, of this perfect dollhouse, of the monstrosity your father is planting in you. it's a daily, internal fight, and every day that passes, it gets harder and harder.)
your mother has to take care of you. that's part of the rules, and its in those moments that you feel slight reverberations of her spirit. in those places, she kisses your forehead when you're ill, and meets your eyes, and it makes your heart ache, because you want to reach out to her, but you're scared. you're terrified of the consequences the way she's terrified, because one time you do, and it goes so poorly that - well - you don't even -- you can't remember what happened, and even in the fog of memory, it just feels blank.
another one of the rules is that your mother has to read to you. she has to read to you every night for an hour when you're little, and continues to do so even as you age. she barely makes eye contact with you - she's paranoid and terrified and never breaks the rules, even when fei chengyu is gone - but in her stories, she mixes in new topics. over and over, the books she reads you are around the subject of one thing: freedom.
the both of you are birds in a cage, but your mother's treatment is nightmarish. fei chengyu broke her wings and stole her voice, and she wants you to break free in her place.
as you get older, your relationship with your father and mother stays the same. fei chengyu is busy - running fei industries is a complex monster to control, moreso than you ever even know - and there are images that have to be upheld. just as your mother appears beautiful if a bit neurotic to the public, well behaved and lovely, you too have to move through the circles of the heir of one of the richest men in yan city. by the time you reach junior high, you're attending ritzy private schools and boarding schools, and spend the majority of your time away from the house. it's your first taste of freedom.
still, when you return home on the weekends, your mother seems just as broken, but there's a little warmth in her movements. the villa you live in is cold, the ominous basement looming as a reminder of all the things fei chengyu can do to the both of you, and maybe her love for you might just be performative, but she cleans out your room, airs out your quilt, makes your favorite meals for dinner. it's a dollhouse, as flawless as can be, just like fei chengyu likes it, even when he's gone, but in the moments he's not there your heart aches for how much you love your mother and how much she has been hurt.
even this old, she reads you stories. chapter books and classical literature, now, for an hour, still following the rules. last week, it was the old man and the sea by hemingway. now, she's reading you the awakening by kate chopin when you return from school, and as the summer sun sets outside even on a saturday night, she reaches the end of the novel and closes it, kisses your forehead like she does every night you return home. you return to school on sunday, after a picture perfect breakfast, fei chengyu watching you both like a hawk, and no one speaks.
your summer vacation this year is supposed to start on your birthday - july 31st. you're fourteen years old, and you make your way up the path to the villa from the driver's car the same way you always do, feeling a sense of dread in your chest as you put the mask of indifference on your face. you make your way to the front door, put your key in the lock, and find silence to greet you. the vase next to the door - always full of fresh flowers, one of fei chengyu's rules - contains nothing but dried out twigs. and the smell - the house has never smelled before, meticulously clean, but it doesn't smell like sterile cleaning products, it smells like - like -
(it smells as rotten as it really is under open windows and shiny clean surfaces.)
something is wrong.
you walk forward, shutting the door slowly behind you, heart starting to leap up into your throat. you walk past the main room, past the basement stairs, and note that your mother's door is just slightly ajar. you are trembling, now, shaking so hard you aren't sure you're breathing, and you press your thin fingers to the doorknob.
you can hear music. it's very soft, in english - you raise me up, so i can stand on mountains, and you push the door open.
your mother is wearing a dress. she has makeup on, her delicate bone structure highlighted by it in a way she never wears it.
when you look up, though, she's not greeting you, or avoiding your eye contact, or fluttering around the house as thin as a sheet of paper. she's not robotically going through the motions, or even daring to glance at your face.
no, she's staring. eyes wide open, mouth hanging slack.
your mother is hanging from the rafter in the ceiling of her bedroom, rope thick around her broken neck, and the rocking chair she often sat in kicked off to the side. your breath catches and you - you feel it, you can almost feel the restriction of your airway you can this is your fault this is your fault this is your fault
(In the final chapter of The Awakening, Edna sheds her clothing and walks into the ocean. Though the ending is ambiguous, she chooses to walk in as her manner of death so her sons don't feel the shame of a family suicide and read it as an accident, but each move was planned. Edna yearns for a different life; her only option is death.)
--
you stumble your way backwards to the office and call 110, to inform them, no emotion in your voice, of what you found. when the two young police officers arrive on the scene, you're sitting outside on the stone steps of the villa, staring at the ground. you don't remember how you walked there. you raise your head to look at the two men - officers tao and luo - and you just stare. clear eyed, silent, you stare at them.
(the emotions that you feel in that moment are as wide and vast as a sea. grief, crushing guilt, anger, fear, and - and hope. the police are here.
they'll have to figure it out, right? they'll spend time talking to you - talking to fei chengyu. they'll see through him. they'll see the way he pushed your mother to this, how her paranoia and misery and despair were all his fault, that he's been controlling her and he's been controlling you and molding you in ways you desperately don't want to be molded, that you are a child and he is a monster. they'll see it. they have to. )
the investigation concludes within 48 hours. you stand on the front step one more time with your father, returned from his business trip to mourn his wife, his hand on your shoulder as he watches the police officers go. it's been ruled a suicide. no foul play involved. nothing wrong. just a single tragedy in a picture perfect dollhouse; a woman with depression who lost to her demons.
you watch luo wenzhou and tao ran go, and with it, you realize the simple truth of the world: you are the only way out of this, fei du, because nothing and no one will ever come to save you.
[ This is so sad... And of course Vash is tearing up from seeing all of this. How embarrassing? But maybe this is the natural reaction to seeing something so personal and hopeless. ]
well. fei du is just sort of listless as that ends - for a moment, it's like he's still staring into the past, into the tinny recording of that song.
... and then, eventually, he manages to shake it off, and glances over - and doesn't quite make a face, but definitely winces, feeling around for his pocket square and just wordlessly offering it over. ]
[ his voice is wistful, and the expression on his face is a little sad, eyebrows knit together, giving him a very small smile, but he's definitely not crying. fei du's not even sure if he can cry? thoughts for later. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
How profound.
[ it's a little bit of a reaction he normally wouldn't show - a little more emotional, a little less closed off, for reasons unknown...
...until a pig runs by. cws: domestic abuse, suicide]
no subject
no subject
well. fei du is just sort of listless as that ends - for a moment, it's like he's still staring into the past, into the tinny recording of that song.
... and then, eventually, he manages to shake it off, and glances over - and doesn't quite make a face, but definitely winces, feeling around for his pocket square and just wordlessly offering it over. ]
no subject
You don't need it? This is your memory.
no subject
[ his voice is wistful, and the expression on his face is a little sad, eyebrows knit together, giving him a very small smile, but he's definitely not crying. fei du's not even sure if he can cry? thoughts for later. ]
Go ahead.
no subject
Your dad is a real bastard, by the way!
no subject
You have no idea.
[ that memory's not even the half of it. ]