A/N: This used to be a oneshot but then I made it into a multi-chaptered story. I can't remember why.

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Your mother wants you to be unfailingly kind and sweet while your father wants you to be strong and unyieldingly firm.

They argue over what you should be, never once thinking that you watching them do so would hurt you or that you could be a mixture of both because humans are dynamic and you are human, too.

You've become conflicted, but you try for their sake. They are your parents and you love them, so you try. It's very admirable.

So you try to be kind to those who don't deserve it. They spit in the face of your kindness and your sweet smiles because you are... strange in their eyes.

And that, in and of itself, is strange, isn't it? When anomalies should be considered fairly standard in a world where everything is a little odd; when anomalies are considered to be fairly standard, but somehow you just don't fit.

It's complicated, I suppose. People are complicated.

. . .

. . .

When you come home covered in filth and bruises, your parents use your pitiful form as examples for their own beliefs as to how you should be to survive in this world. You try to calm the both of them with a tiny, shaky voice that is immediately swallowed by the ocean made of their frustrations.

I doubt they can even hear themselves over the crashing of the waves; you don't stand a chance right now.

Maybe you never have. (Maybe you never will.)

. . .

. . .

Next time, you attempt to be firm.

It's difficult for you because you are inherently kind and have no real wish to harm others. Nonetheless, you try. It doesn't work out well because it's too easy to shake your resolve. You are quick to cry and cover your face; to shield yourself from all the bad in the world.

It hurts you. Your chest constricts and all you want to do is hide in a corner so you can drown in the beginnings of self-loathing.

You don't understand that it's this particular moment where you divide yourself; where my disconnected existence is solidified. You don't realise, not yet. You are too young to understand that I'm here, always watching. (Always. But I don't want to be here.)

And though I want to help you, I can't do that if you don't acknowledge me. I can't help you if you don't listen to me. You don't understand that if you don't accept me, then the disconnection between us will widen and I'll inevitably become something that you can't be.

Your father looks at you with confliction storming in his eyes of cerulean. (Your mother taught you that word; cerulean. Back when she would look at her husband and resentment didn't bubble between them. Back when I wasn't here and you were whole.) He loves you, so it's hard for him to look at you be so small and fragile for anyone to break. You've been hurt physically and emotionally, but you don't yet understand that it hurts him, too.

(I sometimes wonder if you'll ever understand.)

He wants you to be strong so that you have the will to stand on your own even when he's gone. He doesn't say this, so you can't decipher the meaning in his eyes. You think he's disappointed in you, instead. (And maybe he is disappointed. In you; in your mother; in himself. This family is broken.)

Your mother tidies you up and makes you pretty. She tries to make you smile as she, too, realises that her child is in pain. It does little, but you still appreciate feeling somewhat loved and like you're not a disappointment. Even if it's only for a moment.

They are young parents, and they don't know what they're doing. You are precious to them. They want the best for you, even if their efforts are causing you more harm than good.

(Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works. Isn't that how the quote goes?)

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A/N: Chapter lengths will vary, but they'll usually be fairly short and the updates will pretty much always be sporadic. Apologies.

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.