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We all begin as love stories. It's second grade again and you still love your father. This time the raspberries are ripe and the juice stains your fingers for days. You dance on the porch in your favorite yellow sundress while he smokes and it feels like staring at the face of the sun and screaming your name. You think, this what Icarus must have felt like. You don't know anything about love but you know you'd die for him everyday, and then you died for him everyday. You're 16 now but haven't stopped running from him. Loving your father isn't supposed to leave bruises but no one told you that, did they?
Loving your father is the same as washing blood from your knees because the prayers for him to return never stop. It's plucking splinters from your skin because you rub your hands against the tree bark to remember his calloused hands holding yours. It's thinking cough syrup tastes the same as sweet pomegranate juice on a hot summer day. It's boiling yourself to death in your bathtub and still calling it warmth. It's realizing that love's hands have started to feel like nooses.
Loving your father's not supposed to hurt, so why does it feel like it's killing me?
She remembers her childhood like a play where her role is to always stand in the back. Nobody put her there, but she herself thought that her mere existence disappeared through the lights and loudness. There's always been a heaviness to her good. Thirteen's a tender age to wrap yourself in a bubble, afraid to break anything around you, so that nobody would think you're destructive. It's thirteen to fourteen when the realization sets in that being good isn't good enough. Because your father will still leave, your mom will still be broken, they'll still see you as a burden or something less than a human being — something to poke fun at and scar up for their entertainment.
Odessa's always known that she's good. She's the kind to help nurse sick birds back to death knowing that there was a chance it could die. She writes her feelings down in a journal instead of speaking them because nobody has time to hear what she needs to say. She doesn't cry in front of people because everybody has something that's troubling them. She forgives to easy, she loves too hard, and it gets her hurt every time.
There's nothing more challenging in life than being a girl. Everything you do this wrong. Nice girls are pushovers. Sad girls are attention seekers. Mean girls are titled bitches. Happy girls are too boastful. There's never a trophy to be won in a world built to please men. And Odessa would admit that she was naive (maybe not at the tender age of ten or thirteen, but she's sixteen now. Yes, she naive) to how boys her age acted around her, how they looked at her and smiled at her. The way they thought about her. It's never pure intentions with high school boys. They see one thing and one thing only: an opportunity to one up each other. They see her for what she is, or better yet who she was, a kind hearted blonde with watercolor eyes and a spring like smile.
I've should've known better. I should've known better.
She wishes now that she had listened to her mother's warning: boys this age don't see girls like you the way they should. Be careful, my girl. Nobody really knows why she always chose the wrong ones. Maybe it's because her father left her at a tender age. Maybe she just didn't like to be alone. Maybe she was too blinded by their love bombs to see what they really wanted. No girl that young knows what it means to give herself completely to a boy until after it happens, and Odessa will admit that after it happened, she didn't feel the way it's portrayed in movies or television. She felt dirty, uncomfortable, and regretful. She's only fifteen at the time.
Thirteen to sixteen are the precious years of a young girl's life, but for Odessa, it's the years that ruined her life. But speaking about it's too painful, because it she dwells on it too long then that means it still matters, and if it still matters, then that means she still allows all the weight to slowly crush her. So she doesn't speak about it. Instead, she watches her life from the sidelines like the background character in a play. She's invisible. She doesn't exist. She's merely a puppet in a patriarchal world where boys have it easy and girls are forever labeled as prudes or sluts.
Can you guess which label was hers?
Sadness recognizes sadnesses, hurt recognizes hurt, and Eli Moskowitz knows how it feels to have your innocence stolen by those who don't view you as an equal. He's also a side character in his own life. He's watched her in secret how her light slowly faded over the years when her dad left and boys started looking at her differently once her body started to change. She looks like a wounded bird with her smile sweet mixed with an ineffable melancholy. She's been everything to everyone — cool girl, fun girl, always up for anything girl, sad girl dirty girl, doesn't respect herself girl. But she's just a girl and he's just a boy who happens to see himself in the reflection of her eyes, and Eli realized that they were the same. He'd find that out soon enough.
I'm not your father. I won't leave. I won't hurt you.
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Chloe Rose Robertson Odessa Beaumont
Sarah Michelle Gellar Thalia Reid / Maia Reficco Hailey
Cooper / Milo Manheim Grayson Hamilton / Cameron
Monaghan Oliver Benson / Hayden Christensen
Christian Beaumont
Disclaimer, welcome to little project that I've carried in my heart since the first season of Cobra Kai. Odessa Beaumont is my beautiful, sweet, naive, soft hearted girl who I hope everyone can relate to and find themselves in. I'm very proud to have created her. Her character is based slightly on Cassie Howard from Euphoria as far as the 온라인카지노게임line of her father and her relationship with boys. She is also based on me and my personal life.
Warnings, this 온라인카지노게임 contains heavy mentions of sexual assault and slut shaming. Misogyny, homophobia and homophobia slurs, mentions of eating disorder, and other sexual themes are also included. I advise you to read at your own risks!
