Hello, this is kind of long so I decided it would be better to post on the forums where I have actual control of formatting rather than just pasting it directly on my char page. Wrote this in like ~1 hour so don't expect all that much, pretty rushed and generally garbage, not to mention super edgy but I hope someone enjoys it nonetheless.
An unfortunate series of events coincided with Veronika's birth --
Her father's suicide.
Her mother's relapse.
Her brother's disappearance.
First came her father's suicide; a single, 9mm round, discharged directly into his skull. Simple, effective, quick. There was no note.
This event lead directly into the next one: her mother's relapse. Her mother, a recovering xanax addict -- spiraled right back into the drug due to her husband's suicide.
And, finally, her mother's relapse lead to her neglectfulness towards her son, which in turn lead to his running away, never to show up again and presumed to be dead.
Though, you're not here to learn about those, are you? Of course not. You're here to learn about Veronika.
Roughly 2 months after her brother's disappearance came Veronika herself, born into the wonderfully boring country of Chernarus -- more specifically, a little town known as Lopatino. Despite her clearly fucked up mismatch of family history, her single mother did her absolute best to raise her traditionally. This, obviously, did not work out very well for either of them. Her mother's addiction in turn lead to the same neglectfulness that had pushed her brother into having run away. She might as well have been born into the physical manifestation of depression. She knew the feeling from birth, and she'd live with it for the rest of her life.
Though it was hard to notice in her very early years, there were still bits and pieces that didn't make sense to Veronika. Her mother's panic attacks, her weeping at night that she did her absolute best to hide but no matter what Veronika could hear, her smiles -- or rather lack thereof. It was all Veronika knew. She had a hard time getting along with the other kids at school, partially because of the constant ridicule of her family history, partially because of the inability to enjoy anything due to her mind constantly wandering to her mother, father, and brother.
This stuck for quite a while. She spent her time through gradeschool alone, for the most part -- every now and then speaking when she was spoken too, hanging out in attempts to have a social life but failing over and over again. Slowly, she managed to find an escape in art. More specifically, music -- and drawing. As the boredom grew worse, and the loneliness became even easier for her to comprehend, she began her recluse into art. She sketched everything and everyone she possibly could to pass the time, and scrounged up money to spend on albums and CDs.
Her mother's frequent panic attacks never stopped, though at least now Veronika had some sort of way to shift her attention from the screams and cries. She turned up her music and hummed along, knowing full well that there was no way she could help her mother. She was too far gone.
As Veronika entered highschool, her social life began to slowly, and I mean fucking agonizingly slowly, improve. She went by Viktoria now. Maybe because it made her feel better to dissacoiate from her family, maybe because she just liked the name more. Probably both. And as her social life slowly recovered, she'd set her sights on a new project: English. She'd always wanted to learn another language, and wanting to understand English music had pushed her even further to enroll in classes and learn. She picked it up fast, becoming nearly fluent in less than a year.
All of this served as a great distraction from the family history that was quickly catching up to her, though it would never stop. Her mother had gotten consistently worse, having OD'd on whatever the fuck she was on this time on a multitude of occasions in just the last few months. Whatever was left of the Aminev family was quickly deteriorating. Viktoria was running out of distractions, with her few friends becoming busy with school, family, work. She fell back into the cycle, and at age 15 she broke one of the few promises she'd upheld for herself: She wouldn't abuse the drug that put her and her mother in this position, no matter how tempting it was.
In highschool, it wasn't all that hard to get her hands on a bar. And so she did. And then 2, and then 3, and then 4. Finally, she had another distraction -- the high. Fortunately, her mother was too preoccupied with her own continuously unravelling mind to notice what was happening to her daughter; she spent nearly all day every day in her room with the radio on and the curtains drawn. Even school became a pointless act to her, and so she slipped away from her friends and her life. It was on her 16th birthday that she attempted suicide.
One quick slice across her wrist, and it was finally over. She was so high, the pain was more than bearable. She closed her eyes and relaxed as the blood came to cloud the water she lay in; slowly drifting away from consciousness and into nothingness. It was finally over, what had she even been waiting for all this time?
If only it actually was. She would awake 3 hours later in the hospital, an IV in her arm and tight bandages wrapped around her wrist. It took her a while to figure out what was happening, though as she did, she'd exploded into sobbing. Her mother rushed into the room to accompany her with more crying, hugging her and whispering to her.
"Please, I couldn't take it if you left me too." She whispered to her. She'd never heard her mother speak like that about her before, nor' even show actual care for her. It was a warm feeling, one she wasn't used to. One she hadn't felt before. Real care.
She'd spent the next 6 months in the hospital recovering, talking to therapist after therapist, trying medication after medication. And finally, she'd be released back into her broken household. She'd re-enroll into school, and come pretty fucking close to graduating if only it wasn't for the infection.
Though, a depressed teen with little to know life experience wouldn't get very far in the end of the world, she tried her best. In fact, she'd never been this motivated to survive in her life -- an ironic change of pace, considering not even a year ago she was dead-set on wanting to die. She'd spend the next 2 years making friends, losing friends. It was hard at first, though, at least there was no past chasing her now. She finally felt like she was free from her family, from all the shit that constantly stood atop her shoulders in her old life. She wasn't Veronika Aminev And then she met new people. But, these weren't the same kind of new people. Over the last couple years, she'd learned that people are disposable. You couldn't get too attached. She didn't mean for it to happen, but of course it fucking did.
And then she met one more new person. And it was in talking to this new person that she'd feel that warm feeling she felt all those months ago when her mother had spoken to her at the hospital.
What was it? Love? Comfort? Affection? Who even cares, she was happy. For the first time in her life, she was really happy