Chapter Text
20 years ago
Pamela was in the garden, tending to the small patch of chrysanthemums that she was allowed to plant. Her red hair was tied back in a green scrunchie and she was speaking to her flowery companions with ease. The evening sun was beautiful and it gave a lovely filter to her late afternoon.
“I know that mother tends to you sometimes but know that I love you more!” she said giggling sweetly. She stroked her little fingers down the stem and carefully rubbed the beautiful purple petals in front of her.
“... So beautiful, I hope you grow tall and wise.” she was mesmerised with their beauty. And their humbleness. And their companionship. Their life was something so poetic and Pamela always understood it. She never understood anyone, humans were complicated and that was all she knew. She knew she herself was complicated but she was never a big fan.
The flora that dwelled in the Isley garden was mostly planted by Mrs Isley and young Pamela took a liking to it as well. When she was old enough, her mother let her have a small space of the garden for herself. Sometimes when Mother was not well, Pam would take it upon herself to take care of the garden. Occasions, where Mother was not able to tend to them, became evermore recurrent events. There were specific people left in charge of the vast Isley garden but mother was always keen to have most of the garden to herself.
“Charles… I need to go. It’s for a very important opportunity for the company. If I do-” Mother’s voice was calm until Pamela heard the impact of something heavy against the closed back door.
“You don’t need to go anywhere. You know exactly where you should be. Here.” she heard Father’s booming voice and immediately stood up to dust off her dirty hands.
When he opened the door and walked into the garden Pamela’s body became rigid. She saw her mother pick herself up from the floor and walk upstairs.
“Come inside now Pamela.” Her focus was snapped back to her father’s demanding voice and a rough hand on her shoulder. She looked back at her chrysanthemums longingly, regretting not saying a proper goodbye to them for the night.
***
16 years ago
Pamela had just gotten home from school and was on her way to her room when she heard the arguing from the living room once again. It was a daily occurrence and she had learnt to never get involved. Sometimes, when they died down she would go outside to find her mother watering her garden and planting new seeds. She would join her mother, silently watching and learning from the older woman. Mother would never say a word to her so Pamela stopped asking if she was okay. Sometimes, he left marks on her and sometimes she was lucky.
That evening was not one of those times.
“You can’t be fucking serious Charles,” she screamed and vases shattered from the lounge. Pamela shuddered and felt the need to poke her head into through the entryway to the lounge. He had broken one of her mother’s favourite vases that housed two beautiful lilies. Now the lilies were on the floor, limp while her father continued to scream at her mother.
She knew better than to not get involved but something about the lilies laying on the floor amongst the broken glass drew her into the room. She thought she could get away by picking up the flowers without being noticed, he had never noticed her. Until that day.
She went to school with a slight black eye the next day. She tried her best to cover it up with makeup, just like her mother did. She was never the person who stayed to talk to other people, she was liked, yes. But she did not like any others. Prim and proper Pamela Isley, with foundation covering up her bruised eye, sat by herself in the school library reading and re-reading the various botany books her school had to offer. She would hope that the bruise was a one-time occurrence.
***
14 years ago
Pamela was trying her best to sleep. Normally she could but she heard way too much shuffling going on outside. God knows why her father was busy in the garden at 1 am. The only time he went out there was to have a scotch and a cigar before tossing both away and moving back inside. He would never stay for the view.
Sighing, she lifted herself out of bed and walked towards her window. When she peered out she was horrified at the sight before her.
There was her mother. Prim and proper Mrs Isley, laying still on the dirty garden floor. Her nightdress was dirtied and bloodied and father had a shovel in his hand as he dug at the spot where Pamela’s first chrysanthemums were planted years ago. Mother was dead. And she didn’t even hear her die. No screams, no hits, no glasses being broken. No limp lilies.
With shaking legs, she carried herself back to her bed. Climbing in slowly and wrapping herself in the covers, she attempted to even out her breathing. She did not sleep that night for she knew that it was only time before prim and proper Pamela would replace her dead mother.
***
One of the servants had called the police the night before when he had heard screaming coming from the house. Thankfully.
When the investigators confirmed that her mother’s body was slowly decaying in her flower bed they were about to arrest him when he pulled Pamela against him and had an arm around her neck. For all of her life, she had known her father to be a tyrannical man who does anything to get what he desires. And now when his life was falling apart he was pathetically threatening the only person left in his bloodline. She saw that he was weak and he fed off of power, the power he had screwed up for himself last night. Prim and proper Pamela decided to fight back. She brought her leg up slightly and slid the sole of her shoe hard against his shin causing him to let her go and groan out in pain. Soon he was on the ground with a police officer cuffing him.
It had all happened so fast for Pamela that when she stood up and watched her father get taken away and the servants rushed to comfort her, she realised that she hadn’t cried. Not even for her mother’s death, nor for her father’s arrest. She did not need to. She was not fond of human complications.
***
7 years ago
“Great work, Pamela!” Professor Woodrue was smiling at her now, beaming down at his little genius. She smiled back, coyly.
After her dad murdered her mother she was sent to live with her aunt. Her aunt was caring and nurturing but it was too late in Pamela’s life for such things. She kept her head down for the two years that she lived with Aunt Bethany and received a scholarship to study Botany at a Gotham university. For the longest time, Pamela was on her own, striving for success by herself and for herself.
But then Jason came into her life. Jason Woodrue was kind, patient and everything a man should be that her father was not. He valued Pamela for her work and contribution to botanical sciences. He valued her for her beauty too and it made the gruelling parts of university go much smoother for her.
He had a remarkable brain and his intellect was often toe to toe with Pamela’s. She loved having a challenge, so she stuck around. They became more than Professor and student. One could say they were even friends.
Other students would call her promiscuous things behind her back, but she would always hear the whispers coil up around her ears. She laughed anyway. She knows that she wouldn’t do anything with him. He cared for her and she cared for him. There was nothing explicit about it.
Sure, there were times where she felt like he had gotten the wrong idea, but perhaps that was her fault. There were many times where he had commented on her appearance and she had bashfully blushed into her white collar. There were even a few times where she felt a hand creep up the back of her thigh when he was beside her. She ignored it, knowing it was harmless. The hand was not going to hurt her, it was nurturing her, guiding her. No bruises were to come from Jason’s hands.
***
6 years and 6 months ago
Pam was found on the side of a road by a very friendly couple with a small car. She remembered snippets of being put in the backseat by the woman’s wife, she remembered the street lights passing her by as they rushed her to the hospital.
What a strange way to finally die. In the back of a random vehicle, watching the stars and city lights wave goodbye to her. For the past two weeks, she had been fighting for her freedom. She had been watching her skin slip away into dust as he held needles to her. She had lost count of how many chemicals were in her body. All she knew was that after he had his way with her, she would just not die.
Out of nowhere, she regained her strength, and a fingertip of hope and fought her way out. She could feel every single thing in his lab, all the crashing, all of the green. She seemed more alive than she had ever felt, yet she was caving fast. She wasn’t sure if he had died at first, but when she saw his face had been slightly discoloured from her touch, she knew he would die eventually.
She kept on walking and walking, pushing through wooden doors that felt like steel. When she found herself in a quiet neighbourhood, she somehow made her way to a road before collapsing on the sidewalk.
“Don’t worry sweetie, we’re going to get you some help okay?” the brunette woman was sweet and she felt a motherly presence radiate from her. The darker haired woman who had loaded her into the backseat kept looking back at her, checking if she was still breathing.
Pam struggled to breathe, struggled to will her lungs to take in any more oxygen. She could feel a groan leave her body when her eyes closed.
***
6 years and 4 months ago
She had killed Jason. She wasn’t too dissatisfied with that fact, just a little disappointed that she couldn’t watch him die. When she awoke in the hospital bed she felt heavier than the bed itself, she felt like the white lights were draining her even further. Then the bouquet that her aunt had brought her caught her weary eye. They weren’t speaking or moving, or were they? Pamela’s horrible condition and her slightly drugged state was probably the reason why she thought the tulips were talking to her. They looked like a drop of blood in a stainless white room.
When she looked downwards towards her body, she nearly giggled out loud. Her body was a deep shade of green, with some accents of decaying grey. Maybe the tulips were trying to tell her something and that something was about her pretty, new coloured skin. These drugs were really good.
A rasp left her body as pain took over after she had emitted a small chuckle. Groaning, she tilted her head to the side, feeling the itchy fabric of the hospital pillow against her cheek.
She could only see the red petals of the tulips wink at her and soothe her before she fell asleep again.
6 years and 1 month ago
She killed Father too. This time she had the pleasure of watching him die in front of her. Sure, she had to kiss him on the lips, and that was disgusting, but at least she knew that her toxins would eventually kill him. At least she knew he would never get the pleasure of being buried with Chrysanthemums. And she would never shed a tear over him.