{CURRENTLY EDITING/SLIGHT REWRITE.}
Ainsley Ashter was a freak-show. A psychopath. An absolute and utter maniac.... Or so they thought.
She was imprisoned at the age of thirteen when she murdered her parents using nothing but the metal leg of her b...
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"The world turned me into a monster and then locked the monster away when she became too much for them to handle. If you can't handle it, Bellamy. Then stop fucking protecting me. I'm not your sister."
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CALLUM ASHTER HAD NEVER BEEN A GREAT MAN, EVEN BEFORE THEY HAD AINSLEY. Of that, she is one hundred percent sure. If she could even call him a man. A real man never would have even dreamed about placing his hands on the ones he's supposed to love, much less actually go through with it, but Callum did.
He stands before her now looking as real, and alive as he was the day she murdered him. His face pulls in a sneer as he looks at his daughter in absolute disgust. Funny, considering that's exactly how Ainsley should be looking at him, but all the eighteen year old girl can do is stare in abject horror. He's not alone. While Ainsley's trying to blink the images away – which only seem to make it worse – Reneè Ashter makes her own appearance with a pill bottle rattling in her hand. Her mother starts it all by blaming her. She blamed her for her husband's behavior, and for the drug addiction that plagued Renee.
It's bullshit.
Ainsley's eyes dart around the clearing, but the other delinquents are either preoccupied with their own problems, or far enough away from her to be significant. She lets out a breath she wasn't aware she's holding. Her father's cold glare pierces through her skin, making her feel powerless and lost like she had been back before she turned into a monster. She could feel every hit as if she were reliving it all over again. Like this is real life and the one she conjured up about Earth, about being locked up, that was the lie. Ainsley remembers how it felt to have their blood on her hands.
"He wasn't like this before you came along."
"You should have never been born."
"Quit that damn crying!"
The words grow louder as if a cacophony of sound, mixing together and swirling in her brain, demanding she relive the worst years of her life. Anger courses through Ainsley's veins. How dare they. How fucking dare they show up here, and try to get her to feel some sorta remorse for what she's done. To hell with that. She feels nothing for what she did, and it's the greatest damn nothing she's ever felt. She regrets nothing. They deserved to die. Her hands shake, but she stays rooted in place, trying over and over to convince herself this isn't real. This can't be real.
"Miss me yet, doll?"
The playfulness in John's tone makes her heart skip a beat with a hope clinging to her chest, until she notices how he stops directly beside her mother.
