She's a fifteen-year-old girl who killed her "father" in self-defense and lied about it to the police. She thinks she has no other family members and now she has nowhere to live but the police tell her she was kidnapped from her real family when sh...
this chapter is a dream. so don't freak out because none of this actually happens.
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ATHENA RUSSO:
Darkness.
Darkness is all I can see. It's like I'm in a void and there's no way out.
I keep looking around to see if there's any sight of anyone, an exit, a reason why I am here but all I get in return is nothing.
"You killed me."
I turn around and see my abuser. He's got a bullet in his head. That's exactly where I shot him. Blood drips down his face, the sight of it nearly makes me sick. A cruel smile slowly grows on his face, making me stumble back.
This can't be happening. No. I killed him. He shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be happening.
"You killed me."
You tried to kill me first. I swear I was only just defending myself.
He slowly walks toward me and I take a step back.
No.
Then he quickens his pace and I instantly turn back around and start sprinting into the darkness.
He's right. I killed him. So how the hell is he here? Is he haunting me? How is he here?
I look over my shoulder and see that he's gone. I stop running and then look forward, confused. What is going on?
"You watched me die."
Bianca stands in front of me.
I take multiple steps back. Oh, God no.
The first thing I notice about her is the bullet in her chest. Then her ripped muddy clothes show her wounds and scars. Blood is all over her. In her hair. On her clothes. On her face. This is exactly how she looked like that day.
"I was dying and you didn't bother to call for help," she adds.
No. No one could have known about that. I swear I was going to let you go and apologize.
I shake my head, "I—"
"You killed me."
I turn around and see him again.
"You watched me die."
I back away from them and they follow me.
"You killed me."
"You watched me die."
I shake my head, "No—"
Their voices get louder.
"Please just listen to me—"
They get louder.
I bump into someone and I whirl around to see who it is.
The woman who pretended to be my mother. I nearly choke when I see glass shards pierced into her skin, blood flowing down her broken body.
No. No. No.
"It's your fault I died."
I was five. I was in that car crash too.
Then I start running but then they appear in front of me again making me stumble back. No. No. No. I look around me, seeing clones of themselves circling me.
No—Please God no—
They all repeat the same things over and over again, getting louder each time they say it.
"Stop. Please stop—"
"You killed me."
"You watched me die."
"It's your fault I died."
I fall to my knees, covering my ears trying to block it all out. Go away. Please just go away. I'll do anything. I sob as they scream at me.
The voices suddenly stop.
What?
I lower my hands from my ears and lift my head to look around.
I see five-year-old me, crying and begging for someone to save my "mother".
I slowly stand up and then I see myself standing above my "father's" dead body, the gun in my hand drops to the floor and then I hear a loud gunshot, and the gun meets the floor.
Then I see myself holding Bianca, crying as I try to wake her up. I watch myself shake her and whisper apologies to her that she never heard.
Then I see the darkness again. Sniffling, I wipe my tears away. I keep looking around, trying to find something. I don't know what I'm looking for but I really hope there is some way out of here.
The silence is loud. I don't like it. I don't like it this quiet. "Hello?" I quietly say. My voice echoes around this weird place.
Is it over?
"You don't deserve to be happy."
A soft gasp leaves my lips when I see five-year-old me walking toward me. She looks so broken and angry. Her clothes are slightly burned and she has blood on her hands.
"You've killed someone."
I see the girl who shot her abuser. She walks toward me, pointing a gun at me. The same gun I used on—No, please. Someone get me out of here.
Then I see another version of myself walking toward me. She's got blood all over her with tear-stained cheeks. That's me when Bianca got shot instead of me.
"You deserve to die," she says.
I quickly shake my head, "No—"
They walk together toward me, repeating the things they have just said. Make it stop. Someone make it stop. I look around, desperately trying to find my brothers for help. God dammit. Where are they?
They get louder and louder and I finally, lose it.
"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" I scream.
They abruptly halt, silent. They stare at me, bewildered.
A laugh escapes me that makes me feel like I've lost my mind now. Then I slowly stop laughing and realize what I've just said. I slowly take it in and I feel a weight on my shoulders being lifted.
"It wasn't my fault," I whisper.
"It wasn't our fault?" five-year-old me asks me, a tear falling down her cheek.
I softly shake my head, "It wasn't."
"Killing our father isn't our fault?" the version of me who shot my abuser that night asks me.
I glare at her, "He isn't our father. And no. He tried to kill us first. It was self-defense."
"And Bianca getting shot instead of us isn't our fault either?"
I frown. "It wasn't. She wasn't supposed to be there at all. We weren't supposed to be there at all. The person who shot her is the one to blame," I tell the other version of me that watched Bianca die.
I stare at them, expecting them to tell me I'm wrong. That what I've done is unforgivable. That my reasons don't matter.
But they don't. Instead, they all nod and walk away, finally leaving me alone.
