Tamia awoke in the middle of the night with a painful stabbing in her chest. She shot up from bed with a frightened gasp, eyes glowing dangerously in the dark. She kicked the sheets off her feet and rushed to the bathroom.
She flipped the light switch on and looked into the mirror to see her skin had patches of dark grey. She put a palm to her throbbing forehead and drew in a hiss with closed eyes, canine teeth becoming abnormally sharp.
Unknown adrenaline coursed through her veins, blood curdling screams echoing in her eardrums. Her vision flashed from blurry memories. She stumbled backwards over her mat and her back collided into the bathroom wall. She slid down, begging angrily for the voices to stop.
Flashes of blood, screams, guns, and fire took over her reality. She gripped at the sides of her head, muttering calm incoherent words to reside the pleas and cries.
"Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make. It. Stop. MAKE IT STOP!" She yelled repeatedly. She hit the back of her head constantly with every second of torture she had to relive, wicked faces smiling at her suffering and pain. Though they were dead, they still came back to haunt her. Why?
Had their wicked souls not passed on? Why torture her like this?
Those who forced her to train no matter the condition of her body, shaped her into a despicable human being. Had it not been enough?
No. It was never enough. They wanted to see her suffer, dead or alive. No matter the cost. Such a successful weapon of destruction was never to be left alone, not even in their dreamscape.
It was almost two hours until the hysteria stopped. Tamia drew out a shaky breath and got up, leaning against the wall for stability. She wobbled to the doorway and stopped, turning to see her reflection. Her brows furrowed in hatred of her own image, fingers curling into her very palms with shaking rage.
She raised her arm and reiled it back. She propelled her arm with full force, a loud cry leaving her mouth. Her fist made contact, the mirror breaking completely into various shards. Tiny shards cut into her skin, blood seeping from the small wounds.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage, blood pressure high but now slowly coming down. The dark grey patches on her skin disappeared, canine teeth normal, eyes now longer glowing dangerously. She regained her form and pulled her hand back, a sigh left past her lips as she closed her eyes. Vivid words rang in her ears.
Control it.
*----------------------------------------*
Tamia leaned her cheek against her palm, tired eyes snapping open for the fifth time this morning. She was sure to endure it for the rest of the day.
She sat at the office table with other employees and patrons. G was in his office for the time being. Toriel had made chamomile tea for everyone, so she of course used her left hand because of her injury so she alternated hands time from time.
"Tamia, did you get a good night's rest? You look a little bit drab," Frisk said.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Tamia softly smiled, though it was fake, it was ultimately the best she could do. She was tired afterall.
"Are you sure? You've got bags back under your eyes and I know that look better than anyone," Sans joked. Tamia didn't hide her expression, lidded eyes traveling to his image with a deathly stare. She wasn't too keen on his bullshit conclusions this morning.
"Really, I'm fine, Sans," she bellowed.
"You look flushed, did something happen last night?" Toriel asked.
YOU ARE READING
I'm a Fighter, Not a Lover (Don G x OC) Mafiatale/Mobtale
Fanfiction"I'm seen as three things in this world. A black woman, a sexualized toy, and a tool," Tamia spoke. "I'll never be seen as anything else. Even so, I've made a name for myself, a force to be reckoned with, someone to be afraid of." "Why have the nee...
