Venomous Vengeance

Chapter 1

Alessia's POV

My legs pound on the pavement, my thighs burning as they carry me, begging for me to stop, but that's not an option.

My breath is harsh as my chest heaves, the cold air burning in my lungs, feeling as though I might pass out.

I run as fast as I can, forcing myself farther, with every step feeling on the verge of collapsing, but I push through.

I hear the fast thudding of someone running behind me. They're getting closer.

I turn down yet another dark alleyway, they seem to be never ending, I force myself to increase in speed, my legs screaming at me to end this torture.

A dead end.

I panic, looking around. There has to be a way out. I can't be trapped. I can't.

Suddenly a hand forcefully grabs the back of my hair, yanking me backwards with full force, a blood curdling scream escapes my lips and-

I wake up in a jolt, sitting straight up. Panting heavily and covered in a light layer of sweat, I look around the room.

It is still my room. No dark alleyways, no cold pavement, no monstrous hands.

I take a deep breath, rolling my eyes at my childlike reaction to a stupid nightmare. Checking my phone and seeing the time, I get out of bed and head for the shower.

Stripping down and stepping into the hot water, I try to wash the gruesome dream off of me. I have had nightmares for a while. For four years to be exact. Normally not to the extent of me waking up still frightened, but nevertheless they are typically horrifying.

The only thing I could never understand was why I was being chased in the dream. That was the one reoccurring and constant part. I'm always running for my life from an unknown face that I have yet to see.

Why was I being chased when I can't even run from the event that already happened.

My mind flashes back to the scene. My mother, face down in a pool of her own blood. My brother, not far from her, looking almost as if he was reaching out to help her. Then my piece of shit father, also dead.

In case you couldn't tell, his diminishing didn't effect me as much.

I found my family killed four years ago, in my own home. I was out that night at the library, studying for an upcoming exam that I had. Before the incident, I was on my way to becoming a doctor. Something that I had always dreamed of. I yearned to make other peoples lives better, to help, to protect. Basically the exact opposite of what I grew up to learn.

My father was not a good man. He would regularly abuse my mother, twin brother, and me. More so my brother. I think he was tougher on him since he was the only other man in the family, but that doesn't make it any better. My mother only stayed so that she could continue to be with me and my brother.

My sweet mother. She was always there for Antonio and me. Kissing our wounds after a nasty fall, cooking us traditional homemade meals, reading us stories at night. She was the sunlight in our lives, but my father made that light slowly dim over the years of torture he inflicted upon her.

My brother was strong and tough. Always there for me when I needed it, someone I could always talk to. My other half. Antonio and I were inseparable, two peas in a pod. Whenever dad was in a sour mood, Toni always made sure that he was in the way of me, taking the brutal beatings upon himself.

The sight of their lifeless bodies, well, what was left of them, was burned into my brain. My mother was beaten so horribly, I knew that she had suffered before her fate of a bullet between the eyes. Toni, well, I could hardly even recognize his face.