Lamb To The Slaughter ✔️

16

Lies, I'm a master of them, some think of that as a blessing, and usually I would too. But not right now. Not when the boy I care about enters my head to see all the lies I've told him, all the lies I've told the world, all the lies I've told myself.

"Atlantic, please, don't," I beg one final time to the man I had found safety in, who would now rip my heart out without hesitation. "Please."

Looking into his midnight eyes, I find not an ounce of remorse for me, he does not feel bad. And as his eyelids shut, it all falls apart, all the lies I've been living in come crumbling down as my world shakes.

I walked down the hallway. My movements were hesitant, unconfident, as I was unsure of where to go. I didn't know where I was going, I only knew what I was doing.

At this hospital, this haunted place, it's not the tortured ghosts I'm scared of. It's the tortured soul, Atlantic Sinclair, who escaped this place just days ago. He could appear at any moment, kill me as he would everybody else here, but as I walk so quickly my hair bounces, I cannot afford to think about that right now.

"Hello there, Aria," a doctor smiles at me. I don't recognize him, but he recognizes me, my father must've shown him pictures.

"Hello," I say back.

His eyebrows pull together, making his wrinkles appear more prominent. My eyes shift back and forth, and he asks me, "Are you alright, Dear?"

"I'm fine," is all I say.

"Are you sure?" he asks me kindly. "If you need somebody to talk to, I am here. Your father and I are very close."

I don't know what to say to him. I don't even know who I am right now. Aria Reyes, the sweetheart, the girl that could do no wrong. Right now, she did not exist, although I don't think she ever did.

I stare at this stranger, looking at me with a smile, trying to help me, without getting anything in return.

"Thank you," I say with glossy eyes. I don't say what I should, I say selfish words.

He smiles at me. And I keep walking.

It takes me a while to find my father's room. I'm not here very often.

When I open the cold door knob, he jumps. He stares at me in confusion and sets his glasses down.

"Aria, what are you doing here?" he asks me angrily. "You aren't supposed to be here. You know that."

I look at him. I look at the room.

"Leave, go home and stay there," he orders. His voice gets more stern when I don't listen. "Now."

He turns his back to me. He doesn't see as my eyes become coated in water. He continues on with his research, looking through his papers, as I stand here. And stare at the back of head.

My eyes are red and watery. My hand shakes.

"This is all your fault," I say. No, I don't say, I whisper. Quietly. So quietly and shaky.

"What the hell are you saying?" he questions while turning around, having not heard me.

The second he turns around, I do it. I toss the liquid in the bottle onto him, followed by the lighter, which ignites instantly. His screams rip through the room as his skin catches on fire, I can smell in burn, as I just stand here. Watching. Watching my father burn at my own hands.

"Aria! Aria, help me!" he screams to the person taking his life.

I don't. I don't help him. I turn. I turn as he falls over, catching a curtain on fire, which I know is about to spread to the walls.