Adrenaline Sisters// fall out boy & my chemical romance

Chapter 4: Die Young And Save Yourselves

||First Person|| Revolution||

It's hard for me to find sleep that night, harder than it was the night before in the rundown shack. Party Poison, being the unofficial leader of the group, got me and Bomb blankets and cushions for our night on one of the couches and set up camp for the others on the carpeted ground. I understand what Bomb is trying to get across, what she's trying to shove farther into my thick skull; they want to help us. And at this point, I don't necessarily doubt that, but it's more like I don't trust them. I can't find it in me in my cold, murderous heart to trust anybody else. Bomb is my big sister, she's been there for me when nobody else was. And something happened to us, I killed somebody, and I'm sure I'd remember it if it wasn't for all the Adrenaline that we're taking, but I don't see the point. I killed someone either way, and knowing will make it harder than it already is on me.

I'm dangerous.

I don't like this idea of accompanying these guys, these strangers, not because I think they're going to hurt me or Bomb but because I'm deathly terrified of hurting them. It's always just been me and my sister, and the reality that these guys are taking us under their wings makes me feel dependent on them and needy. I don't like my independence being threatened this way.

Bomb curls up on a bit of the L shaped couch, a pillow tucked underneath her head of slightly curly hair and a blankets pulled tightly over her body. She could easily pass for younger, like Party Poison continues to insist, but only when she's asleep. When she's awake, you can see all of the years of responsibility and the loss of her childhood washing over her like the grime that streaked her light brown skin hours before. Bomb had to grow up all too fast when we ran away six years ago because she's the oldest, she had to take everything onto her shoulders when it came to ensuring that the both of us would stay alive. I couldn't fathom the words to thank her for watching over me and raising me for so long, but there wasn't enough time for the both of us to be all sappy when we were literally living on the streets and eating every two days.

I'm lying across from her, pillow underneath my equally curly hair tied up in a tight and elaborate bun, staring up at the ceiling in the hopes that sleep would grace me somehow. Eventually, the soft breaths pushing past the barrier of lips lulls me into a dark slumber.

I get nightmares often enough for it to definitely be a mental health issue from what happened to me and Bomb back in the day. It's always bits and pieces of the memory, maybe me finally breaking down outside of the house or maybe remembering how he died at my hands.

Tonight? It's her.

I find myself stuck in a form that's mine but not necessarily mine anymore; my nine-year-old self. Bomb was there with me and we were watching in horror as the story unfolded right before our eyes. I will myself to move or speak, but again, I don't have the authority to do that. It's not me, it's a memory in the form of a nightmare. I find it practically impossible for me to try and move my body in a way that I didn't all those years ago, which means that I can't force my eyes shut or turn away from it. It feels like an invisible force is prying my eyelids apart, keeping my gaze locked on him and her.

His eyes are yellow, a blazing colour that signifies that he's Gone. He's one of them, the full blown Infecteds, and he doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know what he's doing when he screams nearly incoherent words at her, he doesn't know what he's doing when she's shrinking under his glare, he doesn't know what he's doing when he grabs her by the throat and slams her small body to the wall. She claws at his hand wrapped around her neck, trying to communicate something to the both of us through her eyes. I'm screaming at him to stop, telling him to leave her alone, but either he doesn't pay attention to the noise bursting through the house or he just doesn't care anymore.