Tilt ∞ [Harry Styles]

Epilogue ♡

Epilogue ♡

-Alyssa-

Slapping on lipgloss that I utterly hated, slipping on black heels, pulling my hair into a high ponytail with the value of dark to lightest considering my hair was ombré. I sealed it with black eyeliner and diamond earrings.

I wore a navy-blue blazer, a white tank top, and an awful amount if time spent looking for the right pants to wear.

My mother and I left the hotel countless minutes later, not relatively speaking a word to each other mainly because we were nervous. I was shaking of fear. The feeling was terrible.

• • •

Never once did the conspiracy of my future land in such a time. 18 years ago, I never thought I'd be in this position. 18 years ago, not to mention 14 years ago. I don't remember one time I couldn't think of happiness because that's where my limelight stands.

Sitting here on vague, ugly brown wood was no surprise for me. Nor was meeting with the eyes of where my hell was taken place. Pleading, sad blue eyes that take place in front of me at the very moment.

I've never been so disgusted, shocked, disgraced, amused? In my life.

But it was no surprise, like I said. The slick, nearly black hair that taunts me with the silk and the long shiny red fingernails tapping against the ugly brown. It want out of the ecstasy to taunt me, it was out of the nerves that unravel through her visible veins. I wanted to cut off every piece of her.

Why was I so stupid back then? Who could envy such a person to do something so cruel and dangerous.

Because beautiful creatures can be dangerous, too. Cruel, cold, icy- and I'm not speaking for their wicked smile that slices through the orbs of ones eyes. I'm speaking for their personalities.

Blue eyes, in that matter. Blue; crystal-like, gray eyes. The eyes that's I've met with only a couple months ago.

Stood right in front of me, so beautifully. The orange jumpsuit has no way in anyway compliment of the eyes.

Cuffs that bruise ad cut against her soft, pale skin. Her eyes are no longer beautiful, considering they were bloodshot but still pleading. Pleading, pleas, horrible red nose that uses of no tissue just yet.

There are no comfort behind cells. She should've known that. She should've never had lead herself to something so incredibly fucking stupid and ridiculous.

Her ugly brown slippers tap, cooperating with the ugly floors; not anxious, not excitingly. But very frightened.

Bruises could be seen unraveled on her previous ivory skin.

I describe her perfectly, she was beautiful with an ugly heart. My desire was to make her even uglier.

I watched as her frail arms were tugged at by men in awful uniform,, meeting with the eye of ones that I've never even dreamed of or hoped to be seeing.

On the spot, I wanted to cry of utter guilt but this was my dilemma as guilty pleasure. She deserves to suffer. I wasn't guilty at all.

She deserved every ounce of bitterness. She deserved not to live, but I think that'd be speaking too much. Only said person with a huge black gown with a gavel can sentence death. Not the victim.

Victimized, torn, broken, once happy, wings now crooked, heart broken one too many times, and the bitch still stands. I'm still standing. I'm a warrior.

I, Alyssa Charice Gabrielle, am a warrior. 'Thicker skin, armor of insane steel, never hurt ever again.' You can never hurt me again.

But of course that's only fairy tale talk; this is reality. But had I ever lived a real life?