𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒.

𝘪𝘹. 𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘢

stepping out of the previously steam-filled shower, i sighed in relief. the warm water pouring over my body eased my tensed muscles. it had been a long-ass day, and that feeling of refreshment was unlike any other. the sweet smell of strawberries wafted through my large room. i inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents from my shampoo and body wash. a glance in the mirror made me smile.

i was wearing one of tony's many ac/dc t-shirts. it was definitely not mine, and it definitely did not fit me. the soft fabric skimmed down to my knees, so therefore i stole it to use as something to sleep in. a smile stretched across my face at the memory of sneaking into tony's room and going through his closet. i loved the adrenaline rush i got from stealing his clothes and there was nothing funnier than the hissy-fit he'd throw when he noticed they were gone.

a jolt of pain rushed through my cheek from grinning. i brushed my fingers along the bruised skin, inspecting the spot in the mirror. it must've come from getting thrown against a wall earlier today— that usually tends to bruise people.

the pain was slight, so i simply shrugged it off and walked out of my bathroom. i flopped on my bed, feeling exhaustion take control of me. this had been an incredibly long day and i did not have the strength to stay up another second. but all it took for my exhaustion to be suppressed was a single glance at the photo on my bedside table.

the frame boxed in an old picture of my auntie a, smiling, and practically crushing me in a sweet side-hug while we posed for the camera. a single tear rolled down my cheek as i stared at her bright smile. this was stupidly uncharacteristic of me. i never cried. the lack of sleep had to be getting to me. all the memories came flooding back.

her real name was alexa l/n. she was an extremely kind woman who cared for my whole family. the one trait of hers i never forgot was how she was always happy; spreading her joy to anyone and everyone.

until the day her husband killed her. i grabbed the photo, and turned over on my side, tracing a finger over the lines of her figure.

since she was so upbeat and fun, all guys within a 10 mile radius were attracted to her. that included my uncle john. she spread her joy to him, of course, and they ended up falling in love. i didn't understand what she saw in him then, and to this day— i still don't know what it was.

eventually they got married. that's when the real trouble started. he was all smiles, but as soon as that ring was on her finger, he decided that my aunt revolted him. i had no idea whether or not he ever even loved her. maybe she was just a fling that he got addicted to.

alexa didn't want to take his last name. she was always a fighter. this infuriated john. he literally never stopped talking about the way she should change her name so everyone "knew she belonged to him." he claimed it was for her safety.

things gradually got worse and my family really started to see his true colors. john had major anger issues. everything my aunt did to try and make him happy only backfired. he was constantly screaming at her. sometimes it was because of how she made dinner, other times the issue would be that my aunt hadn't made the house perfectly clean. she was never one for being his version of a model spouse, refusing to be barefoot and pregnant, but he was taking things way too far.

before he came along, she was happy. i was the oldest of her brother's children, making me her favorite. we never said that around my siblings, of course, but it was obvious. she and i were so close. no one could come between us— between our smiles. or so i thought.

my mind began to wander back to the night he killed her. a shiver ran down my spine as i recalled the chilling memory. i pulled my covers over my chin, almost attempting to hide from the feelings of dread that came with reliving these times.

i had felt the strong flashes of pain, warning me that the worst was coming while i was at my aunt's house. everyone in my family freaked, except for john. he didn't seem to care. the rush to the hospital was a blur; the only thing i remember is how much my throat hurt from screaming that i needed to help alexa.

i knew my aunt was in trouble, and that danger was lurking somewhere near her. my family wasn't sure what was happening to me, but they ignored my screams. they just gave me tranquilizers, and i practically drowned in the feeling of unnatural bliss. my fear was suffocated, the drugs sending me to sleep.

after the doctors could find nothing wrong with me, they sent me home. i couldn't even remember why i was so panicked in the first place.

late into that same night, john stumbled into our kitchen, holding a knife. it dripped a sickly red. blood fell from the sharp edge and shimmered like a million rubies on its way to the tiled floor. i would never forget my mother's screams of horror, my father's booming voice as he shouted at him to get out. but those were just the sounds. ingrained in my very soul was the feeling of my hands clenched around a silky pillow as i sobbed, the taste of salty tears, and the unmistakable smell of sweat and blood.

my senses flooded with these same feelings now, and i had to struggle to keep my breathing steady. that night was when i really found out I could predict danger, unlike in the story of lies i fed to thor. but i was right; i knew deep down that the pain had meant something bad was destined to happen in my aunt's house.

to me, the worst part of it all was that i knew it was going to happen— and i did nothing to stop it.

when i expected that to be the brunt of my pain, my father started going down the same path john did. he would always be drinking? and could barely hold down a job. this led him to yell at me, at my mother, at my younger brothers. when he was done screaming, he drank even more and cried about the loss of his sister.

i could always remember the sound of him crying so distinctly. the only time i had ever heard it before was when our family dog died suddenly. i was only five, and i was shocked to see him in that state. he was a good man, and he loved his family, but losing his sister broke him.

on the nights the drinking was at it's worst, he started hitting things. i lost count of how many times i had to patch up holes in the walls. once he got tired of damaging property, my father took it upon himself to start hitting us.

my mother was too frail to protect us from him, so i did what i could to teach myself how to fight. when my father would finally come home from whatever bar he'd chosen as his own personal hell that night, he would smell of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke. i'd call for my younger brothers and mother to lock themselves in their rooms, and then do what i could to keep my father calm.

i never really succeeded in that. all i could ever manage was to get a few words in before he'd accuse me of being the reason everything had ended up so horribly. he always claimed it was my fault alexa was dead. because i didn't do anything to stop it.

footsteps on the other side of my door drew me back into reality. i realized then how tense i was. my shoulders were about two inches away from hitting my earlobes, and my fists were clutching the picture frame in my hands so tightly it made my knuckles whiten. i took a deep breath in, then out again, forcing myself to relax. my cheeks felt wet with tears, and i swiped my palms over my face harshly, feeling the burn in my eyes.

i curled further under my blankets, nestling in the warmth. i cautiously placed the picture frame of my aunt back on my bedside table, and sighed deeply. soon enough, i drifted off to sleep. much to my despair, my dreams were dark and perilous. they were filled with the thing i had always hated most in life. myself.