𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐 ↣ 𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉

twenty-five - perfect

[i've started to polish this anger
into a knife]

_________________________________

The interrogation room was cold. That was the first thing I noticed. My hands were cuffed under the table. That was the second thing.

"Hello?" I asked. I looked at my reflection in the one-way mirror. My cheeks were caved in and my eye bags were so big I looked like a raccoon. I looked down at my lap. My leg was freshly amputated, still wrapped in white gauze. A cop walked in, then. "What's going on?"

"It's your fault." The officer said.

"No, it's not. It's his fault. James did this to me. It's not my fault!" I argued. The door opened again, and James walked through it. He was wearing an officers uniform. "Don't come near me!" I screamed. I pulled against the handcuffs, I tried to get away, but it was no use.

"You made me do those things, Kenni. Don't you remember?" James asked. He leaned onto the table, bringing his face closer to mine.

"No, it wasn't my fault," I argued again. I looked down at my leg. It was bleeding. "I need a doctor," I told the other cop. He shook his head no and disappeared into thin air.

"Kenni, baby, look at me. I never thought you would survive it. You weren't supposed to live, and neither was Chloe. You're supposed to be dead," he said, a finger running down my cheek. I shook his hand away.

"I'm not dead," I said.

"You'll wish you were," James said. He walked around and unhooked my handcuffs from the table. He grabbed onto me and drug me backwards. My left foot kicked against the floor as I tried to get away from him. He slammed my head down onto the table and bent me over. He took his belt off and pulled the back of my shirt up, before cracking it down. The buckle tore my skin every time it made contact. "Who's fault is this?" James asked, pausing.

"Mine! All of it was my fault!" I sobbed.

He grabbed me roughly and threw me on the ground. The scene around us changed.

We were in his back yard again, and he had a brick. It was covered in blood. My blood. I looked down at my remaining leg. He slammed it down onto my knee, again, and again.

"Who's fault is it that all of this happened to you?" James asked.

"Mine!" I screamed. "It's my fault!"

"Now that we've gotten that through your head," James said, pulling away from my mangled leg. He looked at me, brick in hand.

And he slammed it down onto my face.

I gasped and woke up suddenly, sitting up. I looked around frantically and threw the blanket off of me to look down at my lap. One leg. One leg left, I still have one leg. He didn't take everything from me.

I'm still alive.

I woke from my nightmare so suddenly, I wasn't even sure if I was asleep.

I looked around at the unfamiliar room for a moment, expecting the familiar plywood of Louis' bunk to be above my head instead of the white canopy.

I fumbled in my phone in the darkness and pressed the home button. The time blinked back at me. 2:39.

It was too early to stay awake. But I didn't want to fall back asleep. Instead, I put my prosthetic leg on and walked downstairs. I poured a glass of water from the fridge and drank it.