Broken Lines |✔|

2.

When you have nothing to fuel you but anger and hate, you become a bitter person. You become something sinister that should never be.

It might have been better if he had killed me.

If he had ended me that day.

Sometimes I have that thought.

Instead of having my parents watch the creature I was slowly becoming.

I hear the instructors behind me as they whisper, she is violent. Too violent.

The boy at my feet is crying.

There is blood on my knuckles from where my hits have landed. He has yet to get up and I know they have not come to help him because of me.

I look up and see him.

He is always watching me. Seeing my progress. Making sure I am using his words and creating them to my advantage.

In that first night of meeting I had not been able to fully see the color of his eyes, but now, I know them well.

An amber gaze that would pierce into me.

I hold my fist up, letting him see the blood that is there.

His grin is feral as he approaches.

I only barely make it to his chest in height. I fear that at this point I never really will become taller.

He stops in front of me.

"You put him in his place I see."

"I'll do the same to you."

He throws his head back and laughs. I am the only source of amusement he can find these days. I've come to realize this in the year that has passed since he has taken over.

"Not likely. You still have a long way to go."

Without warning I launch myself in his direction. I can feel everyone around us stop in their actions to stare wide-eyed in fear as my hands try to reach for his neck, his eyes- anything.

He easily pushes me to the ground, but I am up already, scrambling and biting his legs. It's that pure savage move that makes him laugh again as he lifts me and tries to throw me back to the ground. Before he can, my legs are twisting around him, and a snarl leaves his throat at the action.

My hands reach to grab his hair- anything.

I feel nothing but hate in moments like these. I lose myself in the image of him staring down at me as he had done that first night.

We are on the ground, wrestling and already I know he will win.

He has both my wrist in his hands, pinned over my head. He is not even out of breath as I am.

"Another failed attempt, Vera."

I struggle in wild anger at the use of my name on his lips.

His grin grows wider and wider.

"Come on...tell me..."

"I'll kill you."

He shakes his head and leans closer to me, his grip on my wrists tightening painfully.

"That's why I keep you alive."

I spit in his face. He only laughs and rubs his face into my hair. I scream at the scent he has left imprinted there.

He pushes back, still laughing as he stares down at me and walks away.

*   *   *

I sit on my bed. It's the one time I can be alone.

It's part of the training compound, where warriors are housed. There is a hallway with rooms holding each trainee as they reside there and undergo instruction.

I know nine other warriors are in the building with me. I know I have to be quiet as I look down at the photo- the single reminder I have- and cry.

I have become used to the art of silently crying. Of doing nothing more but releasing tears and letting them come down. There is no noise of misery or pain that accompanies them. Nothing to indicate to any who may be able to hear or listen- that at this moment I am breaking down from the day I have endured.

He should have ended me that day.

It was a mistake to keep me alive.

I have that thought each time I close my eyes. Each time the night comes, and I have to force myself to sleep and wake for another day.

I hated who I was becoming.

But I hated him more for making me become this thing.

I look at the photo. I trace my face and see nothing of my mother in it. I used to be able to. Now I saw my father. The hardness that was in his eyes. I was becoming my father's daughter in the wrong time and way.

The warrior was coming to me. The soul of the wolf would eventually be here.

I would use the training I was given, and the time I was allowed though, to fight.

To create myself into a monster just as equally ugly as he was. What else could kill a monster but another one? I needed to become more. To endure more. Each day was a testament to the strength I was growing. The strength to one day end him.

"Soon," I whisper to them.

I touch their faces in the photo and look at the image that I wished could be real.

"Soon, we'll be together."

I just needed to turn my hate into power. I just needed to take my hands, and use them to end a life before I did the same to my own. 

This is the shortest chapter and after that they pick up! I hope you are enjoying it so far! Updates will be frequent (most likely daily since this is afterall, a short story, and I already have it all written out). Be sure to add this to your private/library to get notified of updates if you are intersted. Thank you for reading ♥