Countrywhatever oneshots

Untitled drabble

   
Trigger warning for descriptions of violence.

I sometimes stare at that corner for hours on end, music playing in my ears as mere background noise. It's like static from a television. It's nothing but empty sound. I just stare there, empty eyed and wordless.

      As much as I would love to say that my mind was blank too, it was not. It was swirling with things on the inside, with emotions and color and voices and thoughts and nothing but sound. Vague thoughts swirled about, churning up a storm within and making my heart beat wildly in its ribcage.

        It reminds me of how they used to make me feel. My heart would race and my body would ache to throw its weight forward and make them feel my pain. It ached, it pined, it yearned for me to hurt them. It yearned for me to get revenge and to rip them apart. And to this day, that yearning, that pining, that urge is unabated in its attempts to make me cave and give in.

        Every time I think of what they did to me, of what they said to me, of what the hell they made me feel, I want to hurt something more and more. I want to wrap my fingers around the soft flesh of their throat — not just anyone's, but theirs — and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until they can't breathe anymore. I want to hear them choke out a beg for mercy because only now do they really feel sorry. I want to know how it feels to press against that bone that protects their throat, and to cut off the air that travels through their trachea with that bone.

        To an innocent person, I could never imagine myself doing this. I feel sick, disgusting even, just thinking about hurting someone in such a way because I felt like it. They were innocent, they didn't do a thing wrong. They don't deserve it.

        Which is why I feel like it's my duty to protect them. Why I should be held accountable for them, why I should protect them. Because the innocents are not safe, I am not safe, until they die by my own fucking hands.