VICIOUS

32.

When I step into the shower the next day, I feel empty. The mirror's reflection tells me that my whole body is ruined by scars and I absolutely hate them. I quickly turn my head and look at my feet. 

Most people say that you should love your scars, since it's almost impossible to get rid off them. That's great advice for the people who have stretchmarks and cellulite, since you can't do anything against those two things. They appear and you just need to accept it, even though that's a hard thing to do. 

But the stories of my scars aren't sweet or good. Instead of happy memories, there lay deep and maybe even dark meanings behind them. Things that I will never love. 

My gaze turns to my legs. Small and big scars from the bombing and the grenade in 2020. 

The stabwound from the restaurant, not that long ago. 

The lines on my stomach and chest from last night. 

The V on my left arm my mom made when I was almost 16. That was the day I misbehaved so bad in her eyes, that she felt like doing this. Also the day she and my dad came up with the name for Vicious. 

''Listen, you little fucking pig,'' she shouts. Her hands hit the door of my bedroom. With squeezed eyes, I half-sit, half-stand against the hard wood, trying to stop her from coming in. I didn't have the time to shove my desk in front of it. 

''Or you are going to let me in, or I will do it myself and in that case, you'll have to accept the consequences,'' she shouts through the door. 

I don't say a word, knowing that it is already too late. No matter what choice I'll make, she's going to hurt me anyway. 

Footsteps approach my bedroom and I know it's my dad. His feet make a lot of noise on the old floor and I can hear him sigh. He hates me, but those feelings are mutual. They're whispering something, but I can't hear what they're saying. Suddenly, the door shoots open and I fall onto the ground. 

Before I can get up, my mom has grabbed my arm, pulling me with her into the kitchen. From the corner of my eyes, I can see my dad walking back into the living room, not giving a fuck about what she's going to do to me. She throws me on one of the chairs, not caring about any injuries she's giving me. With her right hand, she opens the drawer with cutlery. Her fingers hover above the different knives, not being able to choose one. Eventually, she takes one out and turns back to me. 

''You ruined my whole life,'' she says with clenched teeth. ''And you're making it even worse by misbehaving. You know the rules: you go to school around 8.15, come back around 4 PM, cook dinner for us and go to your own room. And somehow you manage to fuck that up. But the moment you are allowed to go to a fancy dinner with me and your father, you try to run away.'' 

My eyes are fixed on the stealth she has in her hand. I don't know what she's going to do with it and I don't want to find out. Everything she's saying, goes past me. 

''We have been trying to take over this horrible fucking country for the past four years now,'' she continues. ''We finally got people that actually want to work together. But what does little Taylor do? She makes sure we don't get the deal, by acting petty and selfish.'' 

She takes a few steps closer to me, grabbing my left arm. Her grip is tight and her nails dig deep into my skin. 

''I'm not acting petty nor selfish,'' I say, standing up for myself. ''Have you ever thought of the cruel things you're doing?'' 

I look into her eyes. She looks at me in shock, not expecting that I was going to talk back. I bring my face close to hers. 

''You're a vicious person,'' I whisper. Her eyes widen at those words and she clenches her jaw. 

''I know I am,'' she says. ''And thanks for the name idea, Bubbles!'' 

After this she carved the letter 'V' deep into my skin, meaning 'Vicious'. The knife went deep, causing me to scream. Later on, I heard her talking on the phone, telling everyone that she had a name for their new gang. 

One of the reasons I called Rose Bubbles, is because my mom used to do the same to me. Bubbles was a name to me that I always hated. I passed that hate on to Rose. 

My thoughts come back to the present. The hot water makes me feel dizzy. That's something I always do: turning on the shower as hot as possible, even if my body can't take the heat. My head's empty whenever I do it.

When I look down at my arms, I see that they're red already. I shrug and continue showering, trying not to think about yesterday. 

After I dried myself off and got dressed, I sit down on my bed. It's a mess, but I don't care. Silence surrounds me. I look out of the window and see no one. The streets are empty and there isn't a single noise. 

Brandon knows what you're up to...

This thought shoots through my head out of nowhere. My breathing is getting heavier and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to hopefully calm down. 

Fucking hell, stop it. 

Not now. 

Never. 

I stare at the blank wall in front of me, trying to clear my head. 

Happy thoughts, Taylor, think about happy things. 

Point is that I don't have any. Everything that was good at first, ended in something horrific. 

And I guess I just need to live with that.