The Silver Killer

Twelve: Nostalgia

***mentions of rape, drugs, alcohol, abuse (emotional and physical), death, and a TON of stuff goes on here so read it carefully***

You weren't feeling sorry for yourself. Nope. Totallyyyyyyyyyyy not.

Except ... Five was the first person you'd interacted with in a long time. Besides Max down at the coffee shop and the occasional old lady passing by, and your victims and the mailman and such. You'd never sat down and had a conversation with those people.

Not since Sparrow Academy.

A shiver ran down your spine as the memories came creeping back. You curled up tighter in the ball you were already positioned in, sitting in your bed against the wall, the blankets wrapped tightly around you. The lights were off, since as far as anyone knew, this building was deserted.

You blinked frantically, and focused on Five. His smile. Slight, weak, broken and fragile, but there. You hated that you could relate, but you could.

Your dad. Well, his body, that is. Being lowered into the ground. People called it him, but you'd never understood it. It wasn't him in that casket; a person was so much more than their bodies. A person was so much more than flesh.

Your little sister stood beside you, gripping your hand. You blinked back tears. She looked up at you, and you met her eyes. The same color as your father's. The same eyes you'd once wished you'd had, and still did long for, to a certain extent.

You didn't smile at her, even though her tiny eight-year-old countenance longed for it. You didn't have the will to.

Your fingers found your shoulders.

"God, you're USLESS!" your mom screeched, flinging the bottle at you. You flinched, and the glass bounced off of your shoulder and hit the floor with a crack, but not enough to break it. Normally, one might feel tears stinging their eyes, but after a year of this, you weren't about to crack.

"No Mom, YOU'RE useless!" you shouted back, ignoring the ache in your shoulder and standing up straighter. "What have you been doing the past few months!? Since Dad died?!? You've been doing NOTHING! Drinking and getting high every day and leaving me and Holly to fend for ourselves!"

Your mother marched over to you and slapped you hard, right across your face. You screamed, tears stinging your eyes, but after a year of this ... you were done.

Before you entirely knew what you were doing, you'd kicked her. She stumbled backwards, shock flitting across her alcohol blurred faced, and you punched her, full force, right in the nose. There was a crack, and she slipped backwards, collapsing to the ground with her eyes shut.

Unconscious. You'd knocked your own mother unconscious.

But it wasn't as though she would't have done the same exact thing to you had you just stood there. She would have. In that state, high on drugs and drunk on who knows what, she would have done anything. And you were sick of it.

You stumbled back to your room, sobs making way to determination. You flung open the door of your and Holly's room, a solid plan already formed in your brain, when you saw your sister's sleeping face.

She was young. Nine years old. Far too young to head off with you on whatever adventure you were thinking about going on. And who were you going to take with you? Trinity? That asshole of a boyfriend Victor? They'd done nothing to help ease your pain, even after you'd spilled your deepest thoughts to them, your only hopes and dreams. No. You needed a fresh start.

But to leave Holly here, all alone with your psychotic mother ... but at least she had a house. School. Friends that cared about her. Where you were going - not that you knew - there was no telling if you'd have a house or access to an education, and definitely not friends.