Tribulation [h.s]

12

"I'm worse at what I do best
And for this gift, I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end."

-

I used to think I was a monster just like Harry.

But then my life fell apart. I changed. Originally, I thought it was for the best because, in a way, I was finally free. I could finally be the person I always wanted to be.

Or so I thought. As the days go by, I'm starting to realize things didn't work out like I first thought they did.

I am aware that most of my memories are coated in blood, but I always thought my trauma would make me stronger.

What a naive thought.

The truth is, trauma is crippling. In my days of "changing," it was never for the better. In reality, I became this—a weak, pathetic, broken woman with nothing to her name. There's no denying it; my trauma broke me.

Maybe that's why I'm so terrified of Harry. He's a trigger. He reminds me of everything I had to escape from—everything I had to run away from.

He reminds me of the man who murdered my mother. He reminds me of the man who tried to kill me and take my sister away.

He reminds me of that sickening feeling of being completely and utterly powerless.

With a gun to my temple, he reminds me of blood-stained hands, cold floors, and manic laughs echoing down long hallways. He reminds me of bruises and knives plunging and slicing away at my body.

Fear binds me down just like the hand wrapped around my throat.

He reminds me of everything that broke me beyond repair.

"Shhh, don't cry, baby," he rasps. My stomach cramps up. "I hate it when you cry."

"P-please," I stammer. "I-I won't say anything. I-I promise."

"Do you really expect me to believe that, Rosaline?" He shakes his head and chuckles. "That's not how this works."

"How do you know my name?" It wasn't the smartest question. In fact, it should have been the furthest thing from my mind, but it just slipped out.

I never tell anyone my real name. Only a handful of people actually know, and Harry certainly isn't on that list.

"I know everything about you, Rosaline." For a second, the world gets a little blurry. "Well," he smirks. "almost everything." The look we share causes me to stop breathing.

What does he mean by "almost" everything?

He smirks down at me. "I know that your whole name is Rosaline Vera. Your father died of cancer the day you turned eleven. A little while after, mommy went off the deep end, didn't she?"

"You attended The Bronx High School Of Science and graduated early at fifteen years old at the top of your class. You went to Columbia University at sixteen and double majored in biochemistry & molecular biology and neurobiology & behavior with a pre-med route. Then, your step-sister was born a few months after you turned eighteen." He grins when my eyes widen at the mention of my little sister. "You graduated with two PHDs at the age of twenty and were off to med school a few months later to become a what — a neurosurgeon, right?" I'm still too terrified to speak, but he doesn't seem to care. "But that doesn't matter because you dropped out of med school and never looked back because of unknown circumstances." Harry clicks his tongue. "The bottom line is, you're smart, Rosaline. So tell me, do you really think I'll just let you walk away after what you saw just because you promise not to tell anyone? Please," he scoffs. "you're nothing but a liability now. A loose end that needs to be thrown away." He pulls down the lever, and his gun clicks.