"Even when a star dies, it gives birth to another one. It's mere existence is life and growth. One day I wish to be as infinite as the stars. To exist forever, if at least in their hearts."
When you left, you were not looking for a savior.
When he...
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TW: mentions of childhood abuse, rape, mild language, childhood trauma and other mental health problems
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You try your hardest not to scream.
Teeth digging deep into your hand, tears streaming from your eyes, and arms wrapping themselves tightly around yourself, you find it hard to breathe. You try to tell yourself it'll be alright, that there's nothing to be afraid of, but your reassurances go unheard, the overwhelming noise in your mind too loud and drowning out any form of reason.
The images are too clear, the memories too vivid and real. You remember every detail, every emotion, every scar. And with each passing moment, those images continue to grow, pulsating along with the ever growing beating of your heart.
Blood melts into the screams, darkness fading into chaos, your body trembling as you remember his hands on you. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you recall the once foreign but now frighteningly familiar touch of cold metal as you reached for anything to get him away from you. As you tried to fight back from a fate you had rather kept buried. You flinch as the echo of the gunshot resounds in your eardrums.
In the back of your mind, you know that it isn't real, that he can't hurt you anymore, that you did the right thing. You know that this is just a recollection of past events, things you can no longer change. You don't want them to change.
Murderer.
But the blood is already stained on your hands.
You killed him.
Your gaze hazy, you're well aware of the fact that your reality is blurring into one from the past, but your mind refuses to acknowledge that fact. All it knows is that your hands are dripping with hot sticky blood. That you sit in a pile of the liquid, a body lying not too far away, a gun held within your shaking fingertips. You thought blood was supposed to be red, but this blood is nearly black.
Sinner.
Instead of screaming, you hyperventilate, shivering as you turn to the body beside you. A body aged with the cruel fate of time, a body half-naked and eyes bloodshot and pried open in horror. It's a man, a man with the same face as your father. A man who would hit your mother and throw broken bottles at your feet whenever he was displeased.
You'll never be forgiven.
He is the one who gave your scars. A monster hiding within a facade of perfection. He is the one who would creep into your bedroom at night, force you to stay quiet else he'd kill your sleeping sister. The one who took away a precious part of you, who stole the innocence from your body the moment you had the capacity to remember.
You don't deserve anything.
A man you hated, a man with plenty of tears and pain in his own hands.
