Until Next Time

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I woke up in a bed, not my bed, but a comfortable bed nonetheless. The lights were off, but the windows showed light peaking through. I slowly tried to sit up, but my hand flew to the back of my head as a sharp pain shot up down the back of my head to my spine. There was something soft taped against my head, and whatever it was covering, hurt when I gently touched it. I looked around the room, besides the bed and the bedside table, there was no other furniture, there were three doors, all on one wall. I assumed one was the bathroom, one was the closet, and one was the door leading out. I carefully got out of the bed, shivering immediately, wrapping my arms around myself. I was wearing the same clothes from when... when... when... when Harry died. It hit me like a train.

I slowly fell to the ground, tears running down my face, he's gone, he's gone, he's gone. Everyone is gone.

Then I remember what happened after that, I tried to kill people, I tried to do what they had done to me. I felt hypocritical and stupid and tired, I was really really tired. Physically tired, but also mentally and emotionally just done, I was 12 years old, and everything the past few years have just sucked. Except this time, I didn't have Harry to hold me in his arms while I sobbed into his chest. I didn't have somebody who could understand what was happening, who was also going through the same exact pain as me. I didn't have anyone. 

The team? I had started talking to them yesterday, they barely knew me, they just knew that my brother had died. And that at that moment, I wanted to kill. They must be disgusted by me, scared of me. And yet, somewhere deep inside of me, I knew that I thought what I started should be finished, that they should be killed. Anger is kind of like alcohol, it can reveal ones true emotions, how they really feel, and you know what? I feel disgusted by me, I feel scared of me, this body that I'm in, the powers that I have, I can't control them, I scare myself. The thought echoed in my head. 

Then there was a knock, I slowly got up, walking to the door at a slow pace, before slowly pulling the door open. 

"Mr. Moreno?" He stood standing there, a sympathetic look on his face.

"Harper, how are you feeling?" He whispered, I was grateful for it, my head was throbbing.

"Ok, I guess," I said, softly.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you. I'm actually feeling a little nauseous," I told him.

"Ok, I need to replace your bandages and then you can fall back asleep," He smiled.

I was glad he knew that I was tired, I felt relieved.

I sat down at the edge of the bead as he took off the previously soft fabric that I had yet to identify until then as bandages. He used some cold liquid that stung a little to avoid infection, and then put on new bandages. He left the room quietly, and I fell back asleep, mostly to avoid having to deal with my living nightmare.

3 Months Later

I stood to the side of Missy, looking at the landscape ahead of me, realizing now, that maybe I was a monster. But now? I've become a hero.


To be continued...

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