WHO KILLED VICTORIA? | Complete

Chapter Twenty Four | Hopeless

Samuel's POV

3 Months Until Victoria's Death...

I woke up and found no one next to me. It was strange, being in a house that isn't yours all alone. I kept thinking about when Mr. Blane is going to barge into the house and take back what's his. Maybe beat me up and take revenge for what I did to him, you took my daughter, I imagine him saying with a gun to my head, now I will take your life.

Making scenarios was kind of the only thing I could do to deal with the horrors of this world. I feel the need to create an entirely different reality than the reality I live in so I could feel a sense of life, a sense of hope. This world is an ugly place to live in, and I wish someday I go up to the heavens simply to ask God why he even bothered putting us down here. What kind of answers was he seeking for this test? How do you even pass this hell on earth? Maybe I was simply dealt a bad hand, and didn't get lucky, or maybe I was supposed to take my experiences and become the next motivational speaker that travels across countries, spreading his stories and having people stand up and give me nothing but love and kind words, just maybe.

I roll out of bed and get up to make coffee. I have no idea how I ended up on that bed, or how I even got back to Victoria's house to be honest. I remember bits from yesterday. I know I was consumed by rage, anger that filled my body, consumed me fully. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to get in my car and run him over, or fill his body with gasoline and use his dying screams to light my cigarette. Speaking of cigarettes, I remember that I left my stash on the counter last night and I haven't had time to light one up in a while since Victoria has been constantly around. I rush to the living room and find my bag open and the weed all over the table, now that I think of it, the house kind of reeks of the smell of marijuana.

Did Victoria go through my bag? I laugh at my thought, knowing damn well Victoria can barely sit next to me when I smoke a cigarette, let alone a joint. Come to think of it, where did Victoria even go? My mind starts racing. Memories of us arguing before I fell asleep come rushing back to me, and all of a sudden I remember that Victoria kept asking me about what happened between Damian and I. I mean join us. I can't get his stupid narcissistic smile out of my fucking head. He's all I can think about. The amount of power this imbecile has over me is getting irritating. I tried warning Victoria, I tried telling her that he has enough power to get this entire town to collapse over our heads and kill us both.

I tried, but she simply wouldn't listen. Victoria has been so hung up on her plan working and I can't tell her it won't. I wish I paid more attention to her when she was telling me about it, but I was still so shook by my incident with Christina that the only thing on my mind was going to sleep without cop cars waking me up. I dreamt of the sirens, the handcuffs being put on me as the police drag me out of Victoria's house that day. I saw a police officer in my dream, he barged in and told me my rights, and when I left her house with my arms behind my back he dragged me to his car. I saw Christina and Damian laughing at me from afar. It pissed me off. Tremendously.

I should've paid more attention to the fucking plan. I light my joint and sit down on the couch for a minute. Contemplating every decision I have ever made since I came to this shitty town. I could've gone to Manchester, traveled to America, but I just had to choose Rivervine, and for what?

I take a long puff and kick back at the couch, the flickering lights on Victoria's ceiling reminding me of what my life has been like these past couple of years, hanging on a thread, that is. I take another puff, and the sound of the kettle sends me up to my feet and racing to the kitchen. Close call. If I even dare make a mess of her kitchen this woman will absolutely take my life. . .

I walked around the house, bored out of my mind with nothing to do. I tried reading a couple of books that were left on her bookshelf, but they were all boring. I did the dishes, cleaned the floor. If there was one thing I absolutely loved weed for, it would be how nice cleaning feels. Nice might not be the right word, but how unbothered weed makes you feel when you clean. In a way, it doesn't feel like a chore, like being alive does nowadays. "Where is she?" I say to no one. I pick up my phone and dial Victoria's number for the sixth time in the past hour, but the call keeps getting sent straight to voicemail each time. I tried for the seventh, and nothing. I thought about calling Damian, or anyone from the other side, hoping that maybe she would be at their house rather than have gotten run over by a car, but I don't have any of their numbers.

"A couple more hours." I reassured myself, "A couple more hours and she'll be back." I threw myself on the couch, and went back to sleep. Wishing that whatever is going to happen in my dreams would be slightly better than what today had to offer.