Twist, Click And Lock

Mask

                                                         Chantelle's POV

It was an unwanted memory. Nights would go by and not a hint of sleep. Months went by but the wounds still hurt, as if they would never heal. Years had gone by, but the immense guilt was still there. Keeping me awake at nights.

Her screams, her tears, her blood, her sweat, her pleads, the way she had begged over and over again for even the smallest sign of mercy that I had sworn upon myself to not show.

I will not break. I will not give in. I will not lose. I will live. I will pluck her own damn heart out from her chest and chew it if I had to, If it meant her death.

I danced that night. I sang to myself. I laughed and giggled and drank, though I was underage.

 I licked the blood still left on my hands, starting to dry into a disgusting deep brown. I savored each lick, taking in the full essence of the moment.

My brain had gone haywire, as if I was in a hangover that'd never wash away. As if my vision had been fogged and blinded purposely to make me go down the wrong path. Maybe I had already gone down the wrong path myself. Maybe I hadn't needed a blindfold at all.

I took a warm bath, read my book, texted some friends, and washed the stains of dried blood off of my clothes. I smiled at myself, I felt so dignified, so fucking delighted that she was finally gone.

Never to return again.

Then the coming week brought with it the arrival of my never-ending series of nightmares so frightening I had to cut myself to stop myself from falling asleep, to stop myself from letting the nightmares take over again. So that I'd have some other form of pain to focus on.

What was better, constant torment or.... constant torment?

What was better? To be repeatedly reminded of how amusingly worthless, pathetic and disgusting I was? To be looked at like a rodent, to have suffered so much physical and mental suffering that I no longer could sense the pain anymore.

I no longer needed someone's shoulder to cry on, someone's comforting words to listen to since there were none either way.

I no longer felt the fear run through my body when she would pour gasoline over me and threaten to burn me alive

I no longer felt the same fright when she and her friends would strip me naked and post me on Instagram.

I no longer felt the same horror when she would put a knife to my neck and blackmail me into doing horrendous acts.

No nothing, Nor agony, nor pain, nor hatred, nor fury, absolutely nothing. I had lost my ability to feel emotions almost completely.

Or was it better to see her dying, twitching body stare at me wide-eyed and scream, ever so shrilly. A scream that sent chills down my spine, causing me to freeze on my spot, unable to breath, unable to think, or see, unable to do anything.

Was the guilt, building up inside me day by day better or easier to bear with than the physical torture?

Was it all better? Was it that easy to move on? Was it that easy to forget?

People underestimate you all the time. They make assumptions about your life, they like to tell you their opinions about your life and what they think you should do with your life.

 And Chantelle hated everyone for their way of thinking like that. Chantelle hated everyone for having such vibrant lives. Chantelle hated everyone for not having the same problems as her, for having petty ass problems like a breakup from your toxic boyfriend. Go cry a river about it, Bitch. She'd think to herself