Hacker

Chapter 22 - Taylor

I very slowly open my eyes. It feels like I'm trying to pick up steel with my face. A tear slips down my face from the pain all over my body. My wounds are itching, but they also sting. My head is fuzzy. My mouth is dry. My stomach is growling. God, it's so hard to describe.

I groan loudly, just opening my mouth to do so causing me pain. Salty tears start falling, stinging me. God.. Please just kill me already.. I can't do this..
'God.. Please just kill me already.. I can't do this..'
Oh right. My thoughts.

Penelope walks in, knife in hand and smirking. The white wall turned out to be a door! I try to get a look on the outside, but it's just black. I sigh shakily, knowing what's to come.
"So, you wanna die, finally? It's about time. I mean, you're sweaty, bloody, and gross! I'd wanna die if I was you, too~"
She says in a sing-song voice. More tears fall. No, I can't die..
'No, I can't die..'
"Why not?" Penelope asks in a mock voice. "You think people actually care?" She sneers. " Because you're wrong. Nobody cares. If they cared, you would've been found by now. I mean, it's after Christmas! You think your little friends will cancel Christmas just for you? Well, no, actually!" She says, laughing. The tears come faster, her words cutting deeper than her bedazzled knife. She sees my pain, and goes on. "Don't think I'm lying, Taylor. I checked. The entire Crime Scene Investigation crew took a break on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. So that means they obviously don't care that much. Hm?" She query's. The salt from my ever-lasting tears has now numbed my face.
"But you wanna know who did care?" Penelope asks, walking closer. Her demeanor has changed. She's more serious. She gets right up in my face, and yells; "ME!!"

She pulls back, tears in her eyes. "I cared Taylor!! Or at least.." She goes to mumbling. "I used to."
Penelope looks me straight in the eye, before looking at her knife. She holds it in front of her, and it gleams in the light. She then looks back to me. "Any last words, Taylor Smith?"
Why?
'Why?'
Penelope freezes, her neck jerking a slight bit. She then starts shaking with anger. "Why..?" She utters, before looking straight at me, seeing red, tears in her eyes. "WHY?!"
She storms up towards me. "I DON'T KNOW IF YOU UNDERSTAND, TAYLOR, BUT WORDS CUT DEEPER THAN KNIVES!!!" She screams, holding up her own blade. YOU MADE ME WANT TO END MY LIFE, AT FIFTEEN, TAYLOR. FIF. TEEN." She snarls at me, crying. "YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS- USELESS!!! A MENACE, A LITTLE BRAT WHO WAS MADE FOR NOTHING BUT TO BE ANNOYING!! TAYLOR, WORDS. HURT." She shouts, before finishing. "Words. Hurt.." She mumbles, voice breaking. We're both crying.
Oh my god, I feel so bad.. I'm a horrible person! Oh my god, I deserve to die!! I think to myself, mind so foggy I keep forgetting about the loud broadcasting. Penelope looks around, as my voice comes out of the speakers. She then looks back at me, the smile of a psychopath etched onto her face. My whole body went rigid, and my skin felt cold. I was paler than ever.
"Perfect! We've come to an agreement!" She pipes, the smile imprinted. She barley raises the knife, before the door bursts open. I jump violently, and so does Penelope. She drops her knife, gasping loudly. I see people with guns. I immediately search for Bobby, for he is one of the people who goes on the active missions. I see him in the back. I open my mouth to yell his name, but it hurts.

Penelope is frozen. All guns are pointed at her.
"Come to us with your hands in the air!!" Someone yells. Penelope is frozen solid. She slowly raises her hands, and walks. I'm actually shocked!

I watch as it all goes down, a lot more calmly than I expected, might I add. They took Penelope in, put her hands behind her back, and three cops left with her. The other four came to me. They began to untie me. Bobby was checking me all over. He's like a father figure to me. My mom got a sperm donor, so I never met my dad.
"Are you okay? You need a doctor." He says, touching my shoulder. I wince, and he flinches away. "Sorry."
A woman looks at me. She has black hair. She was struggling to untie me and not hurt me at the same time. "What did she do to you, dear?"
I barley move my mouth, as more tears come out. Yay! PTSD. Fun.