She's mine.

Chapter 7- Flashback

Sorry for the short chapters, I've been busy lately and I didnt expect people to actually read this! Thank you for the love and support
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Chapter 7- Flashback
Feliciana Banquette
14 years ago...

I set my house on fire, I burned them to a crisp with glee rushing through my veins. I was sick and tired of my family's constant abuse. I didnt care if I was 11, I killed them, I served my revenge. I stood outside our 2-story house and watched it wither with a smirk on my face. My parents had abused me like I was a fruit to put on a stick. I loved it. I loved watching them die, hearing their screams, even if it meant I was a psychopath.

As I watched the house burn I remembered all the times they took out their drunken rage on me: belt, trying to drown me in my bath, locking me in my closet to see if I'd suffocate, trying to murder me because I was a mistake. I said goodbye to my torture, I couldn't wait to see their ashes and stomp on them like an extremely heavy elephant.

I snickered at the sight of our house on fire. I committed arson that day, the day I was sent to juvenile detention for 7 years. 7 is quite a small number for murder but I was 11, a little innocent girl with beady eyes that ripped through your soul. I was the youngest there and an officer began to train me since the day I walked in. Officer Marcus Mellborne.

I learnt the ways of good. I learnt how to smother criminals like myself. Mellborne became a father to me, I was the only one who ever recieved special treatment in juvie. Days and days passed and those days turned into months and those months turned into years of training.

By the time I was 15, Mellborne became chief of the department and I was recruited as an officer 4 years later. I was once a mental child that burned my parents to a crisp after they had attempted to kill me. I am now a sophisticated officer that will serve justice

To anyone and everyone of villainy.

I threw the remaining ashes of my parents in a bin on the side of the road. What was I supposed to do with them? I didn't care for reminders of my parents and their cruelty.

I remembered the time my dad broke my arm at 9 because I hadn't scrubbed the wooden floorboards in time for the arrival of guests. I still remember the way he smashed a rolling pin on my arm like I was a piece of fresh dough. He hit and hit until my arm was drowned in blood. I shook the memory off.

MY  CAT SAYS THANK YOU FOR READING!