Rare Ones

Chapter 1 Agoraphobia

~WARNING~  This includes the following: Rape, Abuse, Killing, Incest, Swearing

If you are sensitive to the topics above continue at your own will.

   Why, why again? It happened again. There's no way I will get forgiven this time. I hate this. I HATE THIS! Ugh. MY name is Pip, eighteen years old, male, and currently wanted for slaughter, It's not my fault, well technically it is... but not by my own choice of course. See, I have this power that can control people's blood. From what I've seen is that I can rip the blood from their body, I can make them choke on their own blood, make them eternally bleed and so on. I never learned how to control it, no one ever told me. We read about people like me in second grade, ones that have mystical powers. They were called the Damned. They were called that because Lucar sinned them with some of his power That made me extremely self conscious and nervous that people would ignore or treat me like an outcast if they knew. When I was five I discovered my disgusting power. That was when I killed my Father.

   "Phillipe, please stay in here until I say it's ok to come out." I squeal happily in response to her, as she closed the door to a small closet that she would put me in from time to time. Whenever she would pick me up from the closet she would have bruises on her hip and thigh areas. Since I was a toddler I paid no attention to those marks or her forced smile. She did the closet routine with me again and I began to be curious of why she would always put me in here. I figured that I would find out what happened when she left. When she put me in the closet again I waited about three minutes left and I slid the door open a tiny slit and I was overcome with intense yelling and crashing. I instantly felt terrified and left to go search for her. I followed the screaming and was lead to an open room. What I saw didn't make any sense to me nor could I process any of it. I could see my father who left us two years ago beating her with his huge fists. She was tied up to a bedpost and was squirming and yelling. She didn't notice me. She was more focused on Father, who had no pants on, moving back and forth on her. She had no pants as well, but all I could see was her legs and I wouldn't want to see anything more. He kept screaming "Fuck yea!" and "You like that, bitch?!", she just continued to scream which sounded awful to me. I knew she was in pain, I knew she hated whatever he was doing. So I crawled on top of the bed and started biting him. He looked around, saw me, and grabbed me with his fists. "You little fuck! Who is this little shithead Bea?" I was losing air, it was hard to breath, I was tearing up...

    He loosened his grip and I started crying, she just stared at me unable to do anything to assist me because she was tied up. Once my eyes cleared up and I stopped sniffling, I looked for Father. He was on the ground with his eyes rolled back in his head, foaming at the mouth. He was incredibly pale. There was a red liquid swarming around me for a moment until it embedded itself inside me. She didn't looked shocked or terrified, she just smiled tiredly and said, "Phillipe, you're my hero" I crawled next to her and asked, "Are you okay, Sister?"

   She never brought up the incident of that night or my powers ever again. We lived happily, but I could always sense an odd atmosphere around here. She wasn't as bright as she used to be, as happy. I did my best to try to make her happy. I really did. She ended up committing suicide ten months after the incident. I didn't understand that she died, I just thought she went away like Father did. I then started to think that she would act like Father and do what he did to her to me. I thought that everyone that left me would become like Father, and a phobia called Agoraphobia sprouted inside me. Agoraphobia is when you're afraid of being alone for too long. If they were away from me for too long and came back, I would avoid them at all costs. I only let people I trusted stay with me, and if they were away from me for more than thirty minutes at a time, I would lose all trust and think that person is now gone.

      When I was alone for too long it felt like I couldn't breathe, such as someone knocked the air out of me. When people saw me from a far all alone and breathing heavily they thought it was a joke and would laugh. Usually my Foster Mother would find me or one of my friends. It's happened seven times in total, and each time it gets harder and harder to manage. People then realized my issue and before I knew it I had tons and tons of wonderful friends. I felt happy.