Fighting For Hope

Chapter Thirteen

"I want to see you here. Beside me."

—

HOPE'S POV

I stacked my new items tidily into piles. They were bought recently from the shopping trip with Tyler. He sat in the living room of my house, patiently waiting for me to conclude what I planned to do before we set off to his parents' place.

I was clueless as to why he invited me to be his company for the short road trip but was excited to follow since he had accomplished so much for me. This plan of revenge means a lot, and he agreed to support me even if sacrifices were compulsory.

He claimed the night would be in its darkest form when we return, and he did not encourage 'later' to do the packing. I have been slacking for quite a while and should go back to fighting, so I might not be able to pack the day after, too.

I took my time, slowly putting them away, when I paused abruptly, catching a glimpse of a scar on my shoulder. A wide cicatrix that spreads from lower back to my upper back inflicted from a man that tainted positive memories.

It was too hidden for anyone to notice, being under my shirt half the time. Years ago, when the blade first sliced through my skin, I thought it would recover and soon disappear into nothing. I was mistaken, but I refused to do anything like distract and divert attention away with a tattoo as Tyler had done. I still remember the terrible feeling, like searing soreness, but it gives me motivation till this day and reminds me of the time I stood up for myself.

Still, I shivered and looked away. It is eternally an unpleasant memory, and thinking back to that moment is like dipping my head in molten heat.

I climbed to my feet after I placed all outfits in the wardrobe and exited my room. Tyler sat on my couch with the book of my revenge in hand, fuelling me with puzzlement. I frankly don't mind since he already knows my greatest secret. What stunned me was him scribbling on my book with a pen.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"You're back," he stated and placed my book aside.

"What are you doing?" I reiterated, and this time, he shot me a sheepish smile.

"Just some ideas for us to take into consideration," he said dismissively. Typically, he would be going on about how I should forget revenge because it is unhealthy. I suppose the visit to my parent's place changed his perspective towards the situation, or he just wants my stepfather to be locked in jail. It was what I plan to do as well since being in prison would tear him away from his future and besmirch him. He would have to go through the heartbreak and pain I tolerated. It would steal his precious company away from him. But before he landed in a cell, I wanted him to suffer under my hands.

"Sure," I mumbled as we walked abreast outside to his car. He informed me that the trip would be lengthy, and we might have to stop for dinner.

"When exactly did you move out of that hellhole?" he asked, referring to my parent's place, where he visited the day before.

"Six years," I reply without missing a beat. Just when I turned twelve, I left home with some stolen money from my stepfather's cupboard, which I am confident he failed to notice. I had decided on never returning. I had incessantly reminded myself of the horrific memories in the house. I was lost for a few days, homeless and hungry. A lot happened in that short period, having to skip school and wander without a destination, a whole different journey. But that was a story I was not willing to tell at the moment.

I was met with missing posters of myself on the third day on the streets and found only on the fifteenth day by my stepfather's workers. We moved a few days after to the mansion my parents were currently living in, and the change was drastic.