Unconditionally, Inevitably, Forever Yours.

Monster.

For the sake of some people, here's a Mild Warning:

-This chapter contains some suggestive content.

-And this chapter is definately one of the more violent chapters, but once again, nothing too graphic- just a little gore and threat.

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Guilt was the dominating emotion that I felt as I struggled to find my way through the streets to my Uncle’s apartment- the last place I wanted to be yet the only place where the people weren’t constantly concerned for me.

 My heart ached with indiscretion, which was a foreign concept for me that I hadn’t been acquainted with for quite a lengthy period. On a daily basis, I was the one seeking remorse, not the kinds of condolence that people receive when a loved one has passed, but the type that says ‘I’m sorry for what I’ve done, I’ll never hurt you again’. That’s what I wanted- what I needed.

 And yes, I feel like such a diva for even asking for something as commonly found as that.

But, I felt like there were two sides to me, two faces like Janus from Ancient Roman Myth, except each face didn’t symbolize alternate endings or beginnings. And no, these were no common teenage mood swings.

 Part of me wanted to hurt Jason. The flow of the blood that oozed from his arm delighted me, made my insides churn with a wired, yet also repulsed sensation.

 It scared the crap out of me.

 And my eyes- my awareness of their existence was uncertain, since I couldn’t actually feel anything, they didn’t sting, nor did they water. They felt normal, yet they looked like they belonged to a hyperactive drug lord-dilated, heavily magnified was probably the best was to describe it.

 I hoped that everything that had happened today was all a hoax and I’d wake up in my Uncle’s apartment, being demanded to make him one of his greasy breakfasts. As much as I sincerely hated that lifestyle, I absolutely detested being confused, or unaware of something with a passion.

 “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” I chanted aloud, pausing mid-walk to click my scruffy pumps together at the heel, earning some queer glances as I did so.

 “Have you never seen The Wizard of OZ?” I blurted, sending each of the receivers an arched brow, daring them to question me again. They all scoffed and returned to their late-evening stroll or work.

 I felt strangely aggravated that night, which would explain my surliness to the fellow pedestrians. I blamed the strange occurrences, rattling my emotions up causing my mind to explode and burst my blood vessels. It was my logical theory that had no supported evidence. I could almost imagine my own Mother telling me to suck it up, to admit defeat to the cruel part of ‘Growing Up’. My Mum and Dad were like that, see. They were never strict, nor were they extremely easy-going. They had raised me to be independent and relied on me to make my own decisions, after proving to them that I was capable to do so wisely though.

I wasn’t ever like most stereotypical independent teenagers; I’d occasionally have a sip or two of alcohol, and the thought of taking drugs had never crossed my mind.

 Dale had easily shown me what those things can do to one’s personality.

 I didn’t know where I was. It seemed during my daydreaming, I’d managed to let my feet do the walking route-discovering for me.

 There were multiple compact, adorable bungalows to my right and a forest to my left. It was late at night, perhaps 9:30 or so, and from a previous experience involving my lonesome self and a forest at night, my brain advised me to stick to the pavement I was on that lead further into the city- and that would possibly direct me to the rundown part of town.