The Only One

Chapter eighteen

Lisa's pov

Ever found yourself scavenging for food from your fridge even though you weren't really hungry? That was the increasingly similar feeling I'd got when I went down to that prison and made sure he didn't get out in that parole trial.

Although I did for a while succumb myself into believing that I came for revenge. That was honestly bullshit. I went there looking vengeful when I wasn't at all it. The same as looking for food even when I was not hungry.

I'm sitting on my bed, just recently finished dressing up and nimbly drawing invisible patterns onto the clean sheets. The book full of drawings Arian gave me, is sitting in front of me, opening to random pages by itself, thanks to the unrestrained wind from the open windows all the more letting the mid air wind in.

I was not really looking at it really anyway so I reach and slap the book shut with my fingertips. My eyes roam over the cover of the book. It looked beautiful really, the black stars standing out explicitly in the otherwise white cover.

Only then I remembered that this matched the tattoo on the nape of my neck. My free hand reaches over subconsciously to graze the art imprinted there.

I sigh as I let my back partially hit the bed and my head hit the headboard with a soft thud, behind me. My mind of course crawled back to the situation at hand. I knew deep down that I never felt vengeful of resentful towards Josh as the years past by. I was well past that, before I even picked victims to beat up in my neighborhood back then, when the incident was incredibly ripe, that had just started to sink in.

I beat others up in public, literally any guy who even glanced at me in the wrong way, and I beat myself in the darkness of my room, at night away from anyone. Remembering exactly how everyone looked at me with a unmistakable look of pity, and when called out, would misuse the word 'concern' along with it's distinct meaning.

'How terrible!'

'I'm sorry, how much you poor thing would have gone through!'

'I can't believe people like that are still around this world.'

'People like that deserve to die.'

The worst part to me was, I never got either, pity or concern as they called it from my own family. Dad was busy trying to get Josh a death penalty for his atrocious doings toward his daughter, forgetting that he was directing all his attention to some family friend's son, than to his own daughter that only needed him to hold her and at least lie saying it would be okay.

Mom, too busy using her new title,'The abused victim's mother' to get more screen time and pose for cameras, like she was actually affected. Didn't bother to come and ask me if I was alright, If being on every home television screen in all of america as the bigRR abused daughter was actually fine for me.

My elder brother locking himself up in his room and starving was apparently his first priority. He was too busy being ashamed and guilty to come ask the very person he felt guilty and sorry to if she was alright.

So they probably knew I was shaken and needed time alone, but was it that hard? To throw aside that unspoken fact and just be there for me? What if I was lonely? What if I just wanted somebody to talk to? but then again, It all ends with a what if.

I can't really blame them though, and I now I wonder why. Because it's the easiest for a human being to lift up all the blame and crash it down someone else's head. But at that time I had blamed myself, I still do.

I actually couldn't believe that I was broken by a boy . A dumb part of the human race who always think with their dick. A species who couldn't even wrap their mind around the fact that women were in the same level as them and sometimes in some places better even. Who didn't how to even treat women for who they were.

I refused to believe it at first. But as everybody started moving on, I was stuck in the same place. That was when I knew, that it was true and suddenly I started to resent myself. The initially slow pace quickened to the height at I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror.

God that frightened a part of me to death. I would console myself that soon this anger would fade and maybe I would start to enter the stage of feeling sorry for myself. But that day never came. As Years went by, I understood that I would never start feeling sorry for myself or let this pass.

I lost the urge to feel anything. Days would pass and I could not even feel myself blink. I lost my happiness, friends, family, my dreams, my grades and never felt the urge or need to retrieve it.

At night I would panic, cause I felt(and looked) like a zombie. A girl with a heart of stone. So to convince myself that I was indeed human and alive, I would do a wide array of things to feel something.

Tears prick my eyes and an inevitable lump makes itself comfortable on my throat as I thought back to all the things I did back then, to myself. The sound of the door opening slams down the noisy thoughts as my eyes impulsively flutter shut to make the person who entered believe that I was in the middle of a peaceful nap.

"Lisa?" That was the voice of Arian. But my instincts tell me there are more people in the room. I could hear two people's steady breathing, and odd patterns of the shuffling of feet. My guess? There are definitely three people in here.

I would without second thought blame these creepy analyzing gifts partly on the current adrenaline passing through my veins and the other from all the time I spent on the street fights that took place nearby.

After my first ever fight, I noticed that place takes in it's fair share of daily law benders. Pickpockets, burglars, your local subway perverts, everybody would be there in the hope of taking something with them at the end of the night or early dawn. Ugh, I really need to get a job. Just thinking of that place makes hills on my skin.

"Well, if she's asleep, we don't have to wake her. She will anyway wake up when she's hungry." I think that was Kevin. Or Tony. Still can't tell the difference of their voices.

"But, my mom tells me it's not healthy, sleeping on an empty stomach." Mia? when did she get here? and isn't that a myth?

"I am most definitely sure that's a myth." There we go.

"It is not!" Immediately a few panicked shushes flutter around the room. I do a mental eye roll and am currently running out of patience of pretending to be sleeping.

I pretend to subconsciously roll in my 'sleep' and I could feel all of them freeze and after a moment hear shuffling of meet moving away. I hear the door squeeze shut and I huff while pushing my eyes back open. I'm weird character even to myself. Even after finding some people worth fighting for, here am I laying myself down to the past again.

It's just that it hurts being me. Yeah that was it.

It hurt to be me.

Too much, it was too much.

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Soooo, I had just thought it would create a better picture if I wrote a little about her past, my apologies if that was boring........

Please vote if you liked it, though. Thank you!!!!!!! ❤❤