revenge // h.s

twenty

"For those who believe in the resurrection, death is inconsequential. In the resurrection, those that were dead live, and those who live believe they shall never die."

Flashback

"So what are you doing here?" My inmate carefully asked, breaking the tensed silence between us.

Everyone did this. Whenever they heard the Blaire Garcia was in their presence, all that was running through their head was shes the daughter of a criminal. She's exactly like her mother, conniving, vindictive and pure evil.

I was hoping to ignore her question but she made it really difficult with that loose mouth of hers. "Ahh I see so the terrorist's daughter is more silent than her mother. Please dont start blowing up our room."

Burning rage hissed through my body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off me like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed like, engulfing my moralities and destroying the boundaries of loyalty.

She stood, folding both arms over her chest to show she didn't fear a person like me in the least. But when I approached her, she was close to changing that disposition when my balled fist collided with her cheekbone, flaying her neck backward like a willow caught in the wind. As she stumbled, she nearly fell over the small dirty coffee table they left us to eat on, rubbing her cheek with her palm. My action certainly took her by surprise.

What the hell!" She cried, regaining her balance. "You're very brave for your first night here, do you want to get yourself killed?"

A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout cell mate #512's body; assuming this was her number from the glimpse I caught during that 2 second when we were face to face. Her stomach ached, arms lost tension and legs began to weaken.

"She will not get the better of me," I kept telling myself these thoughts as I watched her drop to the ground.

These thoughts were useless, as much as I tried to ignore and live my life with no association of my mother I learnt there truly was no escape. I was doomed with this name and my life will never be the same. My life changed because of the woman I had to call my mother.

#512's tongue was soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, she grabbed my foot and pulled me to the ground. My head was pounding, and to my luck her agile movement was far too slow, which made it easy for me to get up and be on top of her. I brought a fist to the her face, snapping her nose into a grotesquerie.

The sound of fucking sirens were going off like crazy - and in all that madness with my first connected to her face - a couple of arms pushed me up. They lifted me and away from her body, shoving me around like a worthless human everyone portrayed me as and out of the room. The last thing I remember was her body sprawled across our cell floor, swimming in the blood that came out in the time I broke her nose and hopefully if I hit her hard enough; her jaw.

You're going to need a few stitches.

+++

"Sweetie, please look this way." A flash of annoyances appeared on the photographers face and I tried so hard to compose myself. Harrys grip around my waist was tighter and he rubbed small little circles around my waist to comfort me.

Regardless of the photographers demands, me and Harry would occasionally stare back at each other. He knew the photographers presence seemed to buzz around me like a fly that you can never swat. Every word, movement and breath he performed seemed to infuriate me to no end.

He was rude and wanted us to do awkward and weird poses for the photos, which Harry declined politely. That wasn't something neither of us wanted to do, and every minute here felt like hell.