Story cover for Her Breaking Point by AuthorOliviaGrace
Her Breaking Point
  • WpView
    Reads 7,288
  • WpVote
    Votes 180
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    Parts 28
  • WpHistory
    Time 2h 40m
  • WpView
    Reads 7,288
  • WpVote
    Votes 180
  • WpPart
    Parts 28
  • WpHistory
    Time 2h 40m
Complete, First published Dec 22, 2020
Mature
He had rules for a reason, or thats what he said. I did something wrong I got punished. I spoke out of turn, I got punished. I looked at him or ate without permission, I got punished. Haven thats what they named me funny isn't it? Ironic really. They named me Haven because my mom would say I was her 'Safe Haven'. What a pile of shit that was. 

She left willingly, she didn't depart because of some tragic accident. My father didn't kill her. She left because she was a coward who didn't want kids. As soon as my older brother went to college she left. I knew she hated me. I was the product of her love with another man. A constant reminder that her life didn't work out the way it was planned. He who ever he was is a phantom in its own. A deep rooted fantasy never going to come true. 

My brother left, my mother left, my grandma ignored, and my father broke. They let me give up hope on escaping and then decided to play hero. But I haven't forgotten everything I went through.

Guilt consumes my brother but I don't care, you don't get to leave and then buy a reprieve of trying to save someone who has been dead for years. 

 Besides lets just be honest I reached my breaking point long ago.
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My heart was still beating. I thought I would have died the same day; under the debris of my car covered in blood, my hand locked into hers... Instead no! I was still alive maybe because my devilish side was stronger than my mortal one, or maybe because hell wasn't ready to welcome me yet. I had experienced death a thousand times, and I had always overcome it. Even now, I felt as if I had once again experienced the icy flames of hell. I didn't remember immediately what had happened, but slowly I put the pieces together in my mind, and everything was clear. The infection by now had spread throughout my body, and I had taken control of my mortal side confusing and inebriating myself. My story is written in blood. I think I will never be forgiven for what I did because I, for first, can't forgive myself. I'm sure you think I'm a disgusting person; a psycho killer. And you are right because I am this kind of person and even more. But everything I have done has brought me to a crossroad between hell and paradise, and now I know for sure which path I want to take. Don't judge me; just listen. My story doesn't certainly narrate pity and compassion, but now I know how little of my past belongs to me. I realized too late the true meaning of the word 'love' and, perhaps, now there is no more hope for me. Allow me, the child of Death, to tell you my story. Allow me to tell you how I sold my soul to the devil, just to be with her.