The only love I need is my own

Staring into her eyes, I realize this person cares not for me or my well-being. What a master she is. Quite the trickster, a manipulator like no other. The discipline required to maintain such an all-encompassing lie for so long is shocking. 

A soul-shattering sigh escapes me as I resign myself to my fate. A single tear runs down my cheek as I close my eyes, shutting out the shattered illusion of the fraud parading as my mother. She might be my mother, but she lacks the core component required to care about her offspring. My once sanctuary is now tainted with this memory of betrayal. This place will never be my home again. 

"Please don't do this," I whisper, "Just let me go. You'll never see me again." Reluctant to look into her eyes again, I keep mine shut. Memories from childhood come to the fore of my mind. Games of "if I can't see you, you can't see me" have nostalgia overtaking me.

The silence between us is deafening, but words aren't needed for me to understand the reality of my situation. And it's not positive. When the requirement for child support had stopped, mom started looking for another way to score a payday. My gut tells me she found one. 

A sharp gasp leaves me as strong hands wrench my arms behind my back, using them as leverage to haul me to my feet. The throbbing in my shoulders pulls my focus, causing me to stumble and lose the battle to keep my eyes shut. I become a witness to my demise as pain and panic force my eyes open wide. 

The rancid aromas in the room mom called me into sour my stomach, causing me to empty its contents on the ugly orange shag carpet of the basement floor. Bile and partially digested pasta splash onto her shoes as she shrieks and curses at me.  

"YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING..."

Not waiting for the tirade to finish, my enormous jailor shoves me up the stairs and out the front door. Each of his steps collides with the heels of my shoes. Then, seemingly fed up with my tediously slow pace, large hands land a punishing grip on my waist and hoist me over a broad set of shoulders. 

I haven't even been home for an hour, yet this giant is tossing me around like a bag of hot garbage. The guy I'm perching on isn't gentle or remotely kind about flinging me around—what a significant character flaw. Yesterday I would have given him a piece of my mind regarding his lack of manners. Instead, today a war wages inside me that doesn't give two damns about someone's lack of noble traits.

I feel like a part of me is dying. How can my walls come tumbling down if I'm dead? How can I be alive when I feel so broken? 

Time moves too quickly for me from that moment. Emerging outside, I realized that time moved much quicker than I thought. Whereas the sun was still bright in the sky when I got home, it's now long since set, with twilight come and gone. 

The giant tosses me into the back of a moving van before I realize I've seen and heard the individuals my mother had given me. My fate turns bleaker by the minute if no one is bothered by the fact that I can make a positive ID two different ways. 

I'm going to die-or something worse.

Memories of pale green eyes and alabaster skin float through my mind as the smell of gasoline takes over my senses. Of course, such a simple and familiar scent shouldn't be so comforting. But at least it reminds me of happier times. 

That's one silver lining to the nightmare that is engulfing my life. I curl myself into the most diminutive form possible and think of when we were happy, wishing he was here. He was always my night in shining armor before he left. He swore he would always be there to slay my demons for me—right my wrongs. Then he was gone. 

Too far away now to calm the rising tide of emotion that builds within me. Now I have to be that calming presence for myself. Breathing slowly in and out, counts of three just like he taught me. I rock back and forth, clench, release my hands into fists, and lower them to the cold metal of the van's floor.

I try to think of things to keep my mind occupied so I don't break down into hysterics. Names. I love names. I haven't heard any names yet, so I'll make up my own. The giant that launched me into the back of this van was easy. My eyes weren't covered when he was carrying me. I saw his curly, dark hair; his nose was thick and looked like someone had broken it a few times. Plus, he's enormous, so there's that. I snicker to myself and decide to name him Andre, my giant. 

 My heart rate starts to slow as we take a sharp turn down a bumpy road. 

Losing my balance, I throw my hands out to brace myself when I feel something sharp cut into my palm. Hissing in a breath at the pain, I pull my hand to my chest. The sting of the wound grounds me, helping me think with a clearer head. A small chuckle leaves me, and the smallest amount of relief coats my insides. 

Finding the sharp object again, I grip it firmly and make another incision on my palm. The tightness in my chest loosens another tiny fraction, easing my panic slightly. I smile and gaze at the ceiling of my cage on wheels—rivers of red flow from my hand to coat the floor between my legs, and the panic that overwhelmed me starts to flow from my body.

After what feels like ages, the van slows and pulls over. The brakes squeal, and I cringe like I hear nails on a chalkboard. Worst. Sound. Ever.

 The van rocks slightly, and I listen to the low rumble of deep voices behind me through the metal, accompanied by footsteps stomping on gravel. 

A rush of adrenaline hits me as I look at the found object in the dim light and realize some dumbass left a box cutter for me to find. I squeeze my fist around my new weapon, inhale a calming breath and brace myself. 

The back door swings open, granting me access to the sweet smell of the night sky mixed with fresh rain and earth. A punishing grip wraps around my ankle like a vice, and a few effortless tugs drag me from the safety of my cage. 

My back collides with the sharp gravel, but instead of pain, I feel relief, much like when I cut myself earlier. Luckily I still have the box cutter half-hidden in my hand. I tuck it into my jeans, and luckily, my hoodie is big enough to easily cover it and play it off like I'm writhing in pain.  

A familiar scene greets me as I lay in mock pain. Even though nighttime is in full swing and the insects are singing their bedtime songs, I can tell we are in the state park parking lot down the highway from my house. 

Multiple sets of eyes stare at me on the ground until a figure emerges from the rear of the crowd, cast in shadows yet familiar. Slowly sauntering to stand at my feet and swinging a wooden Louisville Slugger with barbed wire twisted around its head ala my favorite bad guy Negan, he pauses to lean on the pisspoor Lucille imitation to look me over. 

I try to ignore the dust he kicks up as he scuffs his black combat boots in the gravel, but ultimately I fail and instinctively bring my hands up to cover my face as I fall into a sneezing fit. Thankfully, though I sneeze at least five times and the motion causes my entire body to jerk violently, the blade I tucked into my jeans stays put. And while my hidden weapon escapes the group's notice, the blood smeared on my face doesn't.

A slight breeze blows past my face; with it comes a voice so melodic and familiar that my entire body freezes in shock. "Well, God bless you, Sweetness, and never mind the mess on your face. But, unfortunately, it's about to get much worse." The slight southern intonation in the familiar voice has memories of ghosts dancing in my head.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, what I see matches up with the image conjured up by the voice.

Pale green eyes and alabaster skin staring back at me, except instead of the striking red hair and short stature of my love, this parody is much taller with dark brown hair: his brother, James. I should have known. He always did blame me for Hunter's death, even though it was just the two of them when he died. James will always blame me. 

It's unbelievable and disturbing how much my body reacts to him. Even more substantial than the attraction I felt to Hunter, it's one of the only reasons we fought. He thought I wanted James, regardless of how much I stroked his ego and assured him that it wasn't true. But, Hunter always did feel trapped in his older brother's shadow.

Leaning to angle his body over me, a sickly sweet smile filled with too many teeth to be friendly coos, "Listen up, Sweetness. I'm only going to say this once. See those trees across the field? Those are your sanctuary. If you can make it across this field and into the thicket, you stand a chance of surviving the night."

The leather of his jacket makes a squeak as he bends down to hover over me. Then, profoundly inhaling notes of petrichor, metal, and gasoline, he wrinkles his nose in disapproval and whispers, "You smell of death. How foreboding." With that said, he stands and walks over to the giant my mother sold me to. 

"Andre"  

How fortuitous. A tiny part of my soul just giggled.

 "Take Sweetness over to the bike and get her something to drink. We need to make sure she's hydrated before the fun begins. I don't want her falling out too early before I've had my fill." 

It isn't until Andre hauls me to my feet that I realize how thirsty I am. My tongue feels heavy and thick in my mouth, like it would choke me if I didn't find relief soon. As Andre places it in my hands, I guzzle down the sweet liquid heaven and almost beg for more. 

I don't know why I did, what I did next. Maybe the water revived my body but killed the part of me that houses self-preservation. I'll never know. But something made me demand answers.

"Tell me why. What did I do to you that makes you hate me this much? To revel in my misery and bathe in the sounds of my pain?"

The renewed vigor flowing in my veins creeps into my tone as I make demands from the man who holds the key to my freedom.

Surprise colors his face at my sudden bravery, his head tilting to the side as if listening to music only he can hear.

A smirk graces his face. He looks so much like Hunter at that moment that my breath stutters in my chest. 

Then he opens his mouth and reminds me just how different they were.

"You. Paige. You happened—you and your perfect life, your perfect personality, and your perfect body. You happened to Hunter, and you killed him."

His voice turns to honey as he tips his head toward me and points to the trees. 

"Newsflash, Paige, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. NOW. RUN!"

I make it across the lot and into the trees before a chorus of baritone laughter breaks through the night, followed by a series of echoes and branches crunching. 

I ran. I ran so long that my entire body was numb, and my lungs burned from overuse. I had no idea what time it was. I could have been out here an hour, or it could have been four. All I knew was I needed to stop. 

Halting next to a group of trees with gaps large enough to squeeze into, I quietly folded myself to fit into the smallest one. Hoping that no one would notice an opening this small, or at least think a person couldn't fit inside.

The sounds of the forest lull me into a haze of oblivion as the night's events and blood loss caught up with me. Yet, in the background of my mind, nature's lullabies are still present, and when the serenity breaks, I know that my pursuers are near. 

Tonight's main Devil shuffles into view as I hear him mumbling under his breath. "What a damn clusterfuck. Where the hell is she? The stupid bitch should have been dead hours ago." He peers over his shoulder and spins a few times. He's so close I can smell the mint of his gum on his breath. 

The slugger, I realize, is still clutched firmly in his fist.

Locking his hands behind his head, he tips his head to the sky and whispers softly. "I want to taste her pain so bad...see her soul leave her body and dance as the light leaves her eyes."

If that wasn't enough to get me back to attention, I was already dead.

Seizing the opportunity, I take advantage of his distress and slowly crawl from my hiding spot. Reaching to my back, I happily realize the box cutter is still firmly tucked into the waistband of my jeans. 

Removing it, I slowly maneuver forward, avoiding anything that might make noise and lengthen the blade. 

Searching carefully for the best spot to stab to take him down, I realize the Achilles tendon is out due to his combat boots. Unfortunately, I don't know much about the body's vulnerable spots besides that one, so I'll have to make an educated guess on where to strike next. 

Sadly, I'm not tall enough to slice his neck. So the next best spot I can think of is the kidney. Fortunately, I know the general location, and I can reach it, so win-win.

Carefully gripping the weapon, I let all my panic and fear melt away, preparing myself to get stabby. 

Deep breath in, I rise to stand, pull my arm back, and thrust.

A thunderous roar escapes him as he spins in pain, attempting to remove the blade, and in his frenzied state, he drops the slugger. 

Picking it up, I take a moment to allow my walls to crumble for a second and take stock of myself.

Wounds litter my face, neck, and arms from tonight's expedition. Some are profound enough to have thick streams of blood seeping from them whenever I move. But that is not tonight's problem. That is a-me problem for another day. Perhaps it won't bother me enough to be a problem at all.

Spinning to face me, a look of shock and awareness graces his face as he collapses to the ground. His eyes plead with mine, a stray tear leaking down his cheek. If he weren't preoccupied with the grim reality of our current situation, he would be posturing to protect his image. No way would he allow anyone to see him crying like a fucking pussy.

Holding the weapon of destruction in my hands, I point to him on the ground and declare as loudly as possible. "I loved the fuck out of him, James. I LOVED HIM!" 

I glance up and witness the stars twinkling and scattered across the sky like tiny shards of ice. The vision grounds me with the reminder of how small I am in comparison to things around me. 

 I fix my stare back to James, my previous indifferent emotions returning. Then, pushing forward gently, intent on continuing my speech, "He betrayed me. He wasn't supposed to die. We were supposed to get married. But, instead of finding pleasure with him by my side, now I'll find pleasure the only way I can. Using my old wounds as a map to carve my new ones." Rivers of blood continue dripping down my body, making the prettiest patterns on my pale skin. 

The barbed wire around the slugger continues to tug and pull at the thin dermis of my arms while I cradle it. Without the warming presence of friends or family, my existence turns numb and cold. 

My skin throbs and pulses from the sting of my wounds, reinvigorating me with the waves of release they bring. Much like the opening of pressure valves, I welcome the ecstasy that follows. I look lovingly at the weapon in my hands, channeling the discord and indifference I feel into my new favorite pasttime. 

 An internal voice joins me in my descent into chaos and murmurs to me from deep inside my mind. "Call her Eris, Goddess of Chaos. The night may have started with us trapped like prey, cowering in fear. How quickly they fail to realize they are the ones caught in our snare. Pay attention while I illustrate how far they are from their depth."

Raising my arms high, I aim Eris to the Heavens, relishing using James' instrument of death against him. I give him just a moment for any last words.

His tongue peeks out to nervously wet his dry lips. Then, shifting to stand, he raises his palms in a gesture of surrender while lifting his icy stare to mine. Then, pouring all of his conviction into his next words, he whispers, "Please don't do this."