Blood
Blood. You use every ounce of willpower left in you to keep your face neutral as that sickening metallic taste washes over you. Now you know it wasn’t just your imagination. They were smiling wider.
“I said. Is something. Wrong?”
You curl your hand into a fist, feeling your nails dig into your palm.
“Doesn’t it taste just like you remember? Don’t you remember?”
You remember alright. You remember every single thing that hurt you, and you remember the blood all over the face of the person you loved. The blood drips down your parent’s mouth.
“Or are you too scared? Too scared to let the memories fester inside and too scared to do anything about it. I’m sure it hurts honey. Doesn’t it?”
You stand up. They do too. You both step away from the table, and they walk towards you, arms open for an embrace. Your vision goes red and you feel your fist collide with their face. All of your anger flows into that impact. It feels incredible.
They reel back, as the blood starts streaming out of their mouth. There’s another hit, and another, and you feel your knuckles break and your skin shred and their bones shatter underneath your blows. You stop to catch your breath. Feel the rage wash through you. They’re almost unrecognizable. Bruised and bleeding, crouched on the floor in terror. You see the picture change. See yourself become them. The same bloodlust, the same violence.
And you don’t care.
Your boot slams into their face and you don't stop until their breathing does. The floor is soaked in blood now. So are you. You sit back down at the head of the table with a smile on your face. This wouldn’t fix things. Really, nothing could. But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help.
Ending 1/16