Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 30

**TW: SUICIDE, MOLESTATION/RAPE, SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE, AND MILD GORE**

Wind whipped deafeningly in my ears and my body shuddered uncontrollably in the icy night air. I felt light on my feet, though. Maneuvering around ferns and jagged roots and trees felt simple in the darkness, although part of that was because of Machi. I was glad I'd chosen to go with her and Shizuku.

Unorganized flashes of running through this very same forest through tear-filled eyes and hardly a will to continue replayed in my mind. The familiarity felt uncomfortable, unsettling, reminding me of a darkness I wished I could forget about. However, it wasn't disabling—it was just that same regretfulness I'd identified before. I utterly despised the fact that my life was stolen away from me as a helpless child, that I was forced to endure an egregious existence, to say the least. It filled me with anger, and sadness.

That crushing, weighty sadness seemed to rest over me as we ran. Of course, it fueled my desire to continue with this mission, and I desperately wanted to find those at fault—I didn't care about justice, though; I didn't care about morality and equal punishment. I didn't believe in those things. Because how could I ever get my life back? How could I ever return to little (Y/n) and tell her she was okay? That she was safe? That no one would hurt her anymore? The inherent sensation of a miserable nostalgia continued to stifle any other thoughts I had. My eyes pricked.

Don't cry. Stop it.

Surprisingly, my breathing was still under control. The indescribable pain in my heart hadn't hindered me yet. And perhaps I was glad for it, thankful even—I felt driven by an apathetic revenge, and through the turbulence, the unending battle of my thoughts, my goal was what I was focused on. My mind felt violent and unforgiving; I couldn't decide between sadness and anger. But I knew that whoever I first laid my hands on would certainly wish for death—I wanted to feel shattered bones and hear guttural screams from the man who'd tormented me for so long.

As we continued on, the sight of a few flickering lights beyond the tree line made my heart rate spike, and I felt a hazy memory resurface. It made my skin crawl and my stomach feel uneasy.

Thud. Stinging. Why is my leg stinging? I can't be too loud.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Run. Run. I think I cut my leg on the window sill. Stay behind the houses—did I bring bandages? Does that matter right now? Shit, did they hear me?

Tears. My face feels swollen. Is that a tree? Ow, what the fucking hell?! My legs are so scraped up and shaky and how the fuck am I even standing right now but they keep carrying me further. I just want to sit down and scream and cry and no sound is coming out of my mouth—I can't breathe. Maybe I'll find something I can stab myself with, or something I can slit my wrists with.

I could kill myself and be done with this. I could kill myself. I could.

My eyes blurred, but I blinked furiously, refusing to cry. Everything felt too real, too current, too present, and yet I felt as though I was watching myself, my past self, from a third person's point of view, and the despair on her face was heartbreaking. In my mind, I knew the memories were mine, but they seemed so distant, as if they were owned by somebody else I wished to avenge. She was a scared girl, a hopeless girl—I wanted to put her at ease, to finally soothe the edge off of the flashbacks and the pain.

Machi's stride slowed. I could still barely see anything, besides a few illuminated squares beyond the trees, which I assumed were windows. I couldn't make out the size of the buildings or the shapes of them quite yet—I also had no idea where Shizuku had gone.

Running turned to walking and then walking turned to slowly moving. My hand tightened around Machi's—we were maybe two trees away from the backside of one of the brick houses. But I knew we weren't close enough to his home yet, even though they all looked about the same, all an ugly, dirty red stone to build a simple colonial style house. It would fool any passerby into automatically assuming that these people were simply hill jacks or country men; it kept any attractions away from the area. My chest felt tight and my limbs were tense as we carefully stepped over a few jagged bushes and ferns, making our way past one of the first homes and crouching lower as the light from a street lamp eerily exposed our surroundings further.