Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
Trigger Warning: references to and discussions of abuse.
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"But he promised he was done! And I love him. Debbie, you don't understand how much I love him." I let a few tears fall down my cheeks as my face dropped into my hands, shoulders raking with sobs that didn't truly exist. I knew the lies victims of abuse told themselves all too well. Seeing it first hand, believing it first hand, repeating the lies to myself first hand while icing a new black eye. This was something I was familiar with.
A hand patted my shoulder, and it took everything I had not to flip the person attached to it. "Aw, Mandy, sweetie. You can't do this to yourself. You are here because you know there's a problem. That's the first step, darlin'." My skin crawled under her- supposed to be- comforting touch. I didn't want to be here. I didn't need to be here. Everything in my body screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stay there.
We were in the basement of a church, a circle of us. Some were getting over the abuse, others- like my current identity, Mandy Carter- were just now seeking help. The walls were covered in wooden panels and pictures of angels, or Jesus. It seemed like a normal church. Enough so that I could almost pretend this was a safe place. Full of people truly wanting to help others rather than psychopathic murdering witches that sacrifice their victims eyeballs.
Yeah. That sounds way worse out loud.
Wiping my eyes and smoothing out my pink skirt, I nodded. "I know. I know Anthony doesn't mean to, but I bring it on myself. I must because-"
"No." The voice was cold, calculating, and came from the only woman not sitting in the circle with the rest of us. She hadn't spoken the entire meeting. Instead, she had stood in the corner, staring at a single angel painting for almost an hour. "No, do not blame yourselves. You are not to blame." She turned with a smile, allowing us to see her whole face for the first time, and I couldn't stop the gasp that escaped from my lips. A long scar ran from one end of her face to the other, straight through her eye, marring her otherwise attractive features. The eye was foggy, blinded, and set me on edge. There was no way she could have seen out of it, but my gut told me otherwise.
She was what we were looking for.
"Ladies," Debbie said breathlessly, gesturing to the woman, "this is Leaza. She has been in our shoes, and she is here to help! Now, if you are serious about solving your problems, please follow her into the next room." It was obvious how in awe Debbie was of this Leaza woman; my bad feeling only grew. Most of the women simply stared, questioning glances flying all around. Only four of the seven were newcomers, myself included, and of the four, only two stood up to follow, the other promptly walking from the church basement as quickly as possible. I, however, sat- watching them all with my forced tears still dampening my lashes.
