Chapter 22

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 My worst enemy is memory. 

Chapter 22

 Greg's mouth was now at my ear, his breath tickling me slightly.

"Rose," He starts with the same velvet voice. 

"I think I've gone mad." 

Hunter, I whisper one last time. 

*        *        *

I never did believe in hope.

Desires can always be ignored, and feelings don't always exist. And that's just what hope is. A feeling of expectation and a desire for something to happen. 

Sometimes giving up is easier. No, it's always easier. 

If to hope is to risk despair, then what do you call someone with no hope at all? 

When you hope, you expect, and when you expect too much, you'll only be disappointed in the end. 

I've thought this my whole entire life. Up until now. 

When my mind frantically screamed for Hunter, his name even escaped my lips. 

It was then that Greg finally stopped moving wildly. 

For just a split of a second, I allowed myself to hope. To hope that I would be saved. To hope that things can get better. That maybe, just maybe, I'll survive the what's coming ahead. 

If I thought Greg was acting weird before, he expanded my expectations when he tugged my body towards him. I couldn't even push myself away as he wrapped both his arms around be, squeezing tight. 

If you ignored the tight grip he had, you would see it as an innocent hug. Although, I wasn't hugging back. 

In the most desolated voice, Greg spoke out, "It's my fault they're dead." 

"W-what do you mean it's your fault? You killed them, didn't you?" If it was possible, Greg's grip got tighter. 

"Didn't you?" I urged on. I need to hear it from him. 

Greg stepped away, but left one hand on each of my shoulders. 

"That day in the library.." He started, his eyes intensely staring into me. 

I waited for him to say more, but he never did.

"I even have this," Greg chuckled humorously as he stomped towards a bag leaning against my bed. I didn't even realize that was there.

"G-Greg, what are you doing?" 

The light from the window reflects right on the tainted knife in his hands. 

"Look," he demands, bringing the knife closer to me.

"What are you doing with that, Greg?" 

For once, my legs knew exactly what to do; run. 

I run to the door, my hand on the handle in seconds. Nothing.

Despair. Once again, I'm left disappointed. Hope is useless. Hope is deadly. Hope doesn't exist. 

The door wouldn't budge. 

"How did you-?" Turning back around, I expected Greg to be standing exactly where he was moments before. 

Stupid of me to really think of such a thing. Rather than what I imagined, Greg was right there, an inch away. As I turned, I almost bumped into him. The knife in his hand not being unforgotten. 

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