Tribulation [h.s]

13

"Test me, baby I know you're scared
Trust me, baby, but be prepared"

-

The world is ugly, and if it wasn't apparent already, I fucking hate it.

It lies to us with facades of beauty and fake people who pretend to be some of the few good ones left. The reality of it is, there aren't any good ones left. Those are the people who leave first. Those are the people who develop the deepest scars and become their own nightmares, jaded and bruised by the realities of this broken world.

This world is filled with chaos and deceit.

The guilt of having contributed to that follows me everywhere.

I've tried the pills, I've done the therapy, and at one point, I even became best friends with the bottle. It never mattered because nothing could fix me. It doesn't matter what I do or how far I run. Guilt is a parasite. It's taken over, and it won't let me go.

I've spent years trying to make amends and atone for the horrible things I've done, but nothing matters anymore; everything I've done up until this moment doesn't mean shit.

I'm back at square one, fighting for my life. I won't ever be the person I want to be, and maybe it's time I accept that.

So, when Harry raises his gun and puts a bullet through two cops' heads, the world goes static. How did I get here again? Oh, that's right— Harry dragged me all the way outside through the back door. He said no, I couldn't help him. He made it very clear he was going to kill me.

I should be worried about that, but seeing blood pool around the heads of the two dead cops, my world stops spinning. This is my fault. I killed them.

All I've ever wanted was to save people, but, as it turns out, I'm pretty good at getting them killed instead.

"Y-you killed them-" and the next thing I know is that the gun is pointed to my head now.

"Yeah," he rasps. "I did." Does he not feel anything? No remorse, no guilt, no shame? Nothing?

I hate him. I fucking hate him.

With the gun still pointed to my head, he digs in his pocket with his free hand and pulls out a flip phone. After a few rings, he stares directly at me says, "Cleaners. 12th street, downtown." He drops the phone to the ground before stomping on it, crushing it into a thousand pieces. He adverts his attention back to me.

This is it.

"Please," my desperation makes my eyes burn. I'm begging with every piece of me. "My sister needs me, please. She's just a little girl, and I promised I'd never leave her-" the gun clicks, he pulls down the lever. My mouth goes dry.

"Promises are meant to be broken," he drawls out slowly. That's twisted logic, and it's almost sad and pathetic that he thinks that.

I shake my head, and I don't care that I start crying before him. "Please..." my voice breaks, and my lip quivers. "She has no one else. She needs me." Trust me, Harry. If it weren't for my sister, I would have put a bullet in my head long before I even met you. I just can't leave her behind in a world like this—a world so broken.

"Yeah," he nods slowly. "I know that. Unfortunate how your parents died." He smirks for a second before he continues. "Mom was murdered, and dad died of cancer. How fucking sad." He snarls with a curl of his lip and adjusts the gun in his grip.

I'm so sorry, Maggie.

A hiccup tumbles past my trembling lips. There's nothing I can do. Usually, having no control would drive me mad and bring me close, I swear, to the point of insanity. Being powerless usually brings an onslaught of wild, crazed emotions from the deepest parts of me but-

What am I to do? He's the one with the gun. He's the one who just killed two cops with a deranged grin on his face.

You know, after everything I've done, I shouldn't be surprised that this is how it ends for me—with a gun to my head.

It's almost poetic.

So, I breathe in and let out one long exhale. It feels like the world stills when I close my eyes. Eventually, my wild heart rate slightly begins to slow. Was this me accepting my death in a wet, dirty alley in New York?

Yeah, it was because I know all too well how things like this end.

Julie will take care of her, right? When that question pressed to the forefront of my mind, behind closed eyes, I saw flashes of memories of all of the times I stood back to watch the two of them playing with big smiles. Their unblemished laughter rings in my ears too, and it feels like sunshine washes over me entirely, consuming me.

Yeah... Julie will take care of her; I know it.

I still hate that I'm leaving her behind, my sweet baby sister, but there's also a selfish part of me, one that's finally happy.

Maybe now, I'll finally be free.

In a few seconds, I'll be brain dead. As far as I know, there are no pain receptors in the brain; it should be painless, right? When I hit the ground, I won't feel it. It'll be lights out—my brain will be damaged beyond repair. The rest of my organs will follow a short while after.

And that is where freedom lies. It's waiting for me.

After moments and moments of nothing but gut-wrenching anticipation, nothing comes. I'm still breathing. I'm still standing in a dark alley with two dead cops and a gun to my head.

I open my eyes, tears blurring my vision. "Wha-"

"Shit," Harry hisses. His hand that's holding the gun lowers. He shoves it in his back pocket and anxiously runs a hand through his long hair. His eyes find mine and, fuck.

He's pissed.

"Get up." He says, voice strained. "Get. Up."

I struggle, but I manage to stand, my knees buckling. "If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it." I'm tired. I'm fucking tired, so if he's going to do this, he needs to hurry the hell up. I'm over whatever game he's playing.

Set me free, baby.

He pulls out his keys from his pocket and looks over at me. I thought Harry was terrifying before, but nothing compares to how he's looking at me now; eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, lips set in a hard line. Unblemished rage fills the green of his eyes, and it seems as if he's fighting an urge to kill me, to release that uncontrollable rage inside of him. I shrink back.

"Let's go."

Wait, what the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

I blink a few times, trying to process whatever the hell is happening. Is he fucking with me? "I-" I shake my head and collect my thoughts before speaking again. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Shut up," he growls through gritted teeth. "For once, just shut the fuck up and listen to me." He huffs, frustrated. "You're going to come with me if you want to live."

Wasn't he just going to kill me a second ago? "N-No-"

"Listen, darling, I understand it's been a long night, but I don't think you'll want to be here when the cleaners arrive. They're not always the friendliest."

He's toying with me, isn't he? Swallowing and wiping away my tears, a bit frustrated, I snicker. "Yeah, well, I'd rather go with them than you."

He stares at me for a moment before chuckling. He shakes his head, his voice much lower this time. "They don't like being seen, Rosaline." He snarls. "They have a no witness protocol, and the last time I checked, you aren't a high-ranked affiliated personal. So, you're gonna come with me unless you'd like to be dipped in sodium hydroxide. Alive."

And for a moment, I almost laugh.

If only he knew.