BULLETS ˎˊ˗

love?

More often than not, Rebecca worried that she'd lose her softness with the world creating so many injustices that filled her with rage.

He had been absent at her cost and it left a funny, unsatisfied feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Pools of maroon she constantly envisioned, always angry and no longer happy about the little things in life that used to keep her afloat, level-headed when everyone else around her was losing it to ambition and destruction.

A bad day did not mean a bad life, but now the things that used to make her cry just cause for her hands to shake with burning desire.

The burning desire to unleash the demons, for her fists to end up bruised and blood-stained.

The moment in which Becky Lynch weighed the raging battle between the tumultuous demons inside her that crave for bad things, and the angels that cry, helplessly set on fire as they continue fighting (relentless till death) ; Rebecca extinguished the flames that caught inside her heaven as she took a large chug from the first bottle her hands reached for —

rum.

For once, the angels have lost and the demons are liberated from the incarceration that is her mind. Void of all morality and values, the bottle of rum becomes her deadly companion for the night.

Losing touch of all sense, the Irish Lass even stirred a commotion as a young bartender accidentally bumped into her. Taking no apologies, Becky's purity was completely obsolete when she mercilessly dumped the rum over the innocent bartender, placing her now empty bottle on his platter and then taking the new bottle, —

tequila.

Everyone watched in horror, but no one did a thing and that's how the demons gain confidence — taking over and striking anarchy.

The hours passed by and as the night grew darker, the more twisted and sinister did the demons become.

Hosted to her bones, Becky drunkenly picked fights. In a night where anything goes, sometimes she wins, and sometimes there's blood.

When security finally gets a hold of the Irish Lass, it takes nearly a small party of well-built men to throw Lynch out, all taking quite the beating before they finally manage to push her body out the exit doors.

Enraged, Rebecca pounded her fists against the metal doors until her knuckles ached, turning black and blue.

Each foot step that she took closer to her car came with more remorse, a strange feeling leaving her paralyzed as she reached her vehicle—

clarity.

Her hands frantically came to her face, the remaining angels in her mind condemning her to shame and guilt as the magic of alcohol then wore off and left her with the ugly recollection of what she became, a monster.

Too humiliated to walk back into the bar for a sincere apology, Rebecca gathered that even through tears, no one would forgive her.

Yet, if she were them, she would forgive them. She would forgive them and that alone striked her as sad.

All her life, Rebecca's forgiven but never been excused of her own mistakes. Owning up to her errors and taking sole blame, everything's always been her fault.

Always helping out, behind they left her. She never got a helping hand because she was a helper, and that meant picking her own damn self off of the ground.