Unrequited Circumstances-Resident Evil Vendetta

Chapter 7

This was your house. Your old house, the one with your parents you had left behind.

It became hard to swallow due to your throat tightening uncomfortably, your palms growing sweaty within your closed trembling fists.

"Why are we here?" You asked slowly, seeing him stare at the same door for a few moments. He turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition before opening his door. "Stay behind me." He stepped out, his black trench coat protecting him from the uneven droplets of rain outside. You stepped outside slowly, your hands slipping into your jacket pockets as you ran around the car, hearing your heart pound louder than the rain drops on your shoulders.

You watched him approach the door, you following with even slower steps than him. He seemed to stand there, as if waiting for you to join his side before proceeding his next actions.

His hand met the knob, turning it as if to see if it was locked. Surprisingly, it wasn't. The screechy door opened, the stench of liquor and cigarette smoke hitting you in the face, colliding with the scent of fresh rain.

The living room was dark, but you immediately knew where everything was. It used to be your home after all, and surprisingly, nothing was moved since you had left it.

The corduroy army green couch remained a few feet away from the old TV, holding a few rips and stains from beer or cigarette ashes. The small coffee table was covered in various trash items like takeout containers and empty bottles, the only pleasant looking item being a navy blue ash tray almost filled to the brim.

The sound of Wesker's heavy boots against the wood floor was surprisingly loud, you were surprised they hadn't woken up your parents by now. It made you wonder if they were even home, or were that drunk.

"Where's your room?"

"I didn't have one." You replied, hesitant to speak any louder than a loud whisper.

"Where did you sleep?"

"Here." You looked to the old couch, not having the guts to even run your fingers on the edge. You recalled waking up before your parents some early mornings, watching the sun peak through the dirty curtains and light up the smoke stained walls. Your only comfort had been the silence.

"Where do your parents sleep?" He asked.

"Over in the bedroom." You looked over to the dark hallway, past the small entry way to the dirty kitchen.

Wesker then took the lead, walking as if he was well familiar to the place. You had no choice but to follow him, feeling more anxious the closer you got to your parent's bedroom.

The moment you watched him push the unclosed door open and enter inside, you had to force yourself to stop at the doorway, staring at the bed where you parents laid asleep, the room lit up by a small lamp on the bedside table that someone forgot to turn off.

Your anxiety picked up more than you ever expected it to be, fearing the worst to happen once you stepped into the room. The last time you left here, you were a young little girl desperate for an escape and a better life than your parents had ever given you.

Now, here you were with Wesker a few years older, the way you had lived now twice as better as before you had left, now you were in fear for your life that Wesker had brought you back to your parents to be raised by them once again.

That was the last thing you wanted.

Wesker stood at the foot of your parent's bed, eyeing their sleeping forms with a mixture of intrigue and disgust. You appeared to have your mother's hair, seeing the way it was sprawled awkwardly along her pillow, and you also shared your father's ethnicity.

These were the parents of the girl he was now responsible for. Without them, your genetics would've never given him the holy grail that is your miracle blood, which was the only reason Wesker was truly thankful for. If they had never been lost in their drunken stupors to conceive you and bring you into the world, he would've cared less for them now.

But that was the thing, as much as he hated people, he seemed to hate these two even more. Parents who lose their children would never sleep soundly until they were found, and here these two are sleeping like newborn babies, with or without their daughter safe and sound.

"(Y/N)." He called your name, forcing you to swallow your fears and step through the doorway, slowly approaching his side.

You dreaded hearing what he had to say next, forcing yourself to stare at your parents, fearing for the worst.

"Take this." You looked over, your eyes widening in surprise to see Wesker pull out his dark handgun from his holster, handing it over to you.

You looked up at him in surprise, seeing his gaze never leave their sleeping forms.

You took the gun slowly, your fingers brushing against the warm material of his leather gloved hand. It felt surprisingly heavy in your trembling fingers, your mind filled with confusion.

"What do I do with it?" You asked slowly, staring at the weapon down in your hand. It wasn't the first time you handled a gun, you trained with Wesker on how to properly use one, but in this case, you wondered why he gave it to you.

"You," he began, "Are going to kill your parents."

He eyed your shocked gaze, turning his head to stare at you. "You hold hate inside of you for them, do you not?"

You nodded your head slowly.

"Does it anger you knowing that the people who caused you so much pain and suffering still live and breathe the same air as you do?"

You looked down at the gun, thinking of his words, and how much truth they held in it. Still, you've never killed someone before, and he's put a gun in your hands.

Albert Wesker himself, your brutal mentor, your stern father figure, placed a gun in your hands, realizing that you now had the role of a god in your own two hands. To take someone's life because they had done you wrong.

"Is it right?" You couldn't help but ask, your soft spoken question forcing his lip to curl slightly in amusement.

"You have the right to get revenge on those who have done you wrong. Killing, (Y/N), is purely satisfaction to not only your mind, but also your soul." He looked back to your parents, hearing their constant snores unaffected by his banter, "To take a life is to take power, to say the final word on a battle you know you've won. You want that satisfaction, which is why I put it in your hands to take."

You looked to your parents, finding your body moving before you could mentally process it. You walked behind Wesker, approaching your parents slowly at the head of the bed, being greeted by their sleeping faces.

You fixed your grip on the gun, your finger hooking on the trigger slowly. Your past lessons replayed in your mind, but you found it difficult to actually follow them.

These are your parents, they're the reason you walk on this Earth as you speak. However, that was the only logical reason that ran through your mind as countless other reasons began to combat against it, winning the war in your head.

They were the reason your childhood had been a living hell. They beat you, they tortured you, they were everything a proper parent never was to you. If you were to kill them now, it would let you know that you had the final word in this situation, that you weren't a little kid to be beaten on any longer.

"Forgetting your past will only make your mind weak," Wesker spoke, approaching your side at the head of the bed, his hands behind his back, "In order to move forward you must eliminate past burdens. Trust me (Y/N), two bullets will do."

Two bullets. You thought, taking a deep breath as you lifted the gun, feeling your stomach begin to churn as you proceeded to aim at your mother first, your finger clutching the trigger hard.