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It's still a mystery how I ended up in Lilydale. I know all the fucking bullshit they try to spew about this place.
Rehabilitation center, my ass.
People talk. It's a natural instinct. They want to be liked, they want to be loved. They blurt out every piece of intimate detail, desperate for their flaws to be accepted. And Avery is no exception.
The moment I arrived in this place, people were talking about their backstories—painting themselves as victims. They all had an excuse—mental illness, self-defense. It was because of those pathetic human emotions that they were placed here.
I have none of that. I don't have a mental illness. These men didn't try to harm me. I wasn't defending myself or trying to protect anyone.
Simply put… they stole from me. And I made them pay.
I guess you could say if anything, I've had anger issues all my life. But rightfully so because people are fucking cunts.
I have no patience for any of them. I don't have time to give pity, hold hands while someone cries about life. We all have problems—take a spoonful of cement and harden the fuck up.
"Did they really deserve it?" I ask her darkly. "Put the personal attachment aside and ask yourself again."
Avery pauses, hesitating. "They bullied her…" she says slowly.
"They did," I acknowledge. "But at the end of the day, she made that decision. They didn't hold the gun to her head. They didn't pull the trigger. She did. So, I ask you again… am I innocent?"
"No," Avery answers, surprising me. "I guess not. But, put yourself in my shoes. My father abused me. He had his friends rape me, he used me like currency. I have scars all over my body, inside and out because of him. He did the same thing… he forced my mother to leave this place, making her take her own life. Did he deserve it?"
"Yes," I growl back. "He deserved to fucking die."
She nods. "So I'm not innocent either."
I smirk at her, completely amused by her comparison. She thinks we're the same. It's…adorable.
"We're not the same, Avery. Don't act stupid. You didn't mean to kill your father. While he absolutely deserved every bit of suffering, you didn't do it on purpose. I, on the other hand,willingly and proudly murdered those men. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
"I thought you said you had killed a man—singular," she points out.
Laughing, I shoot her an incredulous look. "I did. Thenanother."
Avery lets out a disappointed sigh, and for a moment, an unfamiliar feeling sweeps through me. She looks away, picking at the skin on her knee with the hand that's not holding onto me.
"I thought about it," she whispers. "I nearly bought a gun."
I stare at her in silence, watching as she rambles quietly. I know it's aimed at me, but there's a hollowness to her voice that makes her sound like she's in a trance.
"A gun?"
She nods. "Things got really bad after my fifteenth birthday. He stabbed me, and it was shortly after that when I was raped multiple times. It was so bad."
Rage—blinding rage—rears its head but before I can speak, she cuts me off, still muttering away like she can't stop it.
"I always wanted a family one day. My best friend and I used to dream about getting away from our shitty families. We'd always say that we'd break the generational curse, have our own families and give our children everything we never had."
My eyebrows furrow, wondering where she's going with this information. It's concerning me—it's like she's becoming a shell of her usual self right before my eyes.
The light has vanished from her face, despite it being there only a few minutes ago. Even though it's dark in the aisle, the light largely blocked out by the shelves and curtains, I notice her skin appears more pale—grayish even. The post-fucking flush that had tinted her skin pink is gone, and it scares me. It feels like she could sink into the floor and vanish at any second.
"You wanted love," I state confidently, watching as she nods slowly.
"Yeah. I'm not stupid. I knew from an early age that my home life wasn't normal. Looking at other kids at school, they were so happy. Their parents never missed a recital or school meeting. They bought them supplies and prom outfits. Hell, even the varsity kids had their families go to football games and shit. It was like I was standing inside a glass box, watching the world around me. I was trapped, but I could see the normal world passing by, while no one looked into the box and noticed that mine wasn't the same."
The thought of Avery feeling invisible makes me angrier. The whole system has failed her—from start to end. I ended up here because of my own doings, but she didn't. If one person—just one fucking person—had taken the time to stop and really look, they could have saved her. Someone could have intervened, rescued her—fuck, even put her into the foster care system. She would have been better off.
