AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I'd cherry picked instances from my past so I could convince myself that I was nothing but a pitiful victim, abandoned by everyone and at everyone's mercy.
When in fact…
My breath catches in my throat as hopelessness fills every pore of my body.
Maybe I'd been a victim in the beginning. But if what I've seen so far of the past is any indication, I'd quickly grown out of that role.
And if what I think is right, then…
Ihad been the nightmare.
But that can't be. No, I refuse to believe that.
I have the physical scars and mental anguish to prove it.
How could I have been the perpetrator? Me, the small girl who can't fight, wield a sword, or shoot a gun? Me, who gets scared and traumatized at the sound of violence.
How?
I keep trying to convince myself that my initial assessment of the situation is correct—that I'd been a pawn in my family's game and I'd ultimately ended up as Sergio's punchbag. There's nothing more and nothing less to it.
How do you explain the people you killed then? Or the fire?
My inner voice won't shut up, and I'm afraid it's my guilty conscience peeking through the protective layers I'd set in place.
Yet there are simple answers, right? In those instances, it had been either me, or them. I'd simply fought my way towards survival.
I'd killed that woman in self-defense, and to be perfectly frank, by sheer luck. The little I can remember of that scene paints the situation clearly—I'd been in well over my head and I'd done my best to keep my life intact.
Fernando's death, while more poignant because I'd intentionally aimed to kill, had still been an accident. It would have never occurred if he hadn't tried to assault me.
The fire, too, I am sure has a similar explanation. I refuse to believe I am capable of cold, calculated murder.
"It's ok. Everything is ok," I breathe out, stretching my limbs as I pace around the room. "That's not me," I tell myself in an attempt to persuade my own damn self.
This is pure torture.
The more time I spend here, alone, between four darkened walls, the more chances I have of going insane.
My thoughts won't quiet down, and the doubts are eating at me.
Logically, I tell myself that everything I had done had been because I'd been backed into a corner. I'd been forced to kill to survive. It's as simple as that.
Yet it's not, is it?
I don't know how to trust my own memories anymore. I don't know what's true and what's not. And I certainly no longer know who I am or what I'm capable of.
If only I'd have all the facts in front of me…
But that is a moot point. I'm the only one who survived the fire at thehaciendaand as such, I'm the only one who can attest to what really happened—whether I was a murderous maniac or not.
What's even more discouraging is that Raf was counting onmeto tell him the truth of what happened with Lucero.
The person who killed her.
Sick laughter accumulates in my throat, waiting to be released.
I'm such a hypocrite that I can barely help myself from having a fit of hysterics. I may tell myself that I left primarily because Raf called me by her nickname, but deep down I know.
