A wave of frustration washed over me, a bitter cocktail of regret, fear, and a burning sense of injustice. Maybe it was the gravity of my situation, the cold realization that I had sold my soul just to keep breathing. Maybe it was the ghosts of my past, brought back to life by the horrors of the last night. Whatever the reason, my frustration was a hot, simmering rage.
I was trapped in this hell for the rest of my life… I think. That is, if I even get to live for another day, or month, or year. Is it so strange that a day ago, I would have begged for my life, yet now, I was beginning to think death would have been the better option? The life I chose came at a price—a morally corrupt choice. Does that make me a bad person? Yes, it does. Undeniably. Unmistakably.
What am I supposed to do n
