I don’t realize that tears are streaming down my face, nor do I notice Richie rushing into the room until I feel his hands gripping me, pulling me back, and wrenching the gun from my fingers. His expression is a mix of anger and concern as he shouts something at me, but I can’t make out his words; all I can think about is the horrifying fact that I aimed the gun at Charles. I turn my head slightly and catch a glimpse of Charles on the floor, moving just enough to show that I haven’t killed him.
At that moment, memories flood back—memories of me screaming in agony, begging him to stop as he continues to hurt me, taking away a part of my soul in the process. A surge of rage courses through my veins, igniting a fire that pushes me to shove Richie aside. I lunge towards Charles, my mind consu
