The Stalker
My vision is doubling, and I can’t make out what's in front of me anymore. The room spins at an uncontrollable rate; I stumble and fall to the ground. My lungs are screaming for air that should be so easy to reach, but I can't muster the strength to breathe it in.
Reporter:
Breaking News
A family was found stabbed to death in the Brighton area.
A woman by the name of Staphanie Gray and a man by the name of Martin Gray, were brutally mutilated.
Their son, Axel Gray, was found in the home, unharmed.
An active investigation is issued. Detectives are ruling out foul play, with a potential suspect at large.
We do not have a description at this time.
Thirteen-year-old, Axel Gray is being questioned.
If anyone knows any information, please contact your local authorities.
“I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I scream. My hands and knees are planted on the ground. I blink, but my vision doesn’t clear. It only gets worse. My lungs sting. My head pounds in an ache behind my eyes.
“Oh my god, Axel? Axel, are you okay?” A voice in the distance shouts. The thought of not knowing the person in my home should have unsettled me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
The person rushes over. I see their figure kneeling in front of me. Soft hands grab my face, my body takes action on its own, and melts into them. They place my head on their lap as I fully collapse onto the floor.
My vision is still impaired, but I don’t have to see to know who this is. I clutch onto the denim that's hugging her, waiting for this wave of hell to wash over. Her small hand brush through my long black hair.
“You’re okay, you're okay. Tell me what's causing these episodes for you, Axel. Please talk me through it,” she says. The last thing I want is to keep reliving the memories, but I know if I don’t talk about it now, I may not get another chance.
“I–I see them. They are lying there,” I say breathlessly. My grip tightens, causing her jeans to crinkle. I feel her hand pause momentarily before she continues her soothing touch.
“Who are you seeing, Axel? What's happening in your mind right now?”
“My parents. They’re dead. Blood everywhere. Blood all over the floor. Blood all over my hands.”
Panic sinks in once again. My chest constricts, causing pain to circulate all over. I try to push myself up. My body needs to be anywhere but on the floor right now. My body wants to be anything but still.
Instead, Dahlia holds me in place. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hold, keeping me from wreaking havoc on myself, knowing probably for the best.
“Do you know what happened? Can you remember for me?” she asks.
“They deserved it. They deserved it. They deserved it,” I repeat, unable to say the words that are clawing at their escape. Fuck. I tried so hard to leave all this in the past. It's been twenty years. Twenty fucking years since I unchained myself from that prison.
The shackles still remain in my mind, playing a sick reminder in the back of my compartmentalized brain. Taunting me, never letting me forget what I endured, and never letting me forget what I’ve done.
Being unable to control myself puts me in a constant pissed-off mood. It makes me feel fucking weak, fucking useless. The exact same way when I wasn’t in control back then.
That day felt liberating at first. I felt free. At thirteen years old, freedom was the only feeling I was chasing. I was tired. Tired of the abuse, tired of the damage my parents had inflicted on me. I finally had enough.
Freedom can be interpreted in many ways, but for me, it didn’t matter the consequences. It didn't matter what came after. As long as they were gone. At thirteen, I took back my life.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through what you did, Axel.
You are strong. You protected yourself the best way you knew how.
You did nothing wrong. You hear me? You did nothing wrong.
And I need you to know that,” My Little Flower insists.
The words strike me deep within. Straight through a crack etched on my black heart.
And for the first time in a long time, I break.