"Stomp the halls because the bathroom walls have got a lot to say about the lives you're putting down."

-Gerard Way (From My Chemical Romance)

This quote personally is so true that every time I hear it, I can't help but to remember how lyrically genius Gerard Way can be sometimes. This is from his song "Boy Division" from the ablum 'Convential Weapons'.

@youngwriter

My eyes glare daggers at the enemy. In this moment, I can’t help but to stare into the shared eye color between us. Hazel eyes that my partner has described as a trail down a cold set of woods that leads her to a safely guarded cabin where she can rest in squishy armchairs and drink warm hot coco by a fire. The same hazel is reflected from me onto her and then back to me. An endless loop, like mirrors in a fun house. She glares back.

My hand rises and hangs softly in the air as my mind replays everything this enemy has done to me. She’s created distance from passion, love, happiness, family, friends, and partners. She reminds me of everything I’m not. She reminds me of everything I couldn’t do. Everyone I couldn’t keep. My flaws consume me when I stare into those hazel eyes. Her hand rises and presses back against mine.

I hate her because I know her inside and out. I hate her because I’m insecure. I hate her for all of the past she’s destroyed. I hate her for all of the mental torment she puts herself through. I hate her because she can’t control herself. I hate her because she’s incapable of achieving her standards. I hate her because her standards are too high. I hate her because she does everything she hates just to keep people around her. I hate her because she can’t make anyone stay. I hate her because everyone else’s opinion means the world to her. I hate her because she lets people use her. I hate her because she’s too dumb. She’s too fat. She’s too sensitive. She’s too naïve. She’s too desperate. She’s too cowardly. She’s too easy to take control of. She’s worthless. She’s never enough. She’s a burden. She’s lifeless. She’s reckless. She can’t take compliments. I hate her because she can’t provide for those she cares for. I hate her because the only emotion she feels is depression. I hate her because she shuts down and becomes unresponsive. I hate her because she can’t move beyond her problems. I hate her because she keeps herself awake at night crying over regrets.

I bow my head but no tears come because I have too much to do when I leave this room. I rather not make anyone’s life more unbearable with pretending they’re obligated to comfort me. I used to cry about her, but now I’m only resigned. Now I’ve learned to smile again and play along as if she’s not a part of my life. Some days it’s as simple as turning my back on the mirror until she disappears. Today won’t be one of those days but I leave my room anyway.

I hate her because I am her.

Wind whistled through the cracks of the old building. The bare light bulb above swung softly back and forth on its cord. It flickered once, and for a moment, I thought it would burn out and leave me alone in a pitch-black room with him, but then it stabilized itself once more.

“Honestly, just go.” I said. My voice was noticeable hostile, but most of the rough edge in it came from the surging pain still shooting up my leg.

“And just what do you hope to accomplish if I leave?” He questioned slabbing orange putty into one of the larger cracks around the door. Another violent wind creaked against the walls, and brought in flurries of the blizzard outside. I shuttered pulling the covers closer to me.

“Don’t act like a savior.” I replied evenly. “You’re not a hero. Don’t act like fixing my leg and staying by my side magically makes up for everything. It’s out of obligation that you won’t leave right now, and nothing more.”

There was no reply. I watched him mechanically apply more putty to the walls and smooth it out with a putty knife. Though I knew he was wearing less layers than I was, my teeth chattering was the only other thing heard besides the wind outside. “Shield your chest, and stop blowing hot air on your hands. You can lose a finger and survive.” He said finally.

“I know.” I snapped, but I complied all the same. He finished scrapping the last bit of putty into a crack and then set the half-used jar and knife on the table. His thick boots crunched against the layer of ice built up on the floor. I leaned my head against the wall behind me and closed my eyes a moment. The sound of Saul digging through the million drawers of the room blended almost in perfect sync with the raging storm outside. Now that the holes were sealed, the whistling of the winds had dampened dramatically, but the ceiling stilled creaked with each shift outside. 

The air was frigid and while so many had told me they kept schools cold to keep students awake, I was beyond exhausted in their weather. Or maybe it wasn’t the weather. Maybe it was the travels, or the effort it took walking on broken bones, or maybe it was the lack of food and water. No matter the cause, I could only silently curse at my principals for making school more miserable than it had to be. I realized it was a pointless fact to think about at the time, but it was the one that distracted me from the scenario around me.

“What obligation?” Saul’s voice sent a jolt through my systems like an electric shock, and my eyes snapped open. He’d somehow moved from the drawers to the center of the floor surrounded by parts of the broken space heater. I must’ve dozed off a moment because my mind was far to foggy to understand what he was talking about.

“What?” I asked groggily.

“You said I’m only staying out of obligation. I asked you to explain what obligation you think I’m staying for.” He said calmly. His voice naturally sounded calm and firm, but currently he sounded something more. There was a different vibe about the way he was speaking or sitting. He seemed almost rational.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m your daughter. You’re staying out of the obligation to actually earn the title father. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.” He replied.

I scoffed. “I don’t want to hear it. Just leave already. While you may not have been born with a conscious, I was, and so despite my hatred, I don’t want your death on my hands.”

He went silent again. His face was concentrated on the small part and screwdriver in his hand.

“You know, you don’t have to say umm in your sentences to pretend you’re not stalling until you can think of something good.” I said closing my eyes once more. “It’s still obvious.”

“Is that something you’ve read in a text book then?” He asked. “Saying ‘um’ in a sentence seems like a very odd trait to give a psychopath.”

“But it’s very logical. You clearly already knew of that trait which is why you reframe from doing it and now you’re trying to gaslight me into believing my evidences isn’t factual because 'I’m the crazy one', right?”

“What does saying ‘um’ often in a sentence has to do with psychopaths?” He demanded, becoming frustrated because I was right.

It was stupid. He was baiting me into an argument so he could twist my words and make me appear incompetent on the subject. He wouldn’t argue his point first because he was excellent on not giving me fuel. He had to be the one with all of the answers and he couldn’t handle it when I saw right through his tricks. Still, despite knowing what he was doing, I couldn’t help falling right back into my old habits of defense.

“Psychopaths want to appear normal. They fake emotions, and charm others with a sense of safety. But to do that they have to make a good impression, don’t they? So, often a lot of them stumble with several ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’ to buy time. You want to make sure you’re phrasing it in the best way possible. You want to make sure what you’re saying will reap benefits for you.”

“So anyone who says ‘uh’ in their sentence is automatically a psychopath. Good logic.” He mocked. I felt heat rise to my cheeks a bit as I become flustered.

“No, didn’t you listen? I was saying that psychopaths have a tendency to say ‘uh’ and ‘um’ more than normal people every time they talk. But you know this already, don’t you? That’s why you get rid of all of the ‘uh’ and ’um’s together and just go quiet when you need an extra moment to rephrase things. Obviously there’s a lot of other traits you do as well.”

“Basically, you’re not allowed to think before you say something or you’re a psychopath?”

I huffed angrily. “Twist my words all you want, it’s still what you are.”

Then there was another round of silence. I peeked my eyes open to observe him. His dark face faltered a bit but he didn’t look away from his work. “I’m sorry.” He said. I scoffed. “I fall into old habits. Even with the artificial emotions… I just wish you could accept that I’m different now. I’ve gotten help.”

“Artificial emotions don’t change who you are. You’re still a sadist bastard. The only difference is someone’s implanted fake emotions so you can understand more. Still doesn’t make it real. The real you doesn’t feel that. The real you doesn’t sympathize with me in this moment and the real you never will.”

He grimaced a bit, my words obviously hitting an artificial nerve. Though I wondered if I were wrong for feeling the way I did, I wouldn’t take it back. After everything he’d done, I had every right to shoot him. Of course, I didn’t have a gun. I didn’t have anything on me. I was bundled in five layers of thick clothing to keep out the storm and Saul had made me a brace for my leg. That was all I had on me.

“They did more than that, you know…” He said.

“I’m glad.”

He went silent again and tried to finish tinkering with the part in his hand. He stuck it back into the space heater and suddenly it roared to life. It was shaking and rattling worse than the wind outside, but I could feel it’s power already. Heat began radiating from it. I pushed the blanket from me and attempted to move closer on my own. He sat there watching my struggles with a half glare and half amused look. Half of him felt sorry for me, and the other half was still pissed at my hostility. He partly felt like I deserved it and partly wished I’d allow him to help if he were to offer. But he didn’t offer because he knew I wouldn’t accept his help.

I grunted in frustration of trying to get to my feet without falling. The pressure on my leg brought immediate tears to my eyes, but I pushed myself forward until I could take a seat across from him at the table. The space heater sat in between us, but just enough to the left that we could still see each other. I glare down at the metal table cursing fate for placing me in this situation.

“We’re just staying here for tonight and then we’ll get going again tomorrow.” He said.

“I can’t walk.” I said through gritted teeth. “You can’t expect me to walk the rest of the way to safety.”

“Then you’ll starve.” He replied evenly. He was shivering, but tried to wear a façade as if the blizzard outside wasn’t a problem for him, just me.

“Then I’ll starve.” I agreed. “My leg was crushed under impact, Saul. People don’t just get up and walk that off. Most people go to a hospital and spend months recovering. But seeing as we’re in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard, most people die.”

“And I’m supposed to just accept that?” He raised his eyebrow.

“I supposed not. Leaving me to die would look terrible on your reputation. Because while you could always say I died and you couldn’t save me, you’d worry I’d be found or that I’d somehow make it on my own. That’s the obligation that keeps you.”

His eyes narrowed and I could see his actual emotions poking through, not just the ones the company had surgically placed in him. I was really getting to him. He’d always wanted a daughter. He’d always wished for someone completely under his control, but I was old enough to know now. I was educated enough to understand what he was and what he did. I’d been through too much therapy to fall into our old habits so easily. Or I had been able to keep strong until the last few months.

“No, it’s not what keeps me.” He said firmly.

“I know.” I retorted just as firmly. “But it’s not love either. I know what keeps you. You don’t want to have wasted all of those years plotting and all of that time and resources to get me back just to be the cause of my death. Your sanity rests in my hands and with me dead, no one else would be persuaded to help you. That’s what actually keeps you. That’s why you’re pretending to be a father to me now. That’s why you’re pretending my life means so much and that you’re fixed. But I’ve done enough research to know, they can’t cure you. They didn’t try to cure you. They only tampered so heavily with your mind and body so that you couldn’t take anyone else out with you. I was the only one that didn’t sign it when I should’ve.”

There was a round of tense silence and then a flash of movement. The chair scrapped against the concrete floor and toppled backwards with a loud crash. His palms slammed down onto the table as he stood abruptly and a small frustrated growl escaped him.

My breath caught in my throat and I flinched back with a small gasp. My hands flew up in front of me as a shield and his strong hands enclosed my arms, pulling me towards him over the table. I cried out from the pain of my movements. His face was scrunched up and his eyebrows were furrowed with rage. His dark grey eyes stared me down, pupils contracting. My face was now very close to the rattling space heater on the table and the heat felt pleasant but extremely alarming at the same time.

“They told you?” He demanded.

I couldn’t seem to get the air in my lungs I needed for the snarky reply I had in mind. “Of course, they told me!” I squeaked.

“What did they tell you?!” He shouted.

“Let me go!” I yanked back but his grip tighten and fresh tears came from the pain my struggling caused me.

“I need to know.” The rattling of the space heater was almost deafened by his voice for a moment. And then, like a switch, he blinked, his eyes dilating, and his face showing the conflicting emotions of the situation. He was fighting the surgery.

“They told me your surgery was for a number of things, not only the emotions. They told me you were sick. They told me that if you had the brain development or whatever that was normal, you wouldn’t act this way, that you would actually give a shit about me. They said they could give artificial ones, but it was very likely you’d override them. They said it was all experimental but mostly risk-free. They said they wanted to plant safety measures in to make sure you couldn’t become a menace again. But mostly, they wanted to make sure you couldn’t hurt anyone who was once in your life again. They said to do that, I had to sign papers for them to implant a personal safety measure.”

His grip was still like iron claws around my wrist, but tears welled in his eyes. “Then why didn’t you sign them?” He asked. I didn’t answer. My gaze was set to the heater to my left. I watched the metal contraption sputter and whine about the effort. I stared at the water droplets that was beginning to magically appear on the table from the thin layer of ice melting around it. “Everyone else did.” He whispered. “Everyone but you.”

“I wanted to.” I said softly. “I wanted to hate you like everyone else. I wanted to believe everything you did was in your control.” My words seemed so far away, and somehow the light seemed dimmer than ever. The heater puffed and gave a long shuttering whine. The ceiling groaned as the wind picked up speed outside again. “They said you were sick..... They said you were born this way...." I turned to look at him with a soft sigh. "You were born with the wrong genes, the wrong biochemistry, the wrong whatever. You were born into the wrong environment, you grew up with the wrong treatment, and technology wasn’t available for you then.” His grip loosen and I stared up at him tiredly. “You’re not a psychopath. You’re worse. There are some psychopaths that can function normally, and can even feel things you can’t. There are so many out there that don’t commit crimes or use force to get their way. Maybe you started on that spectrum, I don’t know. All I know is I stood in front of a council debating your death and convinced them you could be cured.”

His chest rose and fell with some effort but he released my wrists. His eyes searched mine. “That doesn’t answer the question.” He said.

“You were given unstable chemicals when you were a kid to treat this. The treatments made it worse but you didn’t tell. You grew up to convince the world you belonged in society. You made a woman fall for you and she had my half-sister. You made my mother fall for you, and she had me. People flocked towards you because you were sporadic and always knew what to say. You were smart and you were fearless. You could fake any emotion, any reaction, and convince people of anything because you learned to manipulate the world like a chess board.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” He repeated, his voice rising a bit from the surge of emotions overtaking him.

I ignored him and continued. “But slowly everyone around you could feel the shift. While your presence made everyone feel amazing in the moment, once you were gone, they would remember why they didn’t want to be with you. They would be reminded of all of the degrading things you slipped into your words and actions. They would remember all of the subtle but malicious attacks on their identity and sanity. They would start questioning themselves again and wonder if what you said was intentional, if they could confront you on it or if it would all just be swept under the rug again with fruitless lies and half-hearted excuses. My mother would turn to drugs to cope. My half-sister would turn to love partners to escape. And I would be sent through my own internalized self-hatred and self-blame. You turned to destruction when everyone started drifting and falling apart. The drugs they gave you as a child only strengthen your need to for violence and everything else you did.”

“Why didn’t you sign it? Why didn’t you allow them to prevent me from getting to you? Why open yourself up for all of this?” He demanded once more.

“I was asked to sign papers to make sure you could never come near me again because if you sought revenge on us all you needed at least one of us on your side. Everyone was moved to different locations to start different lives, under different names, and if you wanted revenge you needed to find one of us to help you find the others. Then you needed that one to be morphed on your side because you can’t physically do it anymore. I was asked to sign papers because I would know how to reverse everything they did to you.”

“Why didn’t you sign the damn papers?!” He shouted.

“Because,” I said simply. “I wanted you to find me. I wanted to see if I’d made the right choice of saving your life.”

There was a long pause. The light flickered above again, leaving the room in a split second of darkness and then steadied again. The heater made a clicking noise and gave another sputtering sigh before continuing with it’s steady humming. The wind rustled softly in the background of it all.

“Did you?” He asked, a tear sliding down the side of his face.

“No.” I replied with a sigh. Guilt tugged at my heart as I took a seat. “I didn’t. And that’s why I signed a backup plan.”

His eyes narrowed and his lip became a thin line. Another tear ran down the same side of his face. “What are you talking about?” He asked.

“I had a tracker placed in me, among other things. They’re going to take you back now. Everything they thought would happen came true. Everything they said you would do came true. The council has to rethink things now. And this time, I’m not going to be there to fight for you.”

His eyes began flickering from side to side, his body tensing. His breathing became unhinged once more and he glared me half uncertain, half afraid, and small percent of him resigned. “What are you talking about?” He demanded again.

“I told you to leave me, Saul. I told you I didn’t want your death on my conscious. You wouldn’t listen. I’m not sorry. You deserve it, and I’m not sorry.”

The sound of a metal door slamming shut sounded outside and Saul glanced at the door in alarm and then back to me angrily. His eyes contracted and dilated in confusion. Once someone spoke through the hypnosis tool they used, he’d be under their control once more. He’d become a mindless zombie to them. “No.” He growled angrily. “How could you?”

Low mummers were heard outside from what sounded like a group of people. Saul suddenly pulled out a gun. “Fine, but this is still on your conscious.” He hissed. The barrel was aimed in my direction and then ‘bang’. I toppled over backwards in my chair to the floor, my body in utter shock. I couldn’t feel anything. Then another loud ‘bang’ sounded and a second body fell to the floor. My mind stalled and nothing seemed to make sense. I laid on my back staring up at the light above. It swung softly back and forth. Drops of red had appeared on one side of it. It was from Saul’s direction. To my left, the door slammed open and a flurry of bodies entered the room with heavy guns and loud demanding instructions.

I knew they were going to take him. They were going to take him and I’d never see him again. I couldn’t protect him this time. I couldn’t get him out of his problems this time. I was suddenly gasping and choking out cries.

“D…d-don’t…. k-k-kill… ’im.” I murmured. I didn’t know if it was loud enough. I didn’t know if it had even been said or only thought. Someone was talking to me, shining a light in my face. There was someone else beside me, holding pressure to the wound. The light bulb swung more rapidly at the rush of wind that entered through the door. It flickered once more and recomposed itself, but I never did.