Chapter 27 Unknown POV

Chapter 27 Unknown POV
I watched them from the thin green shadow of the bushes, legs crushed into the cold dirt, the soil biting through my jeans. The swing set creaked in the night air as they talked. I couldn’t make out their words, so I tried to read their lips instead. Seeing her so happy made my blood boil, I hated it.

Damien’s face suddenly went serious. I crept closer through the leaves to get a better view of their mouths. He said something; the only word I could catch was beautiful. He kept talking, voice low, the way he angled his head toward her told me he meant every syllable. Then their lips met. Realization dawned like a strike.

He just asked her out.

The world narrowed to a smear of red and black. Everything blurred. Anger and hatred swallowed my vision whole. How could she be happy? How could she fall in love and decide to live a peaceful life after killing the one I loved? I was furious. She deserved nothing but misery.

They stood and walked away hand in hand, light on their feet. Their silhouettes melted into the path under the street lamps’ tired glow. The sight sent bile up my throat, it made me want to puke. Leaves around me rustled like a mocking whisper, as if the night itself taunted me. I had come here because I’d started to process my grief and convinced myself a change of scenery would save me. I’d promised him I’d never fall back into that dark hole again. But seeing her laugh, enjoying her life made the hatred I had buried rise to the surface.

I slumped back, dirt sticking to the seams of my jeans. The park was empty now, Isabelle and her company were gone. Silence pressed in, except for the distant hum of the city and the old swing’s fading squeak. My chest ached, a cold, steady pain like someone had driven a nail through it. The past rushed in, vivid and insistent. The first day we met, the way the park smelled that afternoon, wet grass and sugar from the vendor cart, the memory still raw as if it had happened yesterday.

We were both ten then. I remember feeling hollow and small. My parents had died the year before in a plane crash while returning from a business trip. My aunt had been forced to take me in, but she never loved me. She paid the bills and justified it as the reason for the abuse she made me pass through, she always blamed me for her misfortunes.

That day, after a beating that left my arms speckled with bruises, I ran away from that house, determined not to return. I wasn't planning to be found, I just wanted the hurting to stop. I wanted to end my life so I could be with my parents.

I had curled on a cold bench, head bowed, when he tapped me on the back. His touch was gentle. “Why are you crying?” he asked. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“ I'm Antoine,” he said, holding out a hand for a handshake. In my confusion I took it. He smiled cheekily, as if we’d been friends forever.

“ What's urs?” he asked, still holding my hand.

“ Grace,” I managed to say but it came out more like a whisper.

“ Pretty girls shouldn't cry,” he said, reaching out to wipe the tears from my face with the back of his hand. I still remember how that small gesture seeped into my chest and made my insides warm.

“I don't wanna go home,” I admitted, voice breaking. He pulled me close and hugged me like it was the simplest, most natural thing to do. He reached into his pocket and brought out a chocolate bar.

“The sweetness makes you feel better,” he grinned.

It sounds absurd , a candy fixing a broken heart but I tried it anyway. The sweetness and his company made me smile, I actually felt better. We talked until the sky dimmed. He told me about his twin, his parents and his lifestyle, small ordinary things that sounded enormous to me.
He listened intensely and offered the little comfort he could. It just felt good to have someone listen to me. I went home that night with a new found hope to live.

The park became my refuge, our secret. When my aunt's violence worsened, I ran to the slides and sometimes we slept in the hollow of the slides at nights especially when I refused to return home. We would tell stories and fall asleep holding hands.

When we turned sixteen, he stood by me as I reported my aunt at the station. He held my hand while the police took statements. My aunt was arrested. I was sent to an orphanage, life rearranged itself and I became happier.

He visited. He brought gifts, silly things and novels which I enjoyed. The thought he’d come made the orphanage feel less grim. I planned to tell him how I felt on his eighteenth birthday to make the day more meaningful. I’d promised myself that night would be ours. That evening, he sent me a message, saying he had to find his sister and take her home. I waited till midnight but he didn't show up.

The next day my world tipped. I saw the news of his death on the television. The love of my life, my anchor, had died. I couldn't believe it, I felt my heart shatter again. I blamed myself for not telling him how I felt instantly.

The grief ate me slowly. I mourned him for days and nights. The pain was unbearable, I felt like I was going insane. I couldn't eat properly for days and eventually I had to be hospitalized. It hurt me more when I couldn't attend his funeral. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.

When I saw Isabelle again. Her smiling face, her easy laughter, the way she had the audacity to live twisted something inside me. I stalked her from a distance, monitoring her every move and learnt her everyday routine. I swore I would make her feel the pain of losing someone she loves, the same pain she put me through.

I pushed myself up from the damp ground and brushed the dirt off my jeans. The city lights carved out orange lines across the horizon as I walked, each step heavy. I got home and looked outside my window. I saw her and Sophia giggling while eating pizza. I felt the rising anger in my chest.

I thumbed my burner phone and typed something short, deliberately empty of mercy.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

I clicked send. It made me feel better instantly. I took a quick shower, quickly got dressed and sat on my bed. The picture of Antoine and I stared back at me, we were both smiling without a care in the world. I picked it up and pressed it tightly against my chest.

“ Antoine.” I whispered his name, hoping he could hear me from above.
“ I will surely get revenge for us.” I said to the picture.

I placed the picture back on the nightstand. My revenge plan was just beginning. I couldn't wait to finish Isabelle with my own hands.

“ Slow and steady wins the
race.” I reminded myself. I slept with a smile on my face.