Chapter Text
You don’t mean to, you swear you don’t mean to.
You have never wanted to hurt anyone, ever.
But you are exhausted and angry, and when the kids who love to hurt and make fun of you for your grades, your dirty clothes and unwashed face, corner you and push you around like they usually do when they’re bored, things go wrong.
Normally, you’d just put up with it, but things have been really bad for a while now, particularly today. All you’ve eaten in the last three days is a couple candy bars you nicked from the general store, and when you got desperate enough to steal food from the kitchen this morning, you dropped a bowl of oatmeal and your parents caught you. You’ve got cuts on your hands and knees from the shards of porcelain they made you pick up crawling on all fours, your body is bruised black and blue from where they hit you, and you’re still shaky from being locked in the suffocating darkness of the closet for the entire morning.
You are not in a good, or even manageable place.
You handle things, at first. When they call you names, you ignore them. When they push you around and pull your hair, you let it happen. It’s not like you haven’t had much worse. Even when they take your bag and throw it around among themselves you accept it. You are worried about your tutu tucked inside, sure, but they haven’t opened the bag, and so long as they don’t take it out and mess with it directly, this is fine.
Yes, this is fine. You are more than used to this.
It’s when a boy makes a grab for the ballet shoes hanging by their ribbons around your neck, something none of the other children have dared do before, that you snap.
Those shoes are one of the few items you possess that you value, a reminder that there is something you are good at, that there is something you can do that gives you value. Those shoes are part of the only thing in your life that gives you any semblance of happiness.
You need those shoes.
This boy cannot take them. He cannot touch them.
He can’t touch them.
In a blind panic, you lash out, kicking him hard against his legs and sending him toppling to the ground.
You have disabled the threat… You should stop.
But you don’t.
When has anyone ever stopped hurting you when you couldn’t fight back?
You kick him in his chest, in his side. You kick him again, and again, and again.
Distantly, you hear the sound of something snapping as your foot comes down on his ribcage, of him crying out, the kids around you shrieking and yelling in shock, but you can’t stop, you won’t stop, because it feels good to be the one inflicting pain rather than receiving it for once in your life.
You are sick and tired of hurting, of suffering.
No more.
If it won’t all stop, then you’ll make it stop.
You kick, you cry, and you scream, over and over, for all the misery and grief your world has given you.
And then strong arms grab you, hauling you back and away from the bloody boy lying on the ground, and it is like coming up for air as you look at the carnage you have wreaked properly for the first time, pulled out of the numb daze of anger that held you.
The boy isn’t moving, shallow breaths wracked with whines of pain the only sign he is still alive.
Oh god.
What have you done?
Distantly, you hear the wail of sirens, and you freeze, recognizing them instantly.
You know what those sirens mean.
The police will arrest you. Your parents will find out. They will kill you.
You have no doubt in your mind. They will absolutely, definitely, kill you for this, leaving you locked up in a closet until you starve to death or just getting to the point and beating you till something irreparable breaks.
…They might even do both.
You can’t stay here.
Not giving yourself time to think, you react on instinct, smashing your head backwards into the face of the teacher holding you. There’s a crunching sound, probably her nose, and she drops you with a scream. In an instant, you’re moving, grabbing your bag from where it lies on the ground and dodging the surprised teachers before running the opposite direction of the encroaching sirens.
You run and run, out of town and away from everything you’ve ever known without looking back once.
You don’t know where you’re going, but it doesn’t really matter. You can’t go back. All you want is a place where you won’t be discovered.
When you find Mt. Ebott, you almost laugh at how perfect it is. You’ve heard the stories of this place, everyone has. No one who goes up ever comes down. Cursed, they say.
You climb up, and find the hole at the top, staring down into the darkness below. You suppose you’re supposed to feel something now, some inkling to turn back, thoughts to your life lost and the love you will miss out on. You don’t, you just feel tired.
You jump.
In the end, you’re just like your parents. All you know how to do is hurt other people.
The world would be better off without a monster like you.
(These used shoes make you feel incredibly dangerous.)