EVERLASTING (Charlotte's Story)

Chapter 15/162: The Silhouette in the Son

Hello, loves! Happy reading :)
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Cold sweat drenched my back, and my skin suddenly felt like it were freezing.

My throat suddenly felt ultra dry, and I struggled for air to pass through it. 

My lungs felt like they were closing on themselves, and I choked on my own breath.

I could not remove my eyes from him.

It felt as though I was holding a knife and stabbing myself with it.

Over and over.

More pain and more pain.

And yet, I wanted more.

I didn't know how to explain this, but sometimes, as humans, we preferred feeling pain rather than nothing at all.

I really cannot explain it.

Or maybe his scene felt too satisfying for my loop of guilt, as it dragged me down, drowning me into the endless lake of sorrow as it engraved the scene of my father's murderer into my memory. The scene of him being successful, healthy, and most importantly alive.

Goodness, how heavy the word felt as it sank into my consciousness.

As I eyed his grey orbs shift among the circle surrounding him, rendering each and everyone of them uncomfortable, I also saw how haughty his body gestures were, with that high chin and those broad, and relaxed well-built shoulders.

He was taking slow gulps from his diluted whiskey, as he graced his surroundings with slight nods, and occasional head tilts or words.

My entire entity began to shake uncontrollably, as my eyes stung as though I had sprayed them with alcohol.

And I continued looking. Hurting myself more.

I felt like the pain was essential. Like I deserved to feel it. Like I was what gave this man the means to kill my father and yet remain alive, enjoying his life.

I felt the pain hurt me too deep, like my heart was shattering into thousands of pieces, like someone was holding it between his fingers and squeezing the shit out of it, like my lungs were running out of oxygen and I had no power to help myself out.

The pain intensified, and I didn't reject it.

But rather, I let it invade my head.

I let it fill my senses like some marijuana, getting me high on sorrow, grief, and ultimate despair.

And suddenly nothing seemed like it can make me feel any better.

Nothing but a single occurrence.

To see Trevor Ellington Conway as a miserable man regretting every single moment of his evil pathway.

To see him fall. 

To see him experiencing quarter the pain he had inflicted on my family and I.

To have him meet the fate of my father.

To have him meet the justice he deserved.

Revenge.

That was the only thought which seemed to be able to make me feel better.

As my entire entity shook, my muscular system started responding to the madness taking over my system, and every single muscle within me clenched.

No, I cannot wait.