Page 17 of Citrine

His words hit me like a physical blow as he revels in my reaction, his satisfaction evident in his expression.

"Fear. That is good," he comments.

Of course I'm scared.

Which isn't helped in the least bit when he disappears into the water. There's no way I'll even see him coming.

I put two bullets in the chest of my greatest fear and have no regrets, but is this my punishment? To have him replaced? With something worse?

My leg is screaming at me, and my limbs are shaking too hard with memories of terror to hold me upright anymore. I already tried to get away, and I should try again, but everything hurts.

Instead, I sit down, the movement jarring a moan, then painfully pull my legs to my chest and make my body as small as possible.

Flashes of memories. Broken bones. Screams of rage. Accusations of doing things wrong just because I knew it would make him angry. Him hitting my mother because she couldn't make me perfect.

It was always our fault. Each wound earned, whether physical or verbal.

He was wrong. I know this logically, but it doesn't change the association. The pounding fear and the tight chest.

I did nothing to earn such violence in my old life. What could I have possibly done now?

Mere existence?

No. A line needs to be drawn at some point. I'm sick of feeling scared. It might be the hardest thing I have ever done, but this terrible, violent creature won't continue to make me feel small.

He's either going to kill me and eat me, or he isn't. Nothing I say or do is going to change it.

If there were an award for the rudest, scariest person in the world, he'd win it. Hands down, but that doesn't mean he gets to win by making me cower.

For the first time, I might actually believe those words I've been telling myself since I was thirteen years old.

People are only as scary as you let them be. You can't control them, only the way you respond.

Is it fatalism? No clue. I just know that suddenly I feel a lot better than I have in a very long time.

8

Eli

I don't get to think about it or analyze this new feeling before he's back again. Looking just as pissed off, and just as deadly.

Fear tries to bubble up. From my experience, I know it's mere moments away from boiling over.

Then I think back to him ordering me to not steal his voice. In other words, don't talk.

Hijo de puta, no way.

Despite the knot of fear tightening in my stomach, I refuse to let his threats intimidate me. I've had enough of that for a lifetime. I spent most of my life trying to avoid conflict.

Look where that got me.

My subconscious screams at me to back down, to avoid provoking him any further, but I need to embrace this changein the little bit of time I have left to live or I've truly let every bastard in my life win.

My voice rises as I challenge him. "I've had enough of people like you. If you plan to kill me, then just do it."

I watch his reaction keenly, my heart pounding in my chest. He's massive. He's made his intentions really freaking clear. He starts rising from the water, his tentacles making him tower above me before he's even on shore. His alien face twisted in rage.

I'm going to die.

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