Trust Me When I Tell

I Could Never Hurt Him Enough To Make His Betrayal Stop Hurting. And It Hurts, In Every Part Of My Body.

He Pushes His Hair, Soaked From The Snow, Out Of His Eyes. "so What Are We Going To Do, Break A Window? Look For A Back Door?" "i'm Just Going To Walk In," I Say. "i'm Her Son." "you Also Betrayed Her And Left The City When She Forbade Anyone From Doing That," He Says, "and She Sent People After You To Stop You. People With Guns." "you Can Stay Here If You Want," I Say. "where The Serum Goes, I Go," He Says. "but If You Get Shot At, I'm Going To Grab It And Run." "i Don't Expect Anything More." He Is A Strange Sort Of Person.

I Belong To The People I Love, And They Belong To Me--they, And The Love And Loyaty I Give Them, Form My Identity Far More Than Any Word Or Group Ever Could.

The Man Running Toward Me Is Not A Man, He Is A Boy. A Shaggy-haired Boy With A Crease Between His Eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed And Mindless, But Still Will. He Stops Running And Mirrors Me, His Feet Planted And His Gun Up. In An Instant, I See His Finger Poised Over The Trigger And Hear The Bullet Slide Into The Chamber, And I Fire. My Eyes Squeezed Shut. Can't Breathe. The Bullet Hit Him In The Head. I Know Because That's Where I Aimed It.

She Is Well Practiced In The Art Of Losing Herself.