Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“You won’t win.”

Maybe not, but I’ll enjoy the fight.

“Play all the games you want, but you won’t win with me. I’m not fucking scared of you.”

And that’s your first mistake, angel. You should be scared of me… Of what I can do. Even I’m scared of me.

“You’re nothing, do you hear me? You. Are. Nothing.”

Yeah. And people who are nothing have nothing to lose.

I watched her kick the stones and grab the rose. The way she huffed and flipped her hair made me smirk. Little Miss Feisty was playing right into my hands. I couldn’t wait to toy with her some more.

I had all sorts of surprises up my sleeves.

And she was never going to see them coming.

It was hard to know who I could trust. My inner circle consisted of my parents and me, and even they didn’t know about half the stuff that had been going on. I think they thought I was going a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy, after my night-time garden breakdown. I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and then some. Staying quiet about my midnight stalker was making me die a little inside every single day.

I scrolled through my phone, wondering who I could reach out to, to offload and share some of the burden. I’d always had Brodie before. He was my go-to person if I needed help with my emotional overload. He took it all. But that support system wasn’t there anymore. It certainly wasn’t there with the Lockwoods. They were the last people I’d turn to.

Suddenly, I remembered the leaflets Emily had given me, and went to my bag to fish them out. Maybe a stranger was what I needed. Someone who would listen without prejudice and offer help and support without judgement. I didn’t have to speak or tell anyone anything I didn’t want to. Hell, I could just sit back and read their stories. Maybe that’d make me feel better, hearing that someone else was going through the same kind of bullshit I was.

I heard my mum close the front door, heading out to another one of her appointments with Doctor Meredith, so I took advantage of the quiet and headed to my room.

Once inside, I locked the door and powered up my laptop. I had no idea what these forums would be like, but I opened up the leaflet for the one Emily said she’d used and found the web address.

I typed it in and then scrolled down, reading about how they could provide support in a variety of ways, from one-on-one counselling with a professional, to peer help groups and online forums. They listed their charity ethos in five bullet points. They seemed to be a professional outfit.

Number one in their five-point plan stated that it was good to share your experiences. Peer support was one of their key successes when bringing people together. Hearing from and sharing with others about their loss. Where people who had gone through what you had could offer guidance on how they coped. I highly doubted anyone else on here had been stalked by their loved one’s murderer, but I’d keep an open mind. I was willing to try anything at this point. My emotional well was overflowing, and I was crippled under the weight of it all.

Second, they wanted everyone to know their feelings were normal and valid. That it was part of the grieving process to be faced with a host of emotional and physical challenges. I guessed I wasn’t the only one considering doing a Britney then. I certainly didn’t recognise myself anymore. I don’t think my colleagues at the school did either, but I was beyond caring about that. Maybe I’d get some tips on how to challenge my aggressive energy. Or maybe even a few revenge plans. Mathers would never see me coming when I finally hit him hard. I already felt reckless and unpredictable, and I hadn’t even started.

Next, they highlighted that my bereavement wouldn’t have a set time limit. I could have told them that already. There never would be a time limit on how devastated I was. I’d feel it every day of my life until I took my last breath. Brodie was a part of me, like a limb. His death wouldn’t change that. Instead, I’d have to learn to live without said limb, and life would eventually take on a new normal. But my grief would never end. I was clear on that. The pain inside was a pain I’d have to endure forever.

Their fourth pledge was one of continued support. They promised they’d be there for everyone through every stage of their grief. That there would always be a safe space for anyone that needed it, whatever time of the day or however desperate they were. I liked that. A twenty-four-seven friend, a listening ear in the early hours. They’d probably regret that pledge once they’d heard what I had to say at three a.m.

Last, they explained that their charity was run by the members for the members. Any topic was up for discussion. There was no agenda. This was for us.

At the bottom was the membership sign up, and I hovered my mouse over it, still feeling apprehensive about taking that leap into the unknown. Then I thought, ‘Fuck it. What do I have to lose? Not a lot at the moment.’ And I clicked to join.

For the purpose of anonymity and to partake in the chat on the forums, I had to give a username. I wracked my brains for something that’d fit, looking around my room for inspiration. When I glanced up at the bookshelf above my desk, I had my lightbulb moment. I loved Game of Thrones, and what better character to base my name on than the one who represented my current state of body and mind.

Lady Stoneheart.

A shell of a woman who was vengeful and had no mind for the consequences of her actions or what it would mean for the future; she could only focus on the here and now, much like me. She was a character that could barely speak after a brutal attack and had to cover the wound in her throat to be heard. I might not have a wound people could see, but the pain was there, and it made it difficult for me to speak too. And like Lady Stoneheart, I would be relentless in my plight for revenge for my family. At least, that was the original plan, but now, I felt like my main plight was to survive to see another day. One thing was clear though, I wanted to show him what he’d done to me when he took away the most important person in my life. He needed to know about the pain he’d caused.

I typed in my handle LadyStoneheart23 and c

licked send on my profile. Instantly, a list of chatroom titles popped up, each one referring to a different type of bereavement. There was the lost my parents, lost my mum, lost my dad, lost a grandparent. They even had one for lost my pet. Then I found what I was looking for; lost a sibling. I clicked to enter, and the chat opened up.

LadyStoneheart23 has joined the chat

EmoGirl- I think the people who tolerate you on a daily basis are the real heroes, Fucking_Alan.

JoeNotExotic- I doubt he leaves his parent’s basement very often. The only action he gets is from Pam… You know, Pam of his hand.

EmoGirl- Hey Lady, welcome to the madhouse.