The steel door sends chills across my palms as I push the garage door open. It swings shut behind me as I tug at the roots of my hair, rushing to the far corner of the room, which sits like a dusty memorial for a life lost.

    "Please, please," I repeat in a mutter, so low I almost can't hear it myself. I reach for a box snuggled on the shelf and rip the cardboard lid off. Nothing but the bottom of the box stares back at me, no dust or cobwebs, as if the items stored there have recently been retrieved. I drop the empty box at my feet, tears threatening my eyes as I reach for more and more boxes, "No, please, no,"

    I throw every empty box away, each box scattering behind me until I'm left with only one on the shelf. My hands shake at my side, either from anger or nerves, I can't tell. I reach for the last box slowly, feeling a slight weight when I pick it up.

    I open the lid, revealing beady black eyes as they stare back at me, brown fur freshly brushed and cleaned. My hand reaches for the teddy bear like an instinct, pulling him free from the box enclosing him. My eyes drift to the bear's stomach, where an engraved M sits. It was my Mother's toy as a kid and was passed down to me just like my Father passed down my name.

    Looking back at the box, the back of the photo almost lights up. I reach for it in an instant, dropping the box and flipping the photo around. My Mother's face hits like a punch to the gut, Alis and I beside her with smiles and eyes to match hers. I never noticed how dead she looked in the eyes, even when I inherited that same look. She seems like she's somewhere else mentally. I remember this day, this odd family outing.

    I know for a fact that Leila and Dad were on the other side of Mum. A fact proven by the small patch of my Dad's shoulder right before the edge of the photo. Dad and Leila were cut from the family portrait.

    This one photo feels like confirmation of everything. My Mother's absent look, the rough cut edge separating my family into two sides. Her hatred is evident, not just for my Dad and his affair with Levi's mum, but also the product of that betrayal.

    The picture was taken a week before I found blood splattered on the floral walls. I flip the picture back over, noticing words scribbled on the back.

    'The day I woke up'

    I crumble the photo up in my hand, throwing it down into the empty box at my feet. A rage trickles up my spine the longer I look into those beady black eyes. Maybe my Mum inherited that gaze, because the look in her eyes in that photo feels as dull as the soulless stare of the bear.

    I don't remember the coldness, the detached body language and rage towards my sister and Dad. Maybe I remember what I wanted to, or maybe I remember whatever some Vampire wanted me to.

   My fingers dig into the fabric of the bear, my other hand reaching to hold the other side just as tight. My nails pierce the fur, pulling the bear from each side like a school banner being stretched to size.

    The fabric rips in my hands, the stuffing from the bear pooling around my feet just like their blood did all those years ago. The blood of my father and the woman I never knew. The woman who brought Leila and Levi into the world.

    How am I meant to look at her the same? The Leila I have now is so different to the Leila I had months ago. She's my little sister, and I would die for her in thousands of ways every day. But I hardly know her. Even Levi knew more about her than me.

    And my Mum. The gentle woman who would braid our hair and came up with Friday movie nights, how could she do something so vicious? Maybe she wanted revenge on my Father, maybe she deserved it. But, we didn't. She hurt us in an undeniable way just to hurt him. How could she do that?

    My hands drop the bear's shell, one hand moving up to clutch my chest in pain. My face pinches, desperately trying to hold in a sob. My eyes drift to the door to the right of the room, the structure slightly adjacent, allowing me to see into our little home training room. I make my way over, my chest clenching tighter at the rage I desperately need to get out.

    Bursting through the door, I turn to the table in the corner of the room, rubber daggers sitting lined up neatly. Alis made them herself so that we could spar each other without holding back because 'Vampires won't pull their punches in a real fight'.

    Memories of all the nights spent training in this room come flooding back. The pushes, hits, the number of times Alis knocked me on my ass and shouted at me for losing. She'd always make me repeat a fight over and over again until I could win, even when I was exhausted.

    A tightness sparks in my chest. We didn't have to be hunters. Even before they died, our parents had been training us since we could walk. It came from a place of protection, sure. But, we didn't get that choice. Even Leila never got a choice; she was pushed to the sidelines without the option of learning to defend herself. Maybe it would have changed things for her if she knew how to protect herself.

    I snatch a fake dagger from the table, testing the weight in my hands. It's lighter than the real thing, but does the job just the same, without hurting someone you don't intend to hurt.

     Turning to the centre of the room, I approach the punching dummy seated in the middle. I stare at it for a bit longer, imagining everything that has happened since that night, all the dominoes that have fallen at the hands of the woman I came from, the woman who was meant to love me more than herself.

    I lift my hand, the dagger sticking from the side of my fist as I swing at the dummy's face, hard enough for the contraption to rock. Before it has a chance to settle in place again, I swing from the other side, my fists blurring as I land hit after hit on the stupid rubber of the doll. It doesn't help, doesn't feel the same. Even as I raise the dagger and jam it into the dummy with such force that it rips the top layer, it does little to subdue my anger.

     "Geez, Mic," A voice startles me, my wild eyes darting to the door as Yasmin leans against the frame. She steps down the single step into the lower level of the home gym, her arms across her chest as she grins, "Where was this fighting spirit that night in my hallway?"

     "Oh, you mean when I was distracted trying to get my sister out of there and you strangled me?" I bite back, reaching an arm out to steady the dummy in front of me.

     "Oh, is that the same night you stabbed me in the leg and dislocated my shoulder?" She tilts her head, still smirking towards me as she moves to the middle of the mat.

    "You healed, didn't you?" I mock, moving the dummy out of the way, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be up in my bedroom making out with my best friend?"

     "Shouldn't you be in the laundry room making out with my best friend?" She retorts, our little game of who did what only causing a sparkle to glint in her eyes. She raises a hand to her chest, pretending to be taken aback, "Oh, sorry. Let me get my facts straight. If my ears didn't deceive me, you did a lot more than make-out, didn't you?"

     "Aw, Yaz," I fake pout, "Don't feel jealous because you and Alex haven't gotten there yet, you have eternity, remember?"

    She laughs, shaking her head, "You're funny and sadly mistaken. We had sex in your lounge last night,"

    I scrunch my face up, waving my hands to dismiss her comment. I can't tell if she's joking or not, "That's disgusting. You're way too open,"

    She laughs once more, nudging my shoulder as I turn around, "Just a little girl talk between friends,"

    The fake sweetness in her face makes me wince, fighting back a smile as I shake my head, "We're not friends,"

    "My heart is broken, really," She mocks, stepping back from me and rolling her shoulders, "Well, then, give me your best shot,"

    I scoff, reaching my arms back to loosely tie my hair up, "I'm not fighting you,"

    "Oh, come on. I'll go easy on you, I promise," She teases, using her hands to gesture me forward, "You need to get that rage out somehow, so come on. Hit me,"

    "Yasmin, you being here is only making me angrier," I tell her, pushing the front loose strands of hair behind my ears.

    "Prove it," She challenges, stepping closer to me with a deviant look in her eyes, "Or, I can go get Tommy. But, as we've already established, you'd probably just end up with fangs in your neck and your legs spread-"

    Her words are cut off as I lift my hands and shove her backwards. She stumbles, the grin on her face only spreading wider, "That's all you got? If this is how you plan on fighting when the time comes, then you are so fucked,"

    I step forward, shoving her hard enough once again for her back to hit a table, her face wincing slightly at the impact to her spine.

    "Michaela, I'm disappointed. I turned your only friend into the thing you hate the most. Your little sister's blood filled my pool as I stood by and made Alis watch," She lists things off, walking closer to me until we're almost nose to nose, her face twisted with malicious intent, "And I told Tommy to avoid your fucked up ass like the plauge from the start but, he couldn't help himself from trying to nurse you back to health. Must be nice to be pitied so deeply that you have a handful of Vampires ready to save your sorry, weak ass. But hey, if you weren't busy letting any Vampire with a cute smile drink you fucking dry, you would have been strong enough to save Leila instead of standing there, watching her slit her own throat-"

     I lift my arm, using the handle of the dagger to slam across the side of her head. Yasmin's hair spins as her head turns, the impact causing her to fall to the floor.

    I crouch down, staring down at her with a blaze in my eyes from her words. She lifts her head, grinning widely at me through her hair, now tangled with slight blood.

    "You need to learn to shut your fucking mouth," I sneer.

    "You need to learn not to hit like a bitch," She snaps, the smirk not faltering for a second, even as she lunges forward and grabs my ankle, yanking it forward so I fall right onto my back.

    In an instant, I jolt my boot out in an effort to make contact with her face. She dodges, pushing to her feet and moving in front of me in an instant. Before I can react, she punches me across the face, causing my head to spin.

    I face the mat, using the distraction to lift my foot and hook it to the back of her knees. I pull, making her knees buckle and her guard falter. The second she loosens, I turn back to her and return the punch to her face, her nose cracking underneath my fist.

    She topples back to the floor, and I push to my knees. My back aches, my lungs struggling slightly at the initial impact to my back as I crawl over to her. I latch onto her leg, using her to steady myself as I drag my body on top of hers and hold her arms down with my knees.

    She smiles up at me, her hair clouding her eyes, which are no doubt red. Her teeth are lined red with blood, her cockiness not cracking even as she lazily squirms from under me.

    "Cheap moves. Alis should have trained you better than that," Yasmin laughs.

    "I know you're just trying to make me mad, Yaz. Your attempts are shit, you know me better than that," I grin, pinching her cheek mockingly as she shakes my hand off.

    "Fine, you want me to be honest?" She takes a breath, tilting her head, "You have spent your whole life training to protect everyone from us and now here you are, the only human left. You failed your life purpose and most of all your family, all in the span of a few months. And the worst part is, you treat everyone like shit because you failed to protect them. Alex knows, he can see the bitterness you have when you look at him, see how you walk right past him and Leila isn't blind herself. Yet, you can happily shut yourself away and spend all your time with Tommy? They're disposable because of what they are but he isn't-"

    "They're not disposable!" I yell over her words. My hands leave her collar, lifting above her face in a fist as I drive the force into her nose. I hear a crunch under my knuckles, but she barely flinches. She looks back at me instantly with blood running from her nostrils, gathering on her lips and teeth as she bears them to me in a grin.

    Her laughter echoes in my ears, pumping blood through my heart until I find myself lifting another fist and sending it flying across her face over and over again. She doesn't make a noise, not even a wimper or groan of pain. 

    On the contrary, I sound animalistic. Growls and throat-aching screams leave me as I feel blood coat my hands and sprinkle my face like freckles.

    My knuckles crack on her skin, squelching noises as the blood is pressed between my fingers after every blow. Bubbles boil in my gut, powering my arms as I send punch after punch from both directions.  

    My knuckles graze her skin one last time, my spine curving as I heave from exhaustion. I push myself to a stand weakly, my hair partially blocking my view as I look down at her beaten and bloody face. My shoulders tense, my shaky hands lifting as I turn them over. My knuckles look angry and red, blood spilling into the cracks of my skin and my nailbeds. I flex my fingers as if sudden movements would change the sight in front of me.

    I release a shaky breath, my eyes turning to Yasmin as she lies almost unrecognisable on the floor. She turns roughly onto her side, agonosingly slow as she spits blood onto the mat below her. My leg twitches as if begging to take a step towards her. My other leg is faster, reaching backwards as my body turns and rushes out of the room.

    Why did I do that? I hurt her badly. She didn't fight back or threaten me, and I just couldn't stop.

    I rush inside, heading straight for the stairs before anyone can stop and talk to me. My heart races, rhythm gathering in my throat until it feels like it's suffocating me. 

    My eyes stay trained on my hands as if looking away meant anything other than just looking away, as if it signalled dismissal. I don't have to look up to know the way to my room, my aching and bloody hands grabbing the handle and ripping the door open. 

    It's not the first time my blood-stained hands have opened the door, but it is the first time it feels like it'll be harder to wash away. 

    I slam the door shut behind me, my back pressing against it as my hands leave prints on the wood. 

    My breaths are audible, draining out the piercing silence of the dark room. 

    My head hits the back of the door, my eyes trained on the ceiling as my knees crumble and my face scrunches. 

    The anger inside of me has been present for so long that I never stopped to find out what it actually was. I never tried to tame it or lighten the heaviness, I just learnt to live with it. Maybe, I'm still that little girl who misses her Mum's bedtime stories and her Dad's shoulder rides. Maybe I'm still the girl who didn't understand why I had to train.

    Maybe my anger was only heavy because I let it be that way, because it was easier to feel angry than to feel anything else. 

    I hold my hand up in front of my face, my wrists resting on my knees as I observe my bruised knuckles. 

    And suddenly the blood on my hands wasn't just Yasmin's anymore, it was every Vampire or Fledgling I never gave a chance. It was Leila, Alex and the girl who just let me beat her to a pulp for my own benefit. It was Tommy, the boy I feel so strongly for, despite my resistance.

    I lift my hands to my head, holding it in my palms as my eyes squeeze tight and water drips out. Tears coat my cheeks and drop from my nose, my arms moving to wrap around myself between my abdomen and my bent legs. I hurt someone who wasn't fighting back. I was the out-of-control animal who needed to be subdued. 

    I feel the door push open behind me, my sobs instantly quieting as I turn and push my hands against it, shutting it once more and flicking the lock.

    "What do you want?" I call.

    "Michaela?" I hear Tommy on the other side, his voice soft and confused. "Can I come in?"

    "No, fuck off," I protest, hardening my voice to cover the weakness I feel. 

    I wait for a moment, nothing but silence following the interaction. I sigh, pressing my head against the door once I realise he's gone. 

   Noise from behind catches my attention, my neck turning as I face the window. Tommy pulls the pane of glass upwards, allowing himself to duck and slip through the gap. He stands up straight, his eyes settling on me as I sit curled up against my door.

    Unintentionally, my lip quivers at the sight of his kind eyes, a look I don't deserve to have directed at me.

    "What's wrong?" He asks. A beat between us follows, both of us knowing too much is wrong to list. He walks towards me, lowering himself to his knees in front of me.

    I look up at him, shaking my head and turning away. He reaches a hand out, his palm settling on my cheek as he turns my head to face him.

    "Mic,"

    "Yasmin, I... I hurt Yasmin," I admit. His face shows no sign of shock, not even a flinch at the notion.

    "I know," He admits, pushing loose strands of dirty blonde hair out of my face, "It's okay, Mic. She'll heal,"

    "It's not the point-"

    "I know," He repeats, sensing how I'm starting to get worked up, "But it's done now and Yaz won't be hurt anymore within an hour. But, it's not really about her, is it?"

    I shake my head, a rough breath forcing itself into my lungs, "It's about everything, everyone. About you,"

    "Me?" He almost flinches, as if the words are so foreign they're bullets. 

    "Yes, you," I laugh bitterly, not understanding how he could be so surprised after everything, "I treat you horribly. One minute I'm nice to you and the next I act like you're the worst person in the world and you're not, I am. And, I do it all because I'm confused and I don't understand. I don't understand how I can feel these things for you, how I can lo-"

    I swallow the four-letter word before it can dare to leave my mouth. I watch his face, the way his eyebrows furrow and his face falls. He knows what I meant, what I feel. He looks as though he wants to say something, to push further. But, he knows not to. He knows me.

    He swallows hard, as if swirling different word combinations in his mouth until he finds the ones that taste just right, "I understand,"

   He feels it too, is what he wants to say. The emotion written between the lines is so overpowering that it changes the sentence altogether. 

    He lifts his hand, placing it gently against my leg in front of him as he rubs his thumb up and down. 

    "I just..." I divert the subject, holding myself tighter around the waist, "I can't believe it's her. I don't want to believe it. I've spent a decade mourning her, wanting to impress her and be everything she's dreamt for me. But, she wasn't real. Now, I'm scared that I'm following her exact path. I can't escape her,"

    "Hey," He coos, squeezing my leg gently, "You are not your Mother, okay? Maribel is her own person who made her own choices-"

    His hand drops from my leg, his back straightening as mine does the same. Neither of us moves, neither of us blinks. The revelation of his words hangs in the air like a spoiled perfume. 

    He shouldn't be able to mention her directly-- say her name. Not in front of me.