Resent, Reject, Regret by Aqua Summers

It opened, its swing slow and creaking. She then looked, and her eyes suddenly glinted. “Bren!” She stepped forward, animated by her excitement. “Bren, listen! There’s something you must kn—”

“Shut the hell up and follow me!”

At that moment, Deirdre noticed how bone-chillingly frigid he looked. She instantly froze. “W-What’s going on?”

His stare could freeze blood. “Lena was out driving. She ran over someone by accident and killed them. Then, she ran.”

Deirdre’s mind went blank. “She killed someone in a hit-and-run? Then she should report herself to the authorities! What does this have to do with—”

A lump formed in her throat. Her voice broke and disbelief dawned on her as she fixed her eyes on him.

His words came out like a decree. “Take the blame for her crime.”

Deirdre’s eyes widened in horror, and she felt like her world was on the brink of collapsing. “No! No, no, no! No! Why? Why should I be the one to… to be imprisoned? To be sentenced to death? To suffer in her place?!”

“Because, Deirdre McKinnon, you pretended to be her for two years!” Brendan snarled. That woman’s wails were so grating that he cringed. “They managed to snap a picture of her when she ran away, but the two of you look the same anyway! Everyone will think it was you. You have nowhere to hide.”

“Then tell the world we’re not the same person! Tell them that Charlene and I are two different people!” she yelled, her breaths heavy and labored. “And you’re wrong about me pretending to be her. She’s the pretender! She took away my life six years ago! I was the one who risked her life to save you from the fire, Bren! It was me!”

Deirdre had expected disbelief and shock, and yet to her surprise, Brendan hardly frowned. Something worse took over his features—disgust. “Lena was right. You found out about her rescuing me from the fire six years ago, and your sorry *ss immediately tried to pretend to be her in that story! You really scraped the bottom of the barrel, Deirdre.”

“What… are you saying?”

“If you really were the one who saved me 6 years ago, why didn’t you blare it out like a f*cking PSA over the past two years? It would be just like you to want the whole f*cking world to know!”

Tears burst out of her eyes. God knows how much she had tried to tell him over the past two years, but he had never let her finish a sentence. He hated hearing her speak, and the only thing he could stomach was her face. His favorite version of her was that of a lowly mute.

“Look, I have had enough. Report yourself to the authorities without any funny business and I’ll make sure you don’t get the death sentence. You’ll get a few years maybe, but by the time you’re released, I’ll compensate you for your time.”

a few years maybe? A

you even think you can make me do Charlene’s time. She killed someone! She should pay for it with her life!”

of pathos and goodwill had been burned out. A storm then overcame him. “Ah. I get it. You love it rough. You’ve always, always

her to

she recovered enough strength to collect her phone, she instantly

call in a heartbeat.

Where are you, Dee Dee?”

so feeble. So vulnerable. Tears welled up

mind was on par with that of a typical child. Since Deirdre had agreed to

herself before answering, “Hi, M-Mom. I’m, uh, at home with Brendan right now. Why are you

Engel?

parroted, feeling stunned. Her mother’s nurse, Mrs. Engel, had never left her mother’s

loss evolved into audible confusion. “Dee Dee, is this house someone else’s? There were people over here. They broke things and pushed me and said they wanted me to get-the-fak-out. Then, they said they would make me spend my time in an asylum until I die. What did they really

she could react, though, she suddenly heard Ophelia’s shriek. “Arrghhh! Get away! Why are

“Mom?! Mom!”

was cut short, leaving only Deirdre’s futile cries echoing into the void. She felt her heart palpitating and leaped into action despite

Ophelia’s residence and yet found only a stranger locking the front door. There was no sight of her mother. Deirdre lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve, and demanded, “Who

showing a tinge of sympathy. “That nutcase was your mother?! God, crazy does

mother to an institution

owner, big-fat-duh! This house belongs to the Brighthalls, nutty. And now, Mr. Brighthall wants the house back and wants your mother hopping merrily away, okay? By the way, I know you’re thankful for us sending your mom to a nuthouse. I mean,

got in his car smugly and drove

blood freeze. Her mind had begun to reconstruct scenes of her mother—scared, alone, confused—being manhandled and dragged to a mental institution

interface of the phone she had been holding. It was a

her mother!

a disembodied voice. Whoever was speaking was standing

to a bucket before zooming into its content. It was some kind of mushy chum so minced and gooey that no one could tell what kind of food it was supposed to be made of. There were even flies hovering above

scooped a bowl of it and flung it at Ophelia. “Food, looney! You were whining about

look at the food and pinched her

be grateful to even have a meal! Stop being a picky sh*t and

head. “B-B-But I don’t wanna! It stinks! It’ll give me a