I fucked up.

I fucking fucked up.

Fuck.

I promised myself I wouldn't do it again, I fucking promised.

I'm so stupid, so fucking stupid, what the fuck is wrong with me?

What would my therapist say? What the hell would my therapist say right now? "Assess the situation. Retrace your steps. Look back on your reasoning. How could you have handled it better?"

How the fuck could I have handled it better?

Okay. Fine.

I was supposed to go out with my friends today. They never told me where we were going (shit like that already pisses me off – I hate surprises) and even on our way through Roseorn, they'd only dodge my questions about their plans for today.

When I held my finger to my wrist, my pulse was already climbing to the 100s. I haven't felt this fuckin' anxious since Olly's funeral, so I knew I should back out before we got to wherever the hell my friends were taking me. As many excuses as I made, they only ignored me. I thought maybe I was just crazy for freaking out. I mean, I've barely been outside with people other than Teddy, so it only made sense to blame my discomfort on my own lack of Vitamin D. Seriously, I didn't want to be an asshole and ruin a day out with friends.

But these fuckin' pricks.

After about half an hour of walking, we turned the corner and stood right behind a horde of Roseorn folks crowding around a small stage in the city park. Some Roseorn Scientific Facility lady was behind a podium, droning on and on about all the tests she and her team had conducted on...on Diamondback.

It was there.

Snarling and cackling in a cage that could barely hold it.

It felt like I couldn't breathe.

Like everything around me was slipping further and further away from me.

As I looked at that monster, all I could see was the image of it standing over Oliver's dead body. Why was it there to watch Oliver's last moments? Why did it look at me like it was sorry that day? So many questions I pushed away from that day resurfaced simultaneously.

Whose sick, twisted idea of a fun day out was this?

They knew Diamondback was there when Oliver died. They knew, I told them. Did they think I was over it? If they did, they'd have to be idiots. I didn't want to believe that the people I called friends were self-absorbed snots, so I thought that maybe if I tried to explain my discomfort that they'd understand. That's what my therapist says works, right?

So I leaned over to Ben and asked to leave, but from the way he scoffed, I felt him getting annoyed with me.

Then he leaned over to Kaitlyn and said something he thought I wouldn't hear: "Diamondback's got nothin' to do with Oliver dying. C'mon, we all knew that kid was gonna kill himself one day or the other. Don't know why Toni keeps trying to blame it on everything else under the sun."

His words traveled to a part of me that I had long forgotten and seeped into a pool of deep subconscious fury.

Red. Red hot anger festering in the depths of my own soul.

Shaking, trembling, my hands tightening into all-too-violent fists.

I don't remember what I said. I don't remember what was running through my mind at the time either.

All I remember is my knuckles digging themselves into Ben's temple. Over and over and over again. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted to punch every single syllable back into his scornful mouth.

The crowd around us screamed and scattered as Diamondback laughed.

Kaitlyn and Daniel dragged me off of Ben before I could do any lasting damage. I don't care about what they yelled at me as they did so, it didn't matter. When I finally came down from my own anxious/anger high, I didn't feel remorse like I usually would. All I wanted to do was stomp his smug face into the ground.

More yelling, more arguing, more pointless screaming. I couldn't deal with them anymore, so I stormed home before I could do something that I'd regret.

The moment my bedroom door slammed shut is when the shame settled in.

I don't feel sorry for Ben. I feel sorry for myself. Hell, for Teddy. What the hell does it look like to see your big brother on the morning news for pounding some guy's face in, instead of having a "civilized, adult conversation." The example I'm setting is awful.

But there won't be consequences. Dad will just pay Ben's family off like he usually does and that makes me feel even shitter. Apparently, money can do anything if you have enough of it. It just makes me wonder how this situation would play out if my Dad wasn't Roseorn's mayor. Maybe I would've handled it better?

So what should I have done differently?

Calmly asked Ben to stop being a prick? Walked away? Gone home? Not have gone out in the first place?

Jesus Christ, how do you expect me not to knock this dick's fuckin' lights out?

It's my own fault for getting too pissed. Shit, it's my own fault for not choosing better friends. Well. After today, I don't think I'll have anyone left to call a friend anymore.

I'll keep a low-profile for a while. Showing my face at school for the next week is gonna be hell.