Chapter 33 : Broken Hearted

by

     When I was little, all I ever wanted was a happily ever after. I wanted the life my mother lived. I wanted a big white house on a farm full of horses. I wanted the picket fence that I waited by every morning for the school bus. I wanted to dance with my prince charming to the music at the end of our favorite movie. I wanted happiness, and every night before bed, when my parents piled into my room to tell me goodnight, they told me I could have it.

     They told me that I could be whoever I wanted to be. Whether it was a princess, a pirate, or someone like my mother, who followed many dreams, even unexpected ones. She had always thought her only dream was to conquer the corporate world but then found her happily ever after on a small farm just outside of the podunk town she nailed a deer in. They told me all dreams took time, and if you worked hard, there was nothing that could stand in your way, and I never had a reason to doubt that. I was a good kid, after all. I cleaned my room. I made my bed. I ate my dinner every night. I stood next to my mother on the kitchen chair and helped her dry the dishes and hang the clothes on the line outback every Sunday after church. I truly believed them when they told me I deserved the world, and I so desperately wished I still did. 

     It made me wonder what they would think of the person I had become. Would they think I was strong? Or that I was to blame for the death of everyone that ever came too close to me?

     What would they think of me now as I sat in the corner of my motel room, staring at the heart of a man I knew for only a night. What would they think as I held his bloody badge in my hands? Would they blame me, as I blame myself? Would they call me a monster? Would they tell told me I deserved it for what I had done? That was my punishment for not keeping Chloe safe. 

     It was the questions that would forever go unanswered that haunted me.

     I stared down at the brass badge shaking in my hand, wondering how many people in Manning were mourning him or if they had yet to find his body. My heart sunk deeper and deeper until the grief over a man I had only spent a night with turned to uncontrollable anger.

     It surged through me faster than the adrenaline had when I had come back to find my door ajar. My room was untouched, but my bags were ripped apart, and my journal was gone. Though, I didn't register what had happened until I saw the heart of a nameless man on my bed with his badge stuck to it like the ugly gold broach my grandmother always wore on her peacoat. I should have called for Sam and Dean the moment I noticed something was off, but how was I supposed to explain this? How was I supposed to tell them that Azazel found out I didn't make good on my end of the deal? That John Winchester wasn't dead. How the hell could I tell Dean that the only way I could save him was by murdering his father?

     For years, I had convinced myself that this was my fault. My punishment. That if I had just let Azazel take what was his, that I could have had my happily ever after. I could have had the white picket fence, a bunch of babies crawling around, and a man who loved me for who I was, despite the demons of my past. It was hard to imagine what that life could have been, but it was also hard to remind myself that if I won this war, that if I somehow made it out alive, I still couldn't have that. Not with scars like these.

     Something in me pulled me up from the corner I had collapsed in, and I wiped away the wetness in my eyes. I paced for a while, trying to plan my next move. I didn't know where to go from here. I knew I should have called John to make sure he was okay and let him know that Azazel had figured it out, but first, I had to get rid of this bloody mess before the boys came back.

     I dug through every cupboard and closet in the small room until I found a small enough box to put it in. My heart was beating at the bottom of my throat, but I didn't do so much as sniffle as I wrapped the broken heart in a pillowcase and placed it gently in the bottom. I held the badge in my hand, wiping it with my tear-stained sleeve, and with one last apology, I took the box and shut the door behind me.

     I had no idea where I was going, but I walked for what had felt like hours until I found myself in one of the only greener areas in Chicago. I could hear the train in the distance and the ground rumbling under my hands as I dug into the dirt with nothing more than my fingernails and a burning hatred pushing me further. I had only hoped that he wasn't sitting in a ditch somewhere. That he had been found and that he was getting the burial a true hero like him had deserved. I didn't stay to say goodbye. I couldn't. How could I say anything about someone I didn't even know. I left him there, under the train tressels, with a kiss to the dirt and a promise that nothing like this would ever happen again. I wasn't going to let it, and if that meant telling Sam and Dean exactly what was going on, then that's what I had to do.

     No one else was dying for me, and it was the only way they were ever going to let me go.

     The Impala was gone when I had gotten back, and I wasn't sure if I had been flooded with relief or if I was beginning to lose my nerve. I couldn't just leave them. Not again. If they wanted me gone after what I had to say, then I would go, but I couldn't just walk without some sort of explanation.

     My hands trembled at my sides as I closed the door behind me. I slid down against it, squeezing my filthy hands together as I tried to take a deep breath.

     I was scared.       I was angry.

     I was done.

     I inhaled deeply and pulled at the sides of my hair. My head hit back against the door as I kicked at the carpet. There was so much pent-up emotion that I didn't know how to handle it. One minute I wanted to scream. Then cry. Then kill something. What I really needed was a nest of vamps to take out or a pack of wolves, but I was limited on options. So I stood up and destroyed everything.

     The lamps. The clocks. The Bible on the nightstand. It all flew across the room in waves as I screamed and cursed that yellowed eyes bastard until I was on the floor again, panting for breath and wrapping my bloody knuckles with a ratty piece of cloth I had ripped from the sheets.

     I didn't feel any better than I had before, but I wasn't sure I was ever going to, not until this was over.

     The bathroom was the only room left untouched, though I wish I had the energy to smash the mirror. Just looking at myself made me sick. My eyes were red and puffy, stained with mascara and dirt. I splashed my face with water, and just as I decided to take a hot shower, a banging on my door sent me running, hoping someone hadn't called the police over the crazy I had just unleashed on the room.