Broken

People say 'monster' like it's a bad thing. Like monsters are only faceless creatures who haunt our sleep when we're little.

They never realize just how many monsters they come into contact with every single day. How easy it can be to allow yourself to love one without even knowing it. How easy it is to trust someone you used to know, not understanding how broken they are inside, but loving them anyway.

But no one truly understands what makes a person a monster until they become one themselves. When the world has robbed you of everything you love and you have nothing left to live for. When the darkness is so welcoming that you would sell your soul to the devil if it meant you had a reprieve from the pain you suffered daily.

That's why I can't allow him to love me the way he wants to. Loving Everett is easy. It's comforting and familiar in a way that calms me. But I know that to love him is to put his life in danger because the monsters responsible for murdering my family won't stop until I'm dead. Even his job with the FBI can't save me. Maybe I don't want it to because at the end of the day, I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I do.

I don't hurt those who haven't done anything wrong. I protect the world by taking care of those who unleash their demons on the innocent. To get revenge for those who were taken from me. I look death in the eye and flirt with it, knowing nothing worse can happen to me at this point.

I'm not a monster.

I'm a daughter who lost her father.

A wife who lost her husband.

A mother who lost her child.

I'm not a killer.

I'm an eliminator.