Rachel sat at the foot of her bed. She and the other Animorphs had just gotten back from, as she had put it, "kicking some Yeerk butt."
Right. No one, none of her friends, saw her as a compassionate girl. Hell, they didn't even see her as a girl. Jake saw her as a warrior, one who loved to fight, who loved the rush when she killed, someone he could manipulate to do his dirty work.
Jake. Her own cousin, using her. She was so angry at the thought. No one should use her! She was Rachel! She punched her pillow. She imagined his face on it. "Yeah, Jake, that's what you think," Rachel spat, talking to the pillow. "Go ahead. Try to manipulate me. But that's all right. You never think of how I feel. It's always, 'Hey Rachel, I'm a wimpy jackass. Go kill someone for me.' Yeah, you keep believing that, dearest cousin," she said angrily, spitting each word out angrily.
She flopped back onto her bed. Tears, hot, angry tears spilled onto her cheeks. "Yeah," she said, now out of breath. "That's right. I'll show him, someday. I'll show him," she tried to convince herself.
And Marco. Him too. He didn't try to manipulate her. He left that to his best friend. He urged her on. She had heard the name Xena one too many times. She couldn't back down now. Couldn't let them all see that she was just a girl. A helpless, weak little girl. She had to live up to Marco's taunts. Everyone saw her as a warrior, not a girl. Not a human being, just a mindless killer. And she had lived up to their expectations.
When she died, what would they say? "Live by the sword, die by the sword. She loved to kill; I guess it got to her." Of course that's what they'd say. That's what they thought. She sure as hell didn't love to kill. No one did.
She was sick of being some unfeeling killer in everyone's eyes. Everyone was afraid of her. Tobias, her boyfriend, was scared around her. She knew he was. Scared to say the wrong thing. Scared that he would push her temper. Cassie was scared. Afraid that her morals were being destroyed by her best friend.
More tears came, cascading down her cheeks. Every time she killed, it was really killing her. Killing her inside. Going against all her morals.
She wiped her tears away. The warrior, crying. Ha. Wouldn't everyone else like to see this. They'd say "Wow, she does have feelings. Never noticed before."
Dying by killing. That's what it's going to say on her death certificate. Isn't it ironic. How very ironic.