Chapter One

*A/N: Warning, possible triggers for self-harm, depression, suicide, and anything of that related topic. Readers, proceed with caution and at your own risk. You have been warned.

The door was unlocked.

Alex wished it wasn't. Everything would have been so much simpler then. He wouldn't have to deal with all those… emotions. Feelings. He could have still been blatantly happy, ignorant, and satisfied.

His world seems to burn with the frivolity of an inferno.

I turned the handle of the door, the gleaming brass cool beneath my dry and then stoic hand. I pushed myself into the room. I looked up, and my world shattered into a thousand, deathly pieces. Blood dripped from my chest.

My dearest Eliza, whom I still love with all of my heart, was leaning against a desk, head tilted back, face abliss. Hercules Mulligan, boyfriend of my most sworn enemy, was leaning towards her, one hand in her long, black hair, another on her waist.

His lips encased hers, and they swayed to the beat of their own melody. With a floor-shaking crash, I threw the door towards the wall with all my might. Hercules and Eliza jumped back, staring at me with rounded and horrified eyes. My face must have been murderous.

We stared at each other. I sized Hercules up, and he did so to me, but with a remorseful look in his dark eyes. Eliza's own slowly filled with tears, and she gently pushed the larger man away, smoothing her blue ruffled skirts. My fists clenched in anger.

"A-alex," Eliza pleaded, "this isn't what you think it is!"

"No, Elizabeth." I hissed, fury clawing its way up my throat. "I know exactly what's going on. You've cheated on me — and John, as a matter of fact — with Hercules Mulligan!"

"No, Alex! You don't understand!" Eliza cried. "I wasn't— I sw-swear! Please—"

She stumbled against the desk, her soft black eyes sang a song of sorrow as they glistened with fresh tears, un-spilled across her fair face. As her lips pleaded forgiveness, a darker look shadowed Hercules's face.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and dark, which made willowy and graceful Eliza look even more like a woodland fairy. But the protective sheen in his eyes stewed and curdled with the guilted look splashed across his face.

"Why?" I growled, regaining my voice, "Why would you do this to me, Eliza? Were you not happy? I gave you everything I had! Every thought, every word, every good memory! I have given up so much; all for you! I gave you my heart, and what did you do? You have torn it all apart!"

"Alexander—" Hercules began, glancing sorrowfully at the tears that finally escaped the confines of Eliza's eyes.

"Save it for John!" I snapped, backing up a few paces, looking at the two beseeching figures in disgust.

"I'm going to tell him about this, you know that, right?"

"No, Alex!" Eliza cried, taking a futile step towards me. "Please, don't go! I-I can explain!"

"You don't need to explain anything!" I snarled.

Hercules draped an arm around a weeping Eliza. I turned around and scampered fleetingly down the cold and dark hallway.

Eliza's useless begs and pleads echoed after me. I tried to outrun the pain, throwing on the hoodie of my dark gray sweatshirt. It effectively muffled Eliza's calls, rendering them unintelligible. Quite unfortunately, pain outran me.

Alex opened his eyes and slammed his fists against the wall. His dark auburn hair, usually only slightly messy, was a rat's nest now; tangled and wild, falling out of the elastic.

Alex could feel the stinging scratches on his face, crevices cut by his fingernails. They dug into his pallid and clammy skin. Hot and salty tears threatened to spill, thickly, from his long and dark lashes, brown eyes bloodshot.

Repeatedly, Alex beat his fist upon the wall, splitting and bruising his knuckles, mouth agape and open in a silent scream of pure agony. He loved Eliza, loved her so much it hurt to breathe, every passing second was another battle in a never-ending war.

Eliza was the love of his life— he knew that much. She was always, always, there for him. When he was struggling with depression and self-harm, she was there to help him. Once she learned about his cuts and self-abuse, she didn't walk out of his life like so many others. She stood by his side, and eventually, with her help, he pulled through and started seeing brighter tomorrows.

It had only happened a few hours ago, but the Betrayal felt as old as time. His heart was completely split, scarlet blood running freely, splattering across his mind and tongue.

Aaron, Alex's roommate, paused and glanced in concern as the huddled and shaking silhouette, then resumed his voyage back from the restroom. Alex glared at his retreating back.

He doesn't understand. No one does.

Tearfully, Alex opened the screen of his laptop and scrawled a hateful and sadistic message, posting it to his blog without a second thought. It looked quite out of place, surrounded by happy memories and pictures. But those were taken and recorded when he still had his dearest Eliza. Now, he had no one.

When she was mine…

Alex scrolled down, reviewing old submissions, growing more and more depressed and gathering up a collection of self-loathing thoughts.

He glanced at one picture and was immediately sucked into a warm afternoon, mid-June, the day he and Eliza graduated from King's High. That was more than two years ago.

"Alex, come on in! The water's wonderful!" Eliza called, the soft, gray waves lapping over her bare and sandy toes.

I wrinkled my nose and took yet another pace away from the water's edge. I eyed the undulating, ceaseless, rising tide of the ocean. Just a year before, it had raged around my homeland, Nevis, destroying everything as far as anyone and anything could see.

Eliza looked up at me with wide, simpering eyes, so black they were nearly purple. Her fair face almost seemed to glow in the patchy sunlight, a slight breeze ruffling her long, silky hair.

She was so beautiful at the moment, my heart nearly stopped beating, and everything in my whole world stopped to hold its breath. It was if she had ascended from Heaven itself, white feathered wings, golden halo and all.

"I-I don't know, Eliza…" I stammered. "You know… the hurricane… how close I was to the ocean's edge at the time…"

Eliza's eyes softened and glistened. Her face was suddenly so tender and gentle, and I felt my heart melt. She walked towards and pulled me down into a very sweet kiss.

"Alex," Eliza murmured as she drew away, "let me help you. You need to get over your fear of wind and rain and sea. Let's take the first step… together. I'll always be there for you. You mustn't worry. As long as I am here, let nothing harm you."

I nodded and allowed Eliza to take my hand and lead me like a small child, down the the water's edge. The cool water licked at my bare feet, and at once, my throat constricted and I stood still; stiff, stark, and terrified.

"No," I muttered, struggling against Eliza's grip and attempting to retreat upland.

I closed my eyes as terrible images flashed by. The sea after the storm. Thousands floating within its murky depths, their bodies white, bloated with sores, blanketed by flies, fish and birds scavenging the rotting flesh. The sea was stained purple with their blood. A small child, no more than three, washed up on shore.

Her still and cloudy gray eyes would never see again.

Eliza grabbed both of my trembling hands.

"There is no death here," she whispered, correctly interpreting the wild look on my face "Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now."

I slowly opened my eyes. There was no carnage. Not a gruesome sight. There was only the gray ocean now, tingued with blue as the sky started to clear. The sun was dipping towards the horizon. In an hour, the sky would be streaked and flushed with beautiful colors.

Tears sprang into my eyes as I surveyed the now beautiful water, calm and sparkling. Eliza brushed away the escaped droplets, and I held her close to me. She laid her head on my chest. We stayed, locked in that position, for hours on the shore, watching the sun set down over the ocean. The sky and our hearts bloomed.

Alex choked back a sob and buried his face into the pillow. It smelled fresh; Aaron had done the laundry the other day. His shoulders were shaking with the weight of his grief, eyes welling up and soaking the pillow. Endless tears.

Countless seconds, infinitesimal yet infinite minutes passed, then the shackled, dragging hours.

Tearstained, but determined, Alex began to type with a fury, fingers flying as he tackled and grappled his assignments. Then came the long scratchings of the quill, timeless and flawless strokes of his deadly weapon.

"To the People of King's College:

After an unequivocal experience of the inefficiency of the subsisting student government, you are called upon to deliberate on a new system for our Associated Student Body. The subject speaks its own importance; comprehending in its consequences nothing less than the existence of the students, the safety and welfare of the People of which it is composed, the fate of the school in many respects the most interesting in your worlds.

It has been frequently remarked that it seems to have been reserved to the people of King's College by their conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether societies of men (and women) are really capable or not of establishing good student government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force.

If there be any truth in the remark, the crisis at which we are arrived may with propriety be regarded as the era in which that decision is to be made; and a wrong election of the part we shall act may, in this view, deserve to be considered as the general misfortune of mankind. This idea will add the inducements of philanthropy to those of good school spirit and pride, to heighten the solicitude which all considerate and good men (and women) must feel for the event.

Happy will it be if our choice should be directed by a judicious estimate of our true interests, unperplexed and unbiased by considerations not connected with the public good of the students. But this is a thing more ardently to be wished than seriously to be expected. The plan offered to our deliberations affects too many particular interests, innovates upon too many student-run on and off campus "clubs", not to involve in its discussion a variety of objects foreign to its merits, and of views, passions and prejudices little favorable to the discovery of truth."

"Alex," Aaron said, gently. "It it past midnight. Please, put down your quill, stop writing. Take a break."

"No," Alex snarled, "I can't stop until I get this essay through Washington."

Aaron took a hesitant step backwards, ano opened his mouth, not yet defeated. After another poisonous glare from Alex, Aaron finally subsided and plodded to his bunk, throwing worried glances over his shoulder.

Alex felt his lip curl, and he sneered.

Foolish Aaron, thinking that "kindness" and "concern" can help me now. Nothing will save me from my fate. What's done is done; the past is irreversible. The present is surmountable. But the future… it's capricious. It can be altered in a moment's decision.

Could I change the future so that my past seems more… desirable? It is possible to make things so bad for myself, that these heart-broken memories, might seem almost… happy? So when I look back, instead of grief, I see… contempt? A sense of accomplishment? Oh yes… it may be daring, cold-hearted, but I want revenge.

Alex slipped from his bed, his head sickened with the thoughts of vengeance, but his heart was shaking with glee. He knew what he wanted. The pain was too much to bare, so why put up with it?

Perhaps if he shared his pain… gave it away, like charity, surely, it would lessen? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So if he showed hate, would he get love in return? Love is the opposite of hate… isn't it?

Nevertheless, if his prediction did not come true, he would try again. Life could not get any more miserable than this.

Oh, but Eliza. He loved her. It was the first thing that sprung to mind each morning. He would open his eyes, smile stupidly at the ceiling and whisper:

"You are certainly a little sorceress and have bewitched me and have rendered me restless and unsatisfied. For as it now stands I love you more than I ought — more than is consistent with my peace. I meet you in every dream."

Alex let out a dry sob and staggered a few paces forward before falling to his knees, throat rubbed raw by heart-throbbing moans of grief. She had understood him, confided in him as he did her, encouraged and supported him, and she was so true.

Her sweet personality, wits, and charm rivaled both of her sisters and two brothers. She was too pure, so innocent, able to find something good in everyone. Her father was a kind and sensible man, her mother charming and cordial.

Her eldest sister, Angelica, was extremely intelligent and protective. She dedicated every day, every waking moment, to her studies and her siblings, paying a special attention to Eliza and Peggy.

"I love my sisters more than anything in this life, I will choose their happiness over mine, every time. Eliza and Peggy are the best things in my life, so I will never lose sight of the fact that I have been blessed with the beginnings of their lives!"

The youngest Schuyler sister, Margarita, which of whom everyone affectionately dubbed "Peggy", was breathtakingly stunning. Not only that, but she had sass and quite the personality. Even Thomas Jefferson was almost rendered insipid in comparison to her.

Alex had never really gotten the chance to meet the two Schuyler brothers, but he had heard that they were both athletic and smart, having been on the honor roll for three consecutive years.

Alex smiled bitterly to himself as the tears flew from his eyes, splattering the ground as he shook with grief, sadness, loss, and anger. All the emotions frothed inside him— Alex really needed something to lighten the load. So he turned his attention elsewhere, begging for an alleviation.

Something nudged the corner of his mind. Alex detected something other than sadness, so he reached eagerly towards it, seeking a relief.

It was not a relief.

Something hit him internally with a crashing blow. Alex stumbled and slumped to the wall, blood boiling in a rage.

I just cannot believe the arrogance of the bastardly, two-faced, short-sighted, bluntly ignorant, incompetence piece of shit, otherwise known as John Laurens. After the learning of the Betrayal, he was the first I sought out! I told him of what I had learned, and you know what he did? He just laughed in my face, flipped me off, and flat-out refused to even acknowledge that what I was saying might have a ring of truth for it!

"Southern mother-fucking Republicans!" Alex spat, out loud.

Aaron stirred, obviously still awake, but said naught.

To be completely honest with himself, Alex did not know which political party John was in favor of, but the ignorant boy just seemed like a Trump-supporter. Alex could imagine him as a racist, arrogant, obnoxious, narcissistic, misogynistic xenophobe.

Alex let his anger flare inside of him. It was if he had doused himself in gasoline and struck a match. The flames of hatred scorched his insides, burning up his throat and into the mouth, pulling at his vocal chords as he whispered the unimaginable.

Alex stumbled into the kitchen and snatched a knife from its wooden block. Standing over the sink, brackish tears of loathing, anger, and pity dripping forlornly down his face. Alex dug the tip of the knife into his arm, old white scars gleaming in the pale light.

Again and again the knifepoint dipped, beads of blood dripping down the drain. He let all the recent events, memories of sadness, disbelief, anger, grief, pour onto his innocent yet tainted skin. The old scars disappeared under new stains, the crimson droplets raining into the sink, dark and thick, yet with a low viscosity.

The last time I did this was years ago. After my cousin had committed suicide and I was thrown onto a ship. After surviving the hurricane, I wrote about it. My first refrain, a testament to my pain.

"Honoured Sir,

I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of the most dreadful hurricane that memory or any records whatever can trace, which happened here on the 31st ultimo at night.

It began about dusk, at North, and raged very violently till ten o'clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting round to the South West point, from whence it returned with redoubled fury and continued so till near three o'clock in the morning. Good God! what horror and destruction — it's impossible for me to describe — or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind — fiery meteors flying about in the air — the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning — the crash of the falling houses — and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed, were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels. A great part of the buildings throughout the Island are levelled to the ground — almost all the rest very much shattered — several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined — whole families running about the streets unknowing where to find a place of shelter — the sick exposed to the keenness of water and air — without a bed to lie upon — or a dry covering to their bodies — our harbour is entirely bare. In a word, misery in all its most hideous shapes spread over the whole face of the country. — A strong smell of gunpowder added somewhat to the terrors of the night; and it was observed that the rain was surprisingly salt. Indeed, the water is so brackish and full of sulphur that there is hardly any drinking it.

My reflections and feelings on this frightful and melancholy occasion are set forth in following self-discourse.

Where now, Oh! vile worm, is all thy boasted fortitude and resolution? what is become of thy arrogance and self-sufficiency? — why dost thou tremble and stand aghast? how humble — how helpless — how contemptible you now appear. And for why? the jarring of the elements — the discord of clouds? Oh, impotent presumptuous fool! how darest thou offend that omnipotence, whose nod alone were sufficient to quell the destruction that hovers over thee, or crush thee into atoms? See thy wretched helpless state and learn to know thyself. Learn to know thy best support. Despise thyself and adore thy God. How sweet — how unutterably sweet were now the voice of an approving conscience; — then couldst thou say — hence ye idle alarms — why do I shrink? What have I to fear? A pleasing calm suspense! a short repose from calamity to end in eternal bliss? — let the earth rend, let the planets forsake their course — let the sun be extinguished, and the heavens burst asunder — yet what have I to dread? my staff can never be broken — in omnipotence I trust.

He who gave the winds to blow and the lightnings to rage — even him I have always loved and served — his precepts have I observed — his commandments have I obeyed — and his perfections have I adored. — He will snatch me from ruin — he will exalt me to the fellowship of Angels and Seraphs, and to the fulness of never ending joys.

But alas! how different, how deplorable — how gloomy the prospect — death comes rushing on in triumph veiled in a mantle of ten-fold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed and ready for the stroke. — On his right hand sits destruction, hurling the winds and belching forth flames; — calamity on his left threatening famine, disease, distress of all kinds. — And Oh! thou wretch, look still a little further; see the gulf of eternal mystery open — there mayest thou shortly plunge — the just reward of thy vileness. — Alas! whither canst thou fly? where hide thyself? thou canst not call upon thy God; — thy life has been a continual warfare with him.

Hark! ruin and confusion on every side. — Tis thy turn next: but one short moment — even now — Oh Lord help — Jesus be merciful!

Thus did I reflect, and thus at every gust of the wind did I conclude, — till it pleased the Almighty to allay it. — Nor did my emotions proceed either from the suggestion of too much natural fear, or a conscience overburdened with crimes of an uncommon cast. — I thank God this was not the case. The scenes of horror exhibited around us, naturally awakened such ideas in every thinking breast, and aggravated the deformity of every failing of our lives. It were a lamentable insensibility indeed, not to have had such feelings, — and I think inconsistent with human nature.

Our distressed helpless condition taught us humility and a contempt of ourselves. — The horrors of the night — the prospect of an immediate cruel death — or, as one may say, of being crushed by the Almighty in his anger — filled us with terror. And everything that had tended to weaken our interest with Him, upbraided us, in the strongest colours, with our baseness and folly. — That which, in a calm unruffled temper, we call a natural cause, seemed then like the correction of the Deity. — Our imagination represented him as an incensed master, executing vengeance on the crimes of his servants. — The father and benefactor were forgot, and in that view, a consciousness of our guilt filled us with despair.

But see, the Lord relents — he hears our prayers — the Lightning ceases — the winds are appeased — the warring elements are reconciled, and all things promise peace. — The darkness is dispelled — and drooping nature revives at the approaching dawn. Look back, Oh, my soul — look back and tremble. — Rejoice at thy deliverance, and humble thyself in the presence of thy deliverer.

Yet hold, Oh, vain mortal! — check thy ill-timed joy. Art thou so selfish as to exult because thy lot is happy in a season of universal woe? — Hast thou no feelings for the miseries of thy fellow-creatures, and art thou incapable of the soft pangs of sympathetic sorrow? — Look around thee and shudder at the view. — See desolation and ruin wherever thou turnest thine eye. See thy fellow-creatures pale and lifeless; their bodies mangled — their souls snatched into eternity — unexpecting — alas! perhaps unprepared! — Hark the bitter groans of distress — see sickness and infirmities exposed to the inclemencies of wind and water — see tender infancy pinched with hunger and hanging to the mother's knee for food! — see the unhappy mother's anxiety — her poverty denies relief — her breast heaves with pangs of maternal pity — her heart is bursting — the tears gush down her cheeks — Oh sights of woe! Oh distress unspeakable! — my heart bleeds — but I have no power to solace! — Oh ye, who revel in affluence, see the afflictions of humanity, and bestow your superfluity to ease them. — Say not, we have suffered also, and with-hold your compassion. What are your sufferings compared to these? Ye have still more than enough left. — Act wisely. — Succour the miserable and lay up a treasure in Heaven.

I am afraid, sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination, than a true picture of realities. But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon which I have not absolutely been an eye-witness to.

Our General has several very salutary and human regulations, and both in his public and private measures has shown himself the man."

Total strangers, moved by kindness, passed around a tin, and soon, everyone had chipped in enough to be able to send me to a new land.

They hauled me to this "America", telling me "In New York you can be a new man! Get your education, don't forget from which you came. The world's going to know your name!"

I was heartsick, longing for my old life. I sobbed almost nonstop during the voyage, locked myself in my own quarters for weeks on end, refusing food, taking water so that when I cried, I actually had tears to shed.

One fateful afternoon, we arrived at New York City, and according to the crewmen, it was "The Greatest City in the World."

I stepped off the ship. A large man, carmel skin gleaming in the watery sunlight, offered me a hand. He tipped his hat.

"George Washington," he greeted me, smiling. "What's your name, son?"

"Son?" I questioned, caught off-guard.

George laughed. "Oh, don't mind me. It's a habit. I've been trying to grow out of it… but as they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

I forced a smile, though my insides were throbbing painfully. Despite my conflicting emotions, I took a liking to the friendly man instantly.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton, and there's a million things I haven't done, so just you wait."

George smiled. "I think I will."

I immediately raced home and started sobbing, already desperately homesick and wishing for my brother, my mother, my cousin. Unfortunately for me, they were all dead. I had no one left.

My mother was the kindest figure of my life. She was gentle, tolerable, and loving. We scarcely survived, scraping by, but my mother always made sure that I had something to eat. She worked herself down to the bone every day, always preceding the rising son and returning late at night. But, one fateful day, both of us caught a terrible sickness. After weeks of agony, I survived. She died.

My cousin, David, took us in after out parents left us. He was kind and good-hearted, but so full of bitterness and depression. One day, James and I found him hanging by his neck from the rafters of the roof. By then, we had grown very close to him. His death was unhinging.

My brother, James. I still love him. When my mother was still alive, she used to say that he was so much like our father, but I disagree. If James was anything like my father, he would have left the moment things started to get tough. But he pulled through, worked alongside me and my mother, and my cousin too, for a matter of fact, using all his free and spare time to scavenged the street for scraps and stray coins. He was the brightest thing in our lives. It was almost like having a personal sun. The day he died, we were swamped in darkness.

The morning after my arrival to New York, I woke up to mangled wrists and slashed thighs. It was one of the worst sights I had ever seen. Waking up in a pool of your own blood with no recollection of how it came to be can do things to you.

And it did things to me.

After Alex had finished, he counted several lines and one word, all smeared and irritated and stinging on his pale and sweaty flesh.

The word: REVENGE

The lines: — — — — —

They were so deep, the cuts were sure to leave scars. But they were far up his forearm, and Alex's hoodie sleeves always fell to the tips of his fingers.

Alex fought down pangs of remorse. All of his and Eliza's hard work was undone by one reckless action. He knew that once he started at it, there was no going back.

He was confident that no one could notice, no one would pry. Without even bothering to wash or bandage the scratches, he stumbled and fell onto his bed, and immediately was assaulted and plagued by terrifying and indescribable nightmares.

*A/N: Hello, and thank you for spending some time to read this. I, personally, am in disfavor of my writing. I find it to be lacking flavor. It is rather distasteful. I'm not sure if I will be continuing it because, alas, school is just about to begin. I would appreciate it if anyone gave me tips on how to improve my diction or mood or tone. I hope that you enjoyed (though most unfortunately, I did not) this chapter, and until we meet again… thank you.

P.S. If you actually read through the whole Hurricane Letter, massive kudos to you. I feel that not enough people actually read Alexander's writing, and very few can revel in the brilliance of his penmanship. Good day to all.