This chapter is officially the King of Angst. Don't worry, this is the last truly angsty chapter for at least 40 chapters.

Chapter 7: 130 Hours

Friday, June 13th, 2005

Mom is really mad at me. Really mad. She's actually scaring me. I don't think I've ever seen her in this much of rage. I've been confined to my room all day, and my laptop has been officially taken out of my room. She's extremely pissed because I hurt her teacher, and also because I won't tell her anything. And on top of all that, it's Friday the 13th. So, bad luck is destined to happen on this day. I shouldn't be surprised. My life has been nothing but bad luck wince I came back.

Shit. She is going to murder me in my sleep. Literally. I think that counts as bad luck. And it's not like I'll be able to fight her off. My sickness has increased tenfold each day, and now, finally, if I get any worse, I'm going to die peacefully in my sleep and save Mom the trouble.

Yes. I'm just lying here in bed. I haven't been able to muster the strength to get up and lock my door, or try to sneak the computer back into my room, or try to scream at my mom to bring me up a glass of water. I have no strength to do anything.

It's not like she'd give me the water anyway. She'd tell me to get my ass up and do it myself. And she wouldn't even apologize for cursing, which means that this, again, is the maddest I've ever seen her.

I put my face in my hands. My head hurts so much. It isn't my fault, but for once, she doesn't believe me. After talking to her psychiatrist friend, she believes that I'm hiding a horrible secret and that to heal me she has to get it out of me.

Her methods are this: every ten minutes, 'Katrina, have you killed anybody?'

Each time I yell at her 'NO!' and she huffs, having failed again, and goes back downstairs.

Because, I seriously haven't killed anybody. I already realized this. It wasn't my fault, right? But her asking me, over and over, is starting to make me doubt that. It's a tiny candle that is teetering on the edge of the table; going to consume me with either truth or lie. All it needs is one more little push, and then, I am burned in this nothingness. Because, I don't know what the truth is anymore. And maybe I never did.

I hear a creak outside my open door and Mom comes in with a tray loaded with a huge bowl of chicken noodle and water in a cup next to it. "Eat." She sits it down on top of me. She still looks incredibly mad with three veins sticking out of her head, but, unlike when she brought me breakfast, she actually just stays and sits on the spindle-legged chair that I usually used to type with. She turns it around from my desk and faces me.

I immediately start scarfing down the soup and guzzling the water so as to have an excuse not to look at her. I can't look at her. It wouldn't be right. It just wouldn't.

But, my plan backfires. I eat it so fast that after I'm done with it all, I now have no excuse to look down. Instead, I relax, and stare up at the ceiling. I won't look at her…

"Katrina." She says in a cold voice. I don't look at her, but I don't dare ignore her.

"Yes?"

"Look at me now. Now."

Hating her, I glance up at her and then right back down.

"Keep your eyes on me."

I do it angrily. "What? Now that you have my undivided attention, what?"

"Talk to me, and do it now."

"I like eggplants. And whiskey. I tried some once. Hah."

She barely keeps herself under control. "Talk to me. And if I hear even one sarcastic word out of you—"

"There's nothing to talk about."

She sighs, and thankfully looks away. "Why are you so clammed up? Katrina, what happened in Japan?" She swallows, as if the rest is hard to say. "Were…were you raped? Or molested? Or…did you do something that you blame yourself for?"

"If I tried to tell you, you wouldn't understand. You'd tell me I was cracked."

"Katrina, you already are. I need to know so we can heal the damage already done."

"I'm fine."

"Saying that doesn't make it true. You aren't."

"I'M FINE! JEEZ!"

"No you aren't fine. You are in no way fine. Think about it. How long has it been since you've kept such secrets from me? How long has it been since you've been so hostile and mean? How long has it been since you jumped at every noise? A mother notices these things, and I worry about them. Have you been bullied, maybe?"

"I don't need your help."

"Did you hurt someone?"

"Shut up."

"Did you…"

"SHUT UP!" I scream, breaking down. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT, ALL RIGHT? IT'S NOT!" My headache worsens and I lay my head back down on the pillow as I get dizzy.

At that moment, the phone rings. Mom sends me the saddest look I've ever seen in my life, and bows her head as she leaves my room to get the phone.

I hurl myself back down across the covers, fighting back tears. Everyone is out to get me. The doctors, Sensu, even my own mother. Wait, Sensu is dead. Isn't he? Yes, yes, Sensu is dead. My god, why can't I think straight?

I hear the click of a phone being hung up, and Mom sticks her head back in my room. She says in a quiet voice, "I'm going to pick something up. A package just arrived for me."

I say nothing. She leaves. I hear the front door slam, and the car rev up out of the driveway.

I couldn't be happier. If this is what you call happy, anyway.

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I keep staring at my wrist, and back to the clock. Mom's been gone almost 4 hours. I'm getting hungry again. But mom will never let me fix my own lunch again, after the sandwich incident. She's afraid I'll be captivated by the knife and cut myself again. Really, that's not such a bad idea, but again, I can't move. I'm so sore all over. My head is spinning. I feel really cold under 5 thick blankets. I've tried to stand and I just fall back on the bed. Everything is going wrong with my body.

Could I actually be dying?

I feel miserable enough for that to be possible. What is the point of living? I know that sounds very suicidal, but seriously, what is the point? A whole bunch of elements work together to produce an organism that eats and sleeps.

Why should I even go on if it's going to be this way? I'm sure the elements will forgive me. They'll just rot away and a fox with eat me. I can keep the circle of life going. God, what am I saying?

I mean, could I really kill myself? Could I actually take my own life? I'm dying anyway. I can see that. I just keep getting weaker and weaker. Mom keeps blowing it off, but I think she realizes it too. Some corner of her mind knows that I'm not going to get better. Something more than just my body is weak. It's a cancer in my soul, destroying everything inside me. I can't heal if my soul is wounded. A force inside me is slowly growing, a bulb of rage and hate and sadness…

And I'm not going to heal. Mom knows it. We both know it.

I look at my wrist again. The cuts are never going to heal. They are going to scar my wrist forever, my mom said. Just like me. I'm going to scar and they'll never heal. And the scars of my past are going to kill me. I'll never heal. There's no point in living. I'm going to die in a few weeks. I'm not getting better. It doesn't matter that it's not my fault.

The candle will fall and ignite me, and my very soul will go up in scarlet flame.

That's it. Tonight, I'm going to see what I can do to end it all. Something inside me is saying that it's the right thing to do. Everyone will be much better off without me

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Mom eventually comes back, and tells me what was in the package but not why she was gone almost 5 hours. But…she isn't angry anymore. She just comes in and looks at me with such pain…

"It was my new MediFast diet supply. It's time to eat again, lunky." She pulls down the covers and picks me up like a toddler. I don't fight her, (although if I could I would, but I can't). She helps me down the steps, somehow carrying me fine, and into the kitchen. She sits me down at my normal place and bustles around the kitchen making a steak and buttered rice, one of my favorite meals. I watch her carefully. Is she actually trying to…to be nice again?

Why is my mom such a good person? Why can't I be like that? NO! STOP! I AM A GOOD PERSON JUST LIKE HER. I AM. PERIOD.

I see the bloodstain still sitting on the wall across from me. I shut my eyes. What's that? It looks really creepy, though. I look back at my mom to avoid looking at the stain. Mom might have just cut herself…it wouldn't have been me…the wrist cut was an accident…merely an accident…

She sees me watching and smiles, but her eyes still contain that deep, deep sadness. It pierces my heart, and I look away. I can see her watery smile fade out of the corner of my eyes.

Soon, she'll give me a knife. Then, all will be well. I know it will. I will achieve some sort of peace the minute it plunges into my chest.

She finally comes out with my food. I take a deep breath, then give it a good look-over. The steak is done medium-rare, and the rice has a lot of butter. I sigh. This is my last supper.

I look for a knife and my eyes land on a shiny piece of silverware.

She…she only gave me a spoon.

My meat has been pre-cut and she only gave me a spoon.

I stare at it. Mom sits down across from it.

"W-why is it pre-cut?" I ask.

"So you don't have a knife." She said. "Katrina, you've begun talking to yourself. I listened outside your door a little while when I came back."

I gasp. "But Mom…I want…"

"Quiet. No, I am not going to take this." Her eyes grow wet. "What have I done wrong to make you want to kill yourself? First it was the slitting, and now the actual death… Please tell me what I ever did! Please! I want to make it all better, but you won't tell me anything…"

I stare at her as she puts her head in her hands and begins sobbing. This…this is so…horrible. She blames herself. She thinks that she's the one at fault.

But she isn't. She can't be at fault. She's my mother. She didn't do the horrible things.

But…

Does that mean that I'm the one at fault?

"NO!" I scream. "I'M NOT AT FAULT!"

She sits up, staring at me. "I'm not saying you are! I just want to know what's wrong. Katrina, no mother should have to watch their child become suicidal. Please, please, please don't do it to me." Her voice is a plea. "You won't tell me anything." She pauses to get her breath back. "I want you to know that you can tell me anything, even when we're fighting. I will always love you no matter what you did."

"Why do you keep suggesting that I'm a killer? I'm not!"

"I said nothing about a killer, Katrina."

I inhale sharply.

"Who did you kill? And why? Was it an accident? Is that why you keep saying you aren't at fault? Who did you kill, Katrina?" She stops sniffling. "Tell me now."

"NO ONE!" I scream, and clap a hand over my mouth. But it's too late.

Her eyes harden. "I'm sick of this game, Katrina. If you won't tell me, I'll find someone who can make you tell. I swear to god, Katrina, if I have to lock you up in an asylum or even in prison to find out why you're so torn up inside, I'll do it."

I stare at her, at this bitch that I once loved so much. She's going to put me in a cage without food or water. And then, she'll make me tell her that I killed Mie and Lahri. And then…I'll watch my life crumble right in front of me.

"No." I whisper. "No!"

The grandfather clock dings. 8:00.

I feel…a change. My rage is all concentrated into a little ball nestled in my heart. My body screams…130 hours…

But it's too late. With the final dong, I come to a final, desperate realization. A demonic realization. My human side is out of steam. She's going to get me and lock me up.

It's all too much. Too many horrible memories.

The ball of hatred explodes and the demon takes over, against my will. My human cage on the panther breaks. I transform, loving the fur that now covers me. I can feel my back legs elongate, my nose and mouth shove forward in a massive crocodile jaw, my ears moving to the top of my head. My head doesn't hurt. My eyes sharpen and my head clears. My clothes rip off around me.

I jump out of my chair and inch towards this woman sitting over here.

I have to live.

I won't go down.

Even if it means taking my mom down.

The fury in my eyes is matched only by the terror in hers. "KATRINA?" She screams. "KATRINA?"

I smile at her, a horrible panther grin.

She jumps up from her chair and runs into the living room, screaming bloody murder. I chase her slowly, wanting to drag out the fear in my prey.

She'll be sorry she ever even thought of caging me.

Gaining the lead, she picks up an entire desk, somehow, and uses it to block me from her. The desk is trembling so bad that I wonder how she hasn't dropped it yet.

Get her. Get her get her…don't be gotten. Get her.

I extend my claws and with two broad slashes the desk crumbles in half. My mom shrieks and charges behind the sofa. I chase her, still not aiming to even touch her.

I want to feel her terror before I catch her.

I curl my paw into a fist and ram it as hard as I can into the sofa. I smirk as the fist goes completely through the back of it. I allow my knuckles to just graze her body on the other side. She yells as soon as I touch her as though it burns. I forgot how good it felt to go demon.

But when I touch her, I sense something inside her. A kind of energy…

Mom careens away and charges up the stairs like an Olympic runner. An unusual amount of energy, in fact. I wonder why. It could just be the fear of the chase.

I smirk and chase after her. She shuts and locks the door to her room. I charge headlong and burst through it with a deadly headbutt. She screams again and throws a lamp at me. It hits my head. It does nothing.

She's got herself into a corner, wedged between the bed and the wall. Hah. I advance towards her slowly. She trembles. "KATRINA! KATRINA, WHAT'S WRONG?"

You wouldn't understand.

I claw her leg viciously, and she goes down. Her blood starts to stain her jeans and the carpet beneath her.

I get ready for the final strike, but then, something inside me…pops.

I see my mother, staring at me in horror, waiting for the impending death. I can see myself, waiting to send her to hell. I see her blood staining her pants. I see all of the horror. I see my bloody paw-prints behind me. I can see that entire, 1-minute chase…the joy of it…the joy of death…

Something gives me the strength to overcome the demon.

My human side shows through, very slightly, giving me a free human will again.

I stare at her through the hating red eyes. She stares back.

Terror. That's what the stare encompasses. I…almost killed her. My own mother. Hers is the same look of fear that the psychiatrist gave me.

They're all the same to me. They all fear me. I'm no longer good. I'm wicked. In the bathwater, I saw myself. A wicked, wicked creature, a deadly panther, a wicked being.

I try to change back…and I can't. Something inside me is breaking. A barrier.

My remaining self-control crumbles, right then and there, letting insanity escape. I turn away from her and run down the stairs, through the destroyed living room, passing the blood on the walls. I run outside and into the rain. The rain is never going to stop. It hasn't this whole goddamn week. I have to get away from her. Before I kill her. The rain will never stop. I hate the rain.

And I hate myself even more. I'm a monster.

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Author's Note: This sequel, as I'm sure you've noticed, isn't quite as humorous as the original. Sorry about that. There's only one more chapter to go before the angst ends, though, so bear with me until then. And it's funny because I'm updating this chapter on a Friday the 13th and this takes place on a Friday the 13th. I didn't plan it like that but it's pretty cool.