I Woke Up And Chose Violence Novels & Stories

I reach her— Just as one of them grabs her arm. I don’t think. I don’t calculate. I destroy. One down. Second— third— They fall. All of them. The room goes quiet again. Too quiet. I pull her behind me. Breathing hard. Body screaming. But still standing. Always standing. Adrian watches from across the room. Unmoved. Untouched. Unbothered. “You chose violence,” he says. “No,” I reply, my voice low and deadly. “I chose her.” A pause.

She pulled a syringe of adrenaline from her med kit and jabbed it into his slender neck like she'd done it a thousand times. "Don't fall asleep now. The fun's just starting." Cameron jolted awake immediately. He could clearly feel the pain of each broken bone. He sobbed like he'd lost his mind. Titus was toying with a combat knife in his hand. He gave the signal. Two fully armed mercs dragged the doctor back into the room. The man was terrified out of his mind. He dropped to his knees and shook.

Just breathe. I swear to everything holy and unholy, the urge that rushed through me in that moment was not calm, curiosity, or awe. It was violence. Pure, jealous, highly unreasonable violence. Because the second Jayden’s hand closed around Victor’s wrist, my first thought was I should cut that hand off. Victor’s hand. Not Jayden’s. I am not insane. Just… passionate. And then Victor inhaled like he had been holding his breath for a century. He jerked awake so hard the doctor actually cursed out loud, which honestly felt validating because at least I was not the only one internally screaming.

This man has managed to draw me to him in a matter of seconds and without even muttering a single word. I am intrigued. Very. His gaze left me and they dropped down to the floor, "It's just that," He paused a bit, "That I don't know how to be normal anymore." He admitted over a heavy whisper, "How am I supposed to act, what am I supposed to say or do...I really have no clue." "For my whole life, there is only one way that I used to deal with everything there is." "What is it?" He turned me, "Violence," He shook his head, "It's the only way I know."

Pain flashes white-hot this time, but I ignore it. I grab the shooter by the collar and slam his face repeatedly into the wall until his skull caves enough to stop resisting. My breathing grows heavier, and my vision is sharper. Violence always makes the world simple to me. As I move, my father’s words replay in my head. Kill. Move. Destroy. Repeat. A body crashes into me from behind suddenly, and I hit the floor hard. The attacker tries pinning my arm, but I drive my head into his nose hard enough to break it instantly.

he scoffed, “And when someone puts a gun to your head? When they put a knife to hers? What then? You gonna stand there quoting your vows, trying to be creative while they gut her alive?” My pulse spiked, heat licking my spine. I dragged hard on the cigarette, ash building long before I tapped it against the tray, “I’ll find another way. There’s always another way.” His eyes narrowed, disbelief hardening his face. “Another way? In our world, the only way is violence.”

I was left lying on the cold, hard floor, gasping for air, tears streaming down my face. “You bastard! You dare lay your hands on me. I would make you pay for what you just did.” And he made me pay for what I did. Because in that moment, I realized that violence only begets more violence. I had become just like him, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. I knew that I could not continue down this path, that I needed to find a way to break free from the cycle of abuse. But then that day, he hurt me deeply, he struck me so hard with a stick that I lost became unconscious and it wasn’t until after three days that I awoke.

He growled. I glared at him, resisting the urge to punch him in the face. I wasn't a big fan of violence but I welcomed it in dire situations. Violence was usually my last resort. I didn't start fights but fights always came looking for me. They found me almost every time and I welcomed them with wide open arms. "I said let her go!" He barked.

I rose up on my feet, opened the door and peeped into the room to see him on the bed sound asleep. I really wanted to go in, but I was suddenly scared of doing so. What if he tries to become violent again. I shut the door behind and walked away. I wouldn't go down like this, and I wouldn't give up either until I have what I wanted. ***** Valentino: I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and looked around my room. It was a good thing I had acted so violent last night.

There was a strange comfort in violence when the cause was righteous; it stripped away every doubt and left only purpose. Before the lead guard could even pull his trigger, I lunged forward. I slapped the barrel of his rifle hard to the right, stepping inside his guard. The gun fired a single, deafening shot into the dirt before my left hand clamped around his throat and my right fist crashed into his nose with a sickening, wet crunch. He crumpled, and I barely registered his weight leaving my grip before pivoting toward the next threat. My pulse hammered, not with fear, but with the singular clarity that came from knowing exactly what I was fighting for.