Chapter 7 : “The Revenge Club”

*Roanne’s POV*

The room felt like a prison, walls closing in with each ragged breath I took. Hugging my knees to my chest, I sat on the edge of my bed—a lone figure marooned on an island of rumpled sheets and discarded dreams. My eyes were fixed on the white wall, yet I saw nothing but Sebastian's sneering face, heard nothing but his voice dripping with venomous charm.

"Ro? Roanne, are you in there?" Lizzie's voice pierced through the thick veil of my despair, muffled at first, then growing more insistent.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Her knocks matched the erratic rhythm of my heart—a staccato beat signaling urgency, a crescendo of concern. "Roanne!" she called out again, her voice betraying a note of panic that echoed my own inner turmoil.

I should answer, let her know I'm alive, albeit barely. But the words were caged inside me, behind bars forged from humiliation and hurt. Instead, I remained frozen, my gaze still locked onto nothingness.

"Damn it, Roanne. Please…" The desperation in Lizzie's voice was palpable now. I could hear the jingle and scrape of keys, the sound grating against the quietude of my self-imposed isolation.

And then, the unmistakable click of the right key finding its home, turning smoothly, unlocking more than just the door—unlocking the floodgates of all that I had been holding back. Lizzie's persistence, a testament to the bond we shared; her determination, a stark contrast to my own helplessness.

As the door swung open, I felt a rush of air, as if the room itself breathed a sigh, relieved that the stale, heavy atmosphere would soon be lifted by Lizzie's indomitable spirit. She always knew how to break through the barriers I built, her presence a balm to my wounded soul even when words failed us both.

"Roanne…" Her voice was softer now, tinged with a tenderness that only true friends possess—a balm to the raw edges of my pain. I wanted to speak, to reach out, but the darkness clung to me, a lover reluctant to part at dawn.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here," she whispered, though I hadn't uttered a word. And in that silence, in the space between heartbeats, I felt the weight of her worry, the strength of her resolve. It was a silent promise: she would fight for me when I couldn't muster the strength to stand.

"Ro," her voice was a soft caress against the turmoil inside me. I felt the dip of the mattress as she settled beside me, her presence a silent plea for me to let her in. Her hand, warm and steady, found its way to my shoulder, a gentle anchor in the storm.

"Roanne," she urged again, her tone threading through the fog that muffled my thoughts. "What happened?"

It took everything I had to lift my gaze, to meet the ocean of concern in her eyes. "Sebastian," I whispered, the name a splinter under my skin.

"Tell me," Lizzie prompted, her words wrapping around me like a safety net, ready to catch the fragments of my fractured tale.

"He... he just...," my voice faltered, trembled like a leaf in the wake of a tempest. It was hard to form the words, to paint the picture of his anger, the icy grip of his hands, the venom in his eyes when he realized I wouldn't bend to his will.

"Go on, Ro, it's okay. You're safe here," she coaxed, her thumb drawing soothing circles on my arm.

"His touch, it—it wasn't love, Lizzie. It was possession, an assertion of power that left bruises not just on my skin, but on my soul." My confession hung between us, raw and quivering like an exposed nerve.

"God, Roanne," Lizzie breathed out, her own voice betraying the flicker of rage that danced in her depths. "He can't do this to you—to anyone."

I nodded, the motion jerky and disjointed. My insides churned with the retelling, the ugly truth of what he had done manifesting in the space we shared. Yet, there was something cathartic in the telling, in the sharing of the burden that had been mine alone to bear.

"Thank you," I murmured, my throat tight with unshed tears. "For being here."

"Always," she said, squeezing my shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Ro. Not now, not ever." Her promise was a lifeline, her conviction a shield against the darkness that threatened to swallow me whole.

The room pulsed with the raw, unfettered emotion of my confession, the air thick with the poison of my remembered pain. Lizzie's hand on my shoulder was both an anchor and a lifeline, her presence the only warmth in the frigid aftermath of my turmoil.

"Roanne," Lizzie's voice broke through my haze, sharp and insistent. "I'm so sorry he did this to you. We'll make him pay, I swear."

I watched, almost detached, as her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening with the strain. The delicate arch of her brow furrowed, carving a testament of her anger into her fair skin.

"Justice isn't just blind—it's deaf and dumb too, sometimes." She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself against the weight of the secrets she harbored. Her next words came slowly, each one measured and heavy with import. "There's something… a group I'm part of. It’s called The Revenge Club."

My mind, mired in the sludge of despair, latched onto the name with startling clarity. "The Revenge Club?" I repeated, my voice a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah," Lizzie replied, hesitating for a heartbeat. "We—It's complicated. But it's about taking back control, about justice on our terms."

"Control," I murmured, tasting the word like forbidden fruit on my tongue. The concept seemed alien, yet achingly desirable.

"Listen, Ro." Lizzie leaned closer, her eyes scanning my face for signs of readiness or rejection. "This club, it's not a game. It's real, and it's dangerous, but it's also… empowering. We help each other fight back against those who think they can hurt us without consequence."

A spark of curiosity flickered to life within me, chasing away some of the shadows that clung to my thoughts. I found myself leaning forward, the movement instinctual, drawn to the promise of reclamation that Lizzie offered.

"Tell me more," I urged, my heart beginning to hammer with a mixture of trepidation and nascent hope. "Please, Lizzie."

"Okay." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "But we have to be careful. If the wrong people find out..."

"Who else is in it?" I asked, my eagerness pushing past caution.

"Survivors," she said simply. "Warriors in their own right. We support each other, plan together. It's about taking back our stories, writing the endings ourselves."

"Taking back our stories," I echoed, the phrase resonating within me, a call to rise from the ashes of victimhood. "Can you… can we really do that?"

Lizzie's nod was solemn, resolute. "Yes, Roanne." She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine, grounding me back to reality. "The Revenge Club operates in the shadows," she began, her tone shedding any remnants of casualness, morphing into something steel-edged and formidable. "We're a collective of souls, bound by shared scars, who channel our pain into retribution."

I watched, entranced, as she paced slowly around my cramped dorm room, her movements deliberate and full of an intensity that spoke of both fear and excitement. "We're not vigilantes," Lizzie clarified, pausing to look at me directly, her eyes holding a gravity that rooted me to the spot. "But we ensure that monsters like Sebastian can't just walk away unscathed."

"Consequences," I whispered, the word feeling like a blade in my mouth, sharp with the taste of justice.

"Exactly." She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "But before you even consider joining, Ro, you have to understand what you're getting into." Lizzie knelt before me, her concern manifesting in the tender way she cradled my hands in hers. "It's not without risks. This path... it can consume you if you're not careful."

A shiver ran down my spine, a mixture of dread and exhilaration at the thought of taking control of the narrative that had been ripped from my grasp. The image of Sebastian's smug grin flashed before my eyes, igniting a fire within me that burned away some of the helplessness that had settled in my bones.

"Commitment," she continued, each syllable heavy with significance. "If you're in, you're all in. There's no halfway when it comes to the kind of justice we seek."

My mind raced, thoughts colliding with fears and fantasies, as I considered the implications of her words. Could I really do this? Could I step beyond the boundaries of law and morality to right the wrongs done to me? The pros and cons waged war within me, vying for dominance in a battle where the stakes were as high as my shattered spirit.

"Roanne?" Lizzie's gentle voice coaxed me back. Her touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that had enveloped me.

I raised my head to meet her gaze, searching within myself for the shards of the woman I used to be before Sebastian had tried to break me. There, amidst the rubble of my trust and innocence, I found a glimmer of something fierce and unyielding—my will to fight back.

"I want justice, Lizzie," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "I want to join The Revenge Club."

Her nod was solemn, an acknowledgment of the weight of my decision. We were crossing a threshold together, stepping into a world where the lines between victim and avenger blurred, but where we could reclaim our power in the most primal of ways.