Purple (Cole Stewert x Oc)

Prologue

OK- the only thing I'm going to say is that this story will be written in PG despite the m-rated stuff in the afterlight. So if you're going to growl at me to get my hands dirty it's not going to happen. The swear will be censored by astricks and the dirty stuff won't go to detailed.

Elizabeth's P. O. V

I was eleven when I realised I could do something. Something other than stand around and watch.
At the time, that was also when I realised that I had enough. I'd had enough of just fearing the PSFs and see them pull innocent kids aside to beat them up.
And I hated how I knew why the kids didn't fight back. They were terrified of what would happen- all they ever wanted was maybe to go home to their families, or at least be walk around freely without being constantly supervised at ordered around with the respect that you would give to the dirt at the bottom of your shoe.
But for some sickening reason, I didn't stand up for the kids. I could only drown in the passionate debate inside my head to do something. And when I'd finally decided, that kid was dead.
It's funny how us freaks get used to that word over time. Not only do you see it, but you get threatened by it too. Usually, being threatened to die would be enough to send the bravest person running. When you're threatened everyday though, it almost becomes second nature to just ignore it.
We all know we should've been dead. We've seen our best friends collapse at our feet- our brothers, our sisters.
Fear is what feeds the PSFs. If we don't react, then they try something different. Something worse. They never give up.
At camp, I was a blue. But I was dangerous. Why? Because I could control it- which caused the PSFs to despise me and treat me like one of the reds, oranges or yellows. My life was so damn hard after I stood up for someone- letting my powers express the  unbearable anger I felt everytime I see the blood spill or hear the bones crack.
I remember it so clearly. I was barely twelve years old.

Memory
"Not fast enough!" the PSF yelled. I forced my frozen hands to scrub the plates clean. We've run out of hot water, again, so we would be dealing with ice cold water instead.
I couldn't feel my fingers. They were stiff around the rough sponge and sore from the effort of cleaning for three hours.
"You" the PSF suddenly declared, glaring at a whimpering boy, clutching his hand to his chest. There was a long cut curling around the back of his hand to the side of his wrist. "Get back to work!"
They boy didn't move. He kept crying as they blood painted his arm completely.
"Are you deaf?" The man roared in his face, before leaning back and launching his foot into the boy's side. I winced as I heard his cry of pain.
And I felt it. The anger- it  was uncontrollable- I couldn't...
I heard a sickening crack that made my stomach lurch. I flashed a concerned gaze at the scene.
The blood, it was everywhere... On the floor, on his face, on both their bodies...
"Stop" I demanded quietly, testing my voice.  I wasn't sure if I should do this- but I couldn't sit around and watch anymore. I had already stopped scrubbing, retrieving my numb arms from the water. I was so scared, doing what I was about to do, but it was right.
I heard my fingers click as I flexed them. It was painful, but it was nothing compared to that boy with a foot being buried into his side repetitively.
"Stop!" I said again. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to get the PSF's attention.
"Something to say?"
I felt the fear settle in my stomach, but I did my best to ignore it.
"I said stop!" I roared, throwing my hands in the air. There was a pain behind my eyes, coaxing my eyelids to shut. It invaded my brain. I wanted to scream in agony. But I wanted my revenge, first.
The PSF slammed into the ceiling and dropped to the floor. I flung then into the walls as hard as I could. I broke his bones- I made sure he felt all the pain combined from the kids he hurt. When I finally dropped him, I was dizzy, I was swaying with each step. I didn't last five minutes as I crumpled to the ground.
End memory

I can still remember that, the feeling of being a hero, the feeling of relief.
So, when I was thirteen, I promised the girls in my cabin that I would get them out, along with all the other kids.
I kept defending them, and I knew that the PSFs were starting to become impatient with me. They wanted me dead.
A few months after I told the girls the plan to escape- they believed me, and they helped me. They said they owed me.
They helped me gather the kids and knock those stupid PSFs out, and that bought me enough time to rip the gate out of place with my abilities and usher the kids out.
I never got out.
They shot at them, but I stopped the bullets mid air to send them flying back.
I should've went after the group. But I didn't.
I was determined to make sure every kid made it out safe. I didn't care if I died. Not one bit.
By the end, I was captured, but the kids were safe.
I would be going somewhere else- they told me they would make me suffer while being alive.
I'm nineteen now- and I still hope for the freedom that I'll never get.
But someone will come for me- they'll save me, they'd help.
More than anything, I want to find my knight in shining armour. And that day seems so far away, but it seems so close too.