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Hot breath can be felt against my ear, but my body is long gone when it comes to talking. I want him. Despite how mean and ugly he is on the inside, my body craves him.
“You forget that every fallen angel was once an angel themselves. Monsters don’t really want to be monsters. We’re just like everyone else, waiting for someone to come save us from our very own damned darkness.”
I pull away from him, frazzled and warm with need. Confusion is evident on my face as he looks at me smiling. Maybe that’s how he has wanted me this whole time: confused, broken, and lost with no purpose here. If I don’t know anything, then I can never leave.
“Why did you tell me that?” Does he really want someone to save him? Does he even need someone to save him? Can he be saved? Can someone so dark and hateful come back from that? My mind goes straight to the moment I watched him shoot those people in their heads. The light in him had diminished and left in its place is a gaping hole of nothing.
“Come with me,” he growls, his eyes hungry. I don’t want to go anywhere with him. My mind and body aren’t on the same course, though, because I find myself standing and placing my hand in his. He leads me from the bedroom, down the stairs and into the basement.
As we descend the stairs, my mind and body clam up. Should I tell him about Mack? It still occurs to me that Zerro might not believe me. That he might even accuse me of wanting and encouraging Mack’s attention.
He doesn’t catch my hesitation or just doesn’t care because he continues to pull me down the stairs. The cobblestone floors are cold underneath my feet.
He pulls a set of keys from his pocket as we pass the door that leads to the dungeon that had been my home for more than a few days.
The door before us is wooden, wide and large. I wonder what is behind it, but at the same time I don’t. Zerro has secrets. Who knows what, or who, he has buried down here.
Opening the door, he smiles at me. It isn’t a warm and friendly one, but more along of the lines of one that says I will eat you alive and laugh while doing it.
I enter the room slowly, afraid something will jump out at any point and time. He moves behind me ever so slowly, like a snake ready to strike. The room is simple, except there are drawers that line one of the wooden walls.
What they contain, I have no idea. I am sure I am about to find out, though.
“Go stand at the end of that wall…” He points to the far wall, the one that seems as if it is a million miles away, the one furthest from the door. How can I escape if I am so far away?
Dread eats at my insides. Is this the end? Is he going to kill me? I try my best not to show weakness, but I know as much as he did that he will kill me whenever he sees fit.
With my head held high, I walk the distance as if I am walking to my own funeral. Turning around to face him, I stand against the wall with my back straight. If I am going to die, I will be dying in a way that says I have stood tall and proud when I was given no other choice.
A smirk lights his face. It is devious and makes the darkness in his eyes seem that much darker. His body looks hungry for either release or bloodshed.
Silence passes, and I am certain that this will be the end. I watch as he pulls a drawer open, his eyes growing wide with happiness as he handles whatever it is that is in his hands.
I want to run, to escape, with all my might. I want to run away from this man as much as I want to run to him.
I look up through the shitty lighting to see a knife sitting on the palm of his hand. He grabs the end of it as if he has experience using it. He probably does…
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” The words rush from my lips without intention to do so. He peeks up at me again, pushing away a couple pieces of his dark hair that have landed against his forehead.
“I’m not going to kill you. Yet. Instead, I’m going to do something far worse…” He examines the knife as if he isn’t certain that it will do its job. If he isn’t going to kill me, what is he going to do?
My mind is reeling, and then in a blink of an eye, I watch him throw the knife. His body is full of pent up aggression, and it is like watching a train wreck happen. He is going to kill me. I know it.
Alzerro
The knife lands with precision right where I expect it to— just shy of cutting her ear off. A breath of an inch closer and she would have been one ear short of two.
Her eyes are as wide as saucers. Fear is rooted deeply in them, and I know she thinks I am going to kill her. She thinks that one of these many knives is meant for her.
She is wrong. None of these knives are meant for her; they are meant for me.
“Whatever fucking crazy ass rollercoaster you’re on, I want off.” She sounds tiny, and her body trembles with fear. I laugh in the face of it. Nothing scares me. I have lost everyone who was important to me. Being scared means you have something to lose. I have nothing.
“Sorry, no refunds, baby,” I taunt, grabbing another knife from the drawer. I can go all night. There are knives upon knives that can be thrown, but I have other ideas as to what I can do with them.
