Page 19 of Collateral Damage

“You're a Blackthorne after all.” My eyes find hers in the anger she's channelling, flickering at her own surname coming from my mouth. I've not told her any specifics, but I can see the dots are slowly connecting. She's not stupid, she knows there is more to this than an unhinged killer with a hunger for blood. She knows there's a reason I was in her house that night and she knows I know more about her family than she does.

“Why am I still here? What are you not telling me!” There are so many things I'm not telling her. Because I find enjoyment in this game of clue.She will figure it out. And when she does, I want to watch the sparkle in her eyes fade once she realises the kind of man he really was.

“Daddy's helpless little girl. Defending herself against the big bad monster who killed her parents. -Finally stops the killer-. Now that would be a great headline for the papers.” I approach once more, swaying my broad shoulders in her direction, eggingon her anger so she deters that blade away from her prominent artery.

“Come any fucking closer and I'll add another body count to your list like I should have done last week, you sick FUCK!” My throat tightens as I take in a sharp inhale. She’s toying with my weakness and I know she isn’t afraid of dying, that much is clear. But for some reason I find myself continuing to give a fuck. This could all be over and I could just let her end this right here, right now, but the pain in her eyes is seeping inside me. She really will do this, and I strangely don’t want her to. I refuse to let her be weak, there is a fire inside her that I want to see. I want her to see that she is capable of overcoming this, she needs to realise that life is not all fucking rainbows and fairies. There are people like me, people far worse than the monsters she creates in her head.

“Alora…” The closer I get the further she’s pushing the knife. I have a few seconds to pursue her before she buries that blade and bleeds out on my floor. I’ve had enough red mops in my life. I don’t particularly want to clean up after her as well if I can help it.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?! DON’T FUCKING SAY MY NAME!” While she is distracted, fighting with her own demons I take it upon myself to lunge for her, gripping her dainty wrist inside my large hands but she won’t let up that easily, fighting against my hold to slice her arm clean. She grazes it, not deeply but enough to make its mark as she screams like a banshee down my ear causing it to ring, smoothing both of our arms in our blood as she uses all her might to get out of my grasp. Colliding into the wardrobes and drawers, she yelps in pain, kicking her legs around like a child as I hold her up off the floor, crossing both my arms across her chest to constrict her chest.

“I didn’t ask for any of this! Let me fucking go!”

“Keep fightingPrincess. It just makes it more enjoyable for me.” It’s been awhile since I had a rough and tumble but I can’t deny the adrenaline I'm feeling. It’s addictive. It feeds my serotonin. Most people get that from puppies or fast cars. I receive it from watching someone fight for their life. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about me then I don't know what will.

As I crush her tighter she sinks her teeth into my bicep and I can feel her tearing my flesh away causing me to loosen my grip.“Fucking -” I'm finding out a lot about myself today. Apparently being a punching bag for myLittleInnocenceis proving to relieve me of some pent-up anger and quieting my demons.Who knew she had that in her.

“Fight BACK! Fight! COME ON!” She pants, wanting me to retaliate. She wants me to be her outlet. Slamming the flat side of her scrunched up fists into my chest like a drum, she’s drawing the monster out of me with her persistent pushing. I'm afraid if I let her carry on I may do something I will regret.

“If you're so eager to die, let me make it quick for you.” I waste no time yanking both of her wrists, as I rotate her to face away from my body, locking her forearms in place with one hand as I pull out my firearm from my back pocket with my other, shoving the barrel inside her mouth, I fight against her resistance as she squabbles in my arms, muffling her anger beneath the metal and the plea in her face shows me that deep down she is terrified of dying.“Fucking LISTEN to me!...”I have no interest in killing her.The mag is empty, but she needs to be shown the kind of fucking evil she is tampering with.

“I fucking get it! I get this anger you're feeling! I get this hunger for vengeance! I get that swelling ache that feels like it's collapsing your lungs. That overwhelming urge to want to make all the pain go away! But you have to fight it! You have to fucking suck it up and survive! You have to be better than it!Better thanme!...”She is peering at me with tears welling in her eyes, and I can see by the way they are rounding at the edges that she is taking in my words carefully. I know I am not a saint; I never claim to be and I never will be anything but what sheshouldfear.

I am dangerous, but I am dangerous because I've been exposed to nothing but destruction. She is so pure it makes my skin crawl with a selfish need to corrupt her, poison her slowly with every possible means necessary and open her eyes to the world beyond rose tinted glasses. I want to make her question everything she thought she knew. But until I do, I need to know she can handle it. I need her tofight.

“You're not a monster. So stop acting like one.” I whisper with depth. Every second I am with her I feel like my wall is being lowered and it’s driving me insane. Nearly two weeks in and she is already proving to be my biggest problem yet.

I remove the gun slowly watching her bottom lip quiver. She doesn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. I think she gets a kick from being seconds from death knowing deep down I won't let that happen. She is a weakness I'm growing fonder of by the minute. I’ve spent four years on my own without human company, as violent as it is, it’s strangely comforting. All I've known is violence, so it really makes no difference to me. It just coats the deafening silence and the voices in the walls.She has become my voice in the walls.

I slide my gun back into my back pocket and peer down at the open gash in her arm where she attempted to off herselflike an idiot, pulling her wrist to raise her inner arm to me, I gently stroke the flesh surrounding the wound with my thumb wanting so desperately to run my tongue against it. Next time I might not be quick enough, or next time.I might do it for her.

“Now. Let's get this wrapped up before you bleed out in your sleep. You foolish girl…”

C H A P T E R 12

A BROKEN BAND-AID

Puppet

She’s resisting me. In a weird, fucked up way. Twice now she has saved my life and twice now I am left confused. I attacked her in search of some sort of closure and answers and I am left even more frustrated than I was before. She could have killed me but she didn’t. She could have left me to die last week but she didn’t. I wanted her to hurt me. I wanted her to fight back but instead she resisted my harm and took it. I don’t understand and I want to rip my hair out. Is she resisting because she cares or is she resisting because she is lonely? I promised her violence and I don't intend on breaking that, but how far can I push before she snaps? Is she sparing me out of pity? If so I don’t want her fucking pity. I want the pain to be gone and now I've added to it. She wants me to fight but I am so tired. What exactly am I fighting for? I have nothing left besides the babysitter I have now acquired and the nightmares that have now begun to plague my mind. That night haunts me like a broken tape. Every time I look at her, all I see isdeath. She makes me want todieand she expects me to fight? How am I meant to move on from this?

She’s tied me to the metal work of her bed frame as she tends to my wound and there is a knot in my stomach due to howgently she is being with my skin.Skin I tore.She is the definition of a mind fuck and I’m finding her kindness nauseating.

“Have you ever hurt yourself before?” Her question catches me off guard, interrupting the way I'm catching myself looking at her hands against my skin. I’ve thought about it, but I never had the balls. I'd never understood it until now, the pain I inflicted, just for a moment made me forget about everything. It shut off my mind.

“No…” There is a bowl of hot soapy water on the bed side table she's using to clean my wound along with a flannel that she’s being so gentle with it’s infuriating.Why is she being so empathetic?

“Is my company really that unbearable?” I scowl my face at her obscured question.In what world would she ever think her company would ever be bearable?

“You are a permanent reminder of everything I've lost. How could I even find comfort in your solitude.” The mask she wears makes it even harder to even remotely enjoy looking at her. It’s hideous and full of horror I can never erase.

“I don’t expect you to.” Her manipulation tactics are smooth. I'll give her that. But I have no interest in grovelling at her sorry excuse for a half-arsed apology. She has yet to even apologise to me, not that it would change anything.

“Then why do you care? I certainly don’t.” I roll my eyes into the back of my head in protest. Refusing to look at her.

“Because what you did was brave, but stupid. And I do not do well with stupidity. Not when I know you’re stronger than that.” I hiss as she digs the flannel a little deeper into the cut and I don't know if that was for my newfound attitude or because she was digging to clean the wound but it seemed personal. She acts like she's known me my entire life when she's known me for five seconds.

“I will never forgive you so just stop trying so damn hard.” I say, glaring at the ceiling pulling focus on the patch work excuse for a paint job and the layers that are peeling off. The house just screams murder house if ever I saw one. It gives me the creeps.

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