wow this thing took a long time for me to write. The worst part is, though, that I'm not very happy with the results. Eh, whatever.
'Ouch.' that's the only thing Ivan could think as his cheek made contact with the icy cement of his cell floor.
Well, he wouldn't say his cell. He did share it with another man, after all. That was the reason he was getting so intimate with the ground.
The Russian convict's amethyst orbs leaked of salty teardrops at the impact of his face being hit. The feeling of warm saliva being spit onto the other side of his face was unpleasant, and he growled at the contact.
Alfred F. Jones—convicted of selling ecstasy, methamphetamine, and multiple other illegal drugs—kept the larger man pinned to the ground. The American laughed cruelly at the Russian male below him as water escaped from his eyes.
"Ugh..." Alfred groaned while stabbing Ivan with his piercing cerulean eyes. "I can't imagine why the stupid court wouldn't put you to death." he chuckled darkly, standing up taller and letting his hair strands of gold fall over his eyes, as if to make himself look more intimidating. "I can't even stand looking at a psycho like you."
There that word was again. That disgusting 'p word'.
Ivan pushed the other off of him using his rather impressive back muscles. Alfred tripped from under the Russian, falling onto his back with only his elbows to lean him up.
"What do you think you're-" the former drug dealer was cut off by a set of knuckles smacking hard against his face.
"Shut up!" Ivan snarled, all while keeping a sickly forced grin stitched to his face. His expression was incredibly unfitting to his action.
Ivan would admit that it hurt to slam his fist against Alfred's cheekbone. It hurt more for said American, though.
Braginski laid multiple hits to Alfred's face. The American was only able to mumble obscenities between hits before he builded up enough strength to push the Russian off of him.
Alfred wiped the blood off of his face, spitting some out as well. He probably would've been severely injured if it hadn't been for his outstanding strength.
Ivan started towards Alfred once again and raised his fist when he was interrupted by a strong English accent.
"Oi, Braginski! Stop fighting with Jones and come here." Arthur Kirkland—one of the guards—ordered from the other side of bars.
Said convict let his sickeningly sweet smile fall briefly for the first time that day. It isn't a pleasant feeling when you are interrupted while in the middle of your business.
Ivan turned around, glaring at the emerald eyes that were looking back just as sharply. Ivan remembered this man, mainly because Alfred's constant flirting with the Briton was hard to ignore.
The large European did as he was told and walked towards the door and waited for Arthur to unlock it.
After the Englishman had done so, he quickly closed the door behind him and held Ivan's large, beefy hands behind him, cuffing his wrists together. Arthur shoved him over towards two other guards. One was a Dane with spiky, blond hair, the other was a Norwegian also with blond hair, and an abnormal curl sticking out.
Both men grabbed onto his arms tightly, making sure Ivan would follow them. The Russki's lips curved back in a smile that hid irritation as one of the guards spoke of him to the other as if he wasn't present.
"Hey, Lukas?" the Dane asked to get said Norwegian's attention.
The man—Lukas, apparently—looked over at the other. "What?" he replied, a bit harshly.
"I wonder that doctor wanted to talk to this sicko here." he motioned towards Ivan. He would've done the same to Mathias as he had done to Alfred if it hadn't been for the fact that they could actually give him a real punishment for it. All he could do was growl silently and let his forever present grin waver.
Lukas let a small chuckle seep from his frown. "It's his job, idiot. Why shouldn't he?"
Mathias pouted at the other's cold reply. "I know, I know!" he insisted. "It's just...he doesn't have to. He's the one who offered to see him!"
The shorter male didn't seem to have any snide remark for the Dane's comment this time. "...I can't say I know. Maybe he's got some thing for serial murderers. He is pretty strange." he shrugged, and the trio went silent, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the lonely hallway.
The men dragging Ivan suddenly stopped in their tracks at a door. "Over here." Mathias said, yanking Ivan over by the arm as he opened the door. He pushed him inside the room. It sure wasn't anything fit for a prisoner. It looked like an office of some sort—with a desk, two chairs, and a man sitting in one of those chairs.
The man in the chair behind the desk didn't look like anyone Ivan had ever seen in the prison. In fact, he didn't look anyone Ivan had seen ever. His flesh was extremely pale and free of blemishes, the lamp's light shone off of his ruby-red orbs. His hair was platinum blond, and dangerously close to being silver. The Russian serial killer had never seen an albino before.
"Here he is, Ivan Braginski." Mathias stated nonchalantly.
The albino man just nodded. "So...anything else you need?" the Danish male asked awkwardly.
The psychologist shook his head, and said in a quiet voice, "No."
Mathias and the Norwegian beside him glanced at each other. Their eyes asked the other, 'What's with this guy?'
The Danish guard cleared his voice in an attempt to break the awkward atmosphere, but it didn't work. "Well, then...we'll be going. We'll send someone to pick him up in about two to three hours." Mathias said, eagerly exiting the room.
Before Lukas followed him, he added, "Press the red button on that phone if there's an emergency." He sent a glare towards Ivan before walking out and closing the door behind him.
Ivan sat down moments after he heard the 'click' of the door. His seat was far less comfortable than the other man's. It was hard and wooden instead of plush and soft, but he could withstand it.
Ivan briefly glanced at the man on the taller seat. 'He seems shy...' he thought to himself.
Just after he thought so, the man looked straight at him. "Damn, you're tall..." he mumbled, his German accent slipping through his speech.
Ivan looked back up at the albino blankly, his mouth agape. "I-what?" he questioned in utter confusion.
The German sent him a glare in response to his questioning gaze. "I mean, you're sitting down in a chair shorter than mine, and you're still taller than me!" he growled, pouting in a way which Ivan found childishly adorable. But just because he found it cute, didn't mean he wasn't annoyed.
'Like hell he's shy!' Had they been in some sort of a comic book, Ivan surely would've face-palmed. Sighing, the Russian began speaking. "And what exactly does this have to do with my psychology? As far as I know, height has nothing to do with the human mind." Ivan stated in a matter-of-fact tone, his look of shock turning into a smirk.
The other man mimicked Ivan's grin, only his was more used to hold back his anger. "Oh, my patient is a smart ass, hah?" he glared daggers at the man across from him.
Ivan decided their little "I'm-totally-not-pissed-off" battle had to stop at this time. He coughed, as if to let the albino know that they were changing the subject. "Speaking of patients...isn't it proper of doctors to explain the situation to their patients?" he inquired, though he already knew the answer that would come of of the German's mouth. A smile played on the Russian's face at the "o" shape that his therapist's mouth formed into.
"Oh, well...I guess you're right." the smaller
man admitted, rubbing his neck awkwardly in embarrassment. His embarrassment quickly disappeared through a boost of pride, though. "Heh, it only makes sense that you'd want to know about the awesome me!" the albino exclaimed with the strangest laugh Ivan had ever heard.
The Russian serial murderer sighed inwardly. 'So this man is the professional psychologist that wanted to talk to me oh, so much?' Maybe this explained why that Norwegian man had called him strange. But Ivan knew he shouldn't think that; he wasn't exactly considered "normal" either.
Once the doctor had calmed the giggles erupting from his throat, he sat back up properly in his chair. "Well, I'm guessing you were told why you're here?" he inquired, raising one of his nearly invisible eyebrows.
Ivan thought about his answer for a moment. "Hmm...they didn't actually tell me, but I heard them talking about how you wanted to speak with me. So, yeah, I guess they sort of did tell me." he finished with a shrug and leaned back into his chair.
The German nodded. "Anyways, let's get to the introductions. The name's Gilbert Beilschmidt." Doctor Beilschmidt flashed a grin and offered Ivan a hand to shake.
The Russian stared at the outstretched limb, as if it was going to hurt him. It was strange for someone—well, anyone—to be so warm and inviting to a criminal, let alone a serial killer. Ivan could only stare dumbly at the man across from him who was grinning foolishly at him.
Confused by the fact that there wasn't another hand smacking against his own, Gilbert's smile dropped and he gave the blonde a questioning look. "Come on, I don't bite!" he encouraged, his original expression of friendliness returning.
Ivan drew a forced smiled upon his pale skin, it twitched slightly at his urge to frown deeply. The Russian male felt as if he was being treated like a child. A young boy visiting his new school for the first time, and Gilbert was his teacher. And this teacher was young, cocky, and so utterly annoying. It was hard to get over the fact that Doctor Beilschmidt was smiling at him instead of glaring at him, though. And, although the albino's personality was quite unbearable, Ivan couldn't help but adore the positive attention he was receiving. Then again, it was proper to act politely to people you're meeting for the first time. It was hard to say whether or not the affection was genuine.
"S-Sorry, Doctor Beilschmidt. I was just..." Ivan paused for a moment, his mind scrambling to find an excuse for his hesitation. "I was just thinking." he said in a whisper, though it didn't matter because the doctor was paying no mind to his second sentence.
Gilbert's lips stretched down into a frown, almost a pout. "No need to be so formal!" he assured the convict. "Just call me Gilbert, or Gil, or whatever!"
Ivan gave Gilbert a stare that showed his enormous amount of self-conflict and confusion. He reluctantly nodded and mumbled, "Okay..."
A silence came about them. Ivan was forced to direct his gaze towards the carpet, not being able to take the pressure of the German's piercing ruby-red orbs that had been battling against his amethyst ones. It was as if they were in a staring contest, and only when Ivan lost did Gilbert break the fragile and deadly stillness. "I guess we should get to the main reason why we're here today." the albino said, his voice not nearly as enthusiastic as it previously was. It seemed as if he was upset to start the session, despite him being the one to request to see Ivan.
Ivan wasn't much more excited than the German. His stomach dropped, and so did the straight line his lips were forming. Ivan hated discussing his crimes or what was "wrong" with him. He wasn't the type of killer who would gladly relive the moments of forcing a knife into a woman's body and watching the crimson liquid flow out. He wasn't the type of killer who enjoyed the agonising screeches of high-pitched voices while the life was slowly and painfully drained from their eyes. He wasn't the type of killer who kept a keepsake from the women he had terrorised to remember the moments of causing pain towards others. He wasn't the type of killer who liked to kill. All in all, he didn't think there was anything wrong with him. But he had killed someone, right? And killing people is forbidden, so no matter the circumstances, if you've killed, there's something wrong with you.
Ivan lifted his head up, his eyes meeting those rubies that were mined on a pale face. He nodded his head slightly, giving Gilbert permission to continue speaking.
"So, um... Care to tell me a little bit about yourself?" the German requested, taking a notebook and pen out of his pocket.
Ivan froze. I knew exactly what that meant. It didn't mean "What are your likings?" or "How is life in prison?". It was far less friendly than that. The real question he was asking was, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The best thing to do would be to play dumb. "Well...I've been in prison since last month, for, uh, killing five women." the Russian stated, pretending to be oblivious to Gilbert's request.
The look Gilbert gave him then was like a face-palm—only without the actually motion. He gave a heavy sigh and shook his head at the other.
Ivan's stomach twisted at the actions of the doctor. He held his breath, preparing himself for whatever Gilbert would say next.
"Come on, Ivan. I know that much." That response surprised Ivan. "What do you take me for, a fool?" the albino inquired dryly.
Ivan's mouth opened momentarily, but was soon snapped shut as the albino began to speak once again. "You know what I want to know, Ivan," Gilbert sent a smirk towards Ivan, causing the other to tense. "Tell me about you. Not your crimes, you." he assured, but Ivan didn't seem to be any more comfortable, and Gilbert took the liberty of noticing. Another breath of disappointment broke from the psychologist's mouth. "If you don't want to tell me, I won't force you to."
This claim made Ivan's lavender gems widen. Gilbert just smiled back reassuringly at him, as if to promise him that what he said was not a lie. And indeed, that comforting curve of his lips did make Ivan feel better. Perhaps even a bit trusting of Gilbert.
"But," All of Ivan's hopefulness came crashing down mercilessly on him like sudden rain from the heavens on a sun-lit day. The blonde clutched the fabric of his pants between his large and calloused fingers. He was sure that Gilbert's words were lies, and that he would be pushed to reveal his secrets. Ivan was forced from his negative thoughts as the albino before him continued his sentence. "If you do decide to tell me, I promise it will feel better."
As Ivan gazed down at the floor, he didn't believe a word the other man had said. Though, as he looked up, why did he suddenly believe that everything was in fact true? The way soft lips curved upwards on pale skin, the way crimson eyes spoke to him as if they had a mind of their own—perhaps that was the reason he was hypnotised into believing it all. The smile gracing the lips of Gilbert was not one of his typical, cocky expressions—but one of reassurance and promise.
Gilbert's smile faltered down to a softer one, and he didn't say anything more, despite his nature. Ivan played along with the doctor's silence. Lilacs grew with roses as the two just looked at each other without movement. Though no words were said, thoughts moved this way and that way through both minds. Without a doubt, all thoughts revolved around what the other had said or what they were going to say.
The louder the rhythmic banging in Ivan's ears grew, the more he longed to speak. He wouldn't reveal anything, though—he couldn't. This man was just like everyone else. He wouldn't accept Ivan. That was it, Ivan wouldn't tell him anything at all.
"Back in Russia, my mother..." Both Ivan and Gilbert were surprised at the sudden speech of himself. Ivan was practically slamming his head against the wall. But that wouldn't do him any good. He had started speaking, and he had to finish it. The serial murderer swallowed the lump of fear that had formed in his throat, and once again started speaking shakily.
"My mother and her lesbian lovers would beat me and my sisters with just about everything that hurt when it made contact with your skin. Belts, vases, bottles—everything within arm's reach. But the worst was when they would make me and my sisters have intercourse. It's not that it hurt or anything—I just hated to see my sisters cry. I really loved them. Until they started molesting me.
"When mother went out to buy liquor or whatever, they would stroke my...lower area. Sometimes they'd use dildos to put inside of me. My older sister would keep to the sexual things, but my younger one liked using knives. She'd run them up and down my body lightly, but rough enough so they'd draw blood. That and the abuse we still received from our mother made me snap.
"I wanted to kill my family, just to watch them suffer as I always had, to give them a taste of their own bitter and vile medicine. The more I thought about prancing into the kitchen and grabbing a knife, the bigger that urge grew. Luckily for me, though, I had the chance to flee from that hellhole known as Russia. My friend, Toris, was visiting America. It was my one and only chance. Although I was already an adult, I couldn't afford to go to the 'States with minimum wage. I begged him, and it was humiliating. He was a kind soul, though. He offered to pay for my trip, and even a run-down apartment until I could pay for it on my own. I was so grateful to have a friend like him. People like that don't just pop up out of no where, you know.
"Anyways, I stayed in that apartment and got a job at one of the fast-food restaurants. I was rejoiced when I found out I was hired, although it wasn't a difficult job to obtain. My glee faded quickly, though. On my first day, the first coworker I met was a pretty woman with long, blond hair. Her name was Dahlia. She had soft blue eyes that really stood out from the rest of her pale body. She seemed rather shy, too. I think she might've liked me... I'm sure anyone would be joyed to have such a lovely lady after them.
"I wasn't fond of her in the least, though. Her resemblance to my younger sister was frightening. The only difference was that she didn't hold a thick accent. Even so, I didn't like her. Once I had discovered my hatred for my coworker, I was terrified. The soul reason I had moved here was wasted. I was meant to forget about my dark past, about all the deeds my family had done me. But, in truth, I couldn't forget. A girl with a mere resemblance to my sister triggered all kinds of emotions. I remember them being pain—tied in with sadness, fear, and—most of all—hatred. And as the days dragged on, I found myself despising her even more. I didn't see her as "Dahlia", my all-American coworker. Instead, I saw her as the woman that had repeatedly ran her cold and fierce Swiss army knife over my sides. I would see her, and I could feel the pain I had lived with through my youth years.
"About a month after we had met...I invited her over to my apartment. Seeing as she was interested in me—be it for sex or a relationship—she agreed. I ordered pizza, which I figured Americans liked, and waited for a ring of the doorbell from either person. The pizza man came first, and then Dahlia. We ate, then I listened to her talk. I wasn't really listening, but once I was sure she finished her sentence, I leaned in and kissed her. She didn't resist, so I continued working. Not soon after the first kiss, she was under me on my couch. We had sex until we both climaxed, and then went to sleep. At least, she went to sleep. I pretended to fall asleep, and once about thirty minutes passed, I got up from the couch. I walked towards my bedroom, careful to make my footsteps nearly inaudible. I kneeled down and took the dagger I had hidden under my bed. I felt terrified as I walked back towards the couch—yet, at the same time, I felt incredibly eager. I took one last glance down at Dahlia; she looked so peaceful. That's how she would die. I lunged the knife down towards her chest, causing blood to leak rapidly from her body. I did it again, near the same area. Then I did it again, and again, and again. I remember the way it felt—to feel as the life of the girl slipped away from her body. It felt good. It felt good because I felt like I was finally getting revenge on my sister. My stabs slowed down until I just stared at the bloody mess before me. That's when it all came rushing towards me. The feeling of guilt hit me. I looked at the girl I was leaning over, and I no longer saw my younger sister. I saw a poor, helpless girl who had done nothing wrong. I started crying.
"I calmed myself, and lugged Dahlia's body towards the bathroom, taking a garbage bag with me. I bathed her and waited for the blood to run into the drain. While she was in the tub, I cleaned the couch of its blood. Luckily, it was leather so it wasn't too difficult. The remains on the carpet were a different story, though. I tried, but they wouldn't come out. I didn't have any choice but to just spray it with some air-freshener and cover the stains with the couch. By then, Dahlia's bleeding had stopped. I loaded her into the garbage bag, and drove her to the lake in my rental car. I disposed of her there, at the bottom of the lake.
"It played out like that for a few more months...I would find a woman with resemblance to my mother or sisters, kill her, feel guilty, then expose of her. It stopped when the cops showed up at my door one morning. They told me that I was under arrest for the murder of Dahlia White, and yanked me from my apartment. I could tell the officers were surprised when I didn't fight back, and I would've laughed at them if it wouldn't earn me a loud bark of more orders. A few weeks later, I was in court with no attorney, for I couldn't afford one. I didn't want to pretend I was innocent, anyways. I confessed to the murder of Dahlia White and four other women, leaving me with a grand total of five. I was sentenced to life in prison."
Ivan finished his rather lengthy life-story with a shaky sigh. "A lot of psychologists or reporters would try to get the reason why I killed those women out of me. I just told them it was sexual, something expected like that. No one but me knew the real reason." he added. "Except you, of course." the convict grumbled under his breath, averting his gaze from the ruby-red orbs staring into his soul and taking in all that he had said like a famished animal.
Gilbert silenced himself momentarily, soaking in the words that had been said to him as a sponge soaks water. That silence, of course, lasted barely a second before the albino broke it with a sigh. He sent the Russian man a somewhat crooked grin, as if he were hesitant to smile.
"I won't tell anyone." Gilbert told Ivan. It sounded so genuine—the honesty dripping off of his already sugar-coated words.
Ivan kept his gaze down towards the floor, as if he would find some sort of comfort from the pale yellow and green aluminium tiles. He struggled to reply to the red-eyed man, his voice cracking with every few words and his breath hitching whenever he breathed out. "Why shouldn't you?" he asked, though the inquiry wasn't used to receive an answer. Ivan continued, "Don't treat me like I deserve your care..." he muttered, sending a quick glare to Gilbert from sharp amethyst orbs. Suddenly, Ivan looked straight into ruby-red orbs nestled on a white face. "Don't act like I deserve this!" he shouted.
Crimson eyes grew wide to the size of a setting sun. Though, they settled to their original size as they took notice of lonesome and clear liquid trickling down Ivan's flushed cheeks.
The convict could feel the vital thundering from his chest deafening him from all other sounds. Ivan's fists clenched together as if the other fingers contact would settle his raging emotions. Along with his fists went his eyes. He hid the lavender blossoms hidden in his orbs with his eyelids. The only sense he could use was the feeling of touch, and the German across from him seemed to know that.
Warmth blossomed in Ivan's restless chest at the foreign feeling of human contact against his cheek. He opened his eyes to the sight of crimson blocking his vision. A passionate gaze that made his heart thunder in his chest even louder was sent his way, along with the touch of smooth and slender fingers.
"Put the past away, Ivan." Said man could barely hear the words past the pounding caused by his heart. For an unknown reason, more raindrops fell from his eyes of purple clouds.
"But..." Ivan began, his speech a stuttering mess. "How can I forget when I'm constantly reminded of the vile deeds I have done the world?" he choked out, biting his lip roughly to keep another sob from escaping.
A smile clouded with care and pity crossed the pale lips of Gilbert. "I'll help you forget." The soft smile turned into a full-out grin.
Ivan didn't know if he truly believed those words, but they had made his lips crack upwards slightly. That was close enough, right?
Before Ivan knew it, arms were wrapped around him affectionately. His tears were mere whispers of his once present angst. Oh, but the warmth still felt too good to leave. Ivan didn't want to let go; he didn't want to go outside, into the cold and pouring rain. He wanted to stay inside this tiny cabin in the woods that lived somewhere inside Gilbert. It was a warm and inviting cabin that promised to keep him safe through merciless blizzards and non-stop downpours.
The frigid storm knocked that cozy cabin to pieces, though. Loud, booming knocks came from beside them. Gilbert looked to the source, but Ivan just shoved his face deeper inside the psychologist's comforting scent, not wanting the precious moment to come to an end.
Gilbert couldn't help but notice Ivan nestling his head close to his body as a fawn would snuggle up against its mother. The albino rolled his eyes, but still chuckled lightly. "Ivan, you have to leave." Gilbert pointed out the obvious.
The Russian frowned childishly through the fabric of Gilbert's jacket. "No..." Ivan protested weakly, his voice slightly muffled.
"I'll be back next week." Gilbert promised, beginning to make an attempt to pull away.
"Prove it." Ivan challenged.
With one more roll of his eyes, the German forced Ivan's face up, making amethysts meet rubies. Hardly any time passed before pale, pink lips were pressed up against slightly darker ones. The kiss departed as soon as it had arrived. Even so, both men had enough time to vaguely memorise the feeling of warm, closed mouths pressed against each other.
Ivan's face was tinted pink at the sudden, intimate contact. Gilbert's blush was even more visible, due to his incredibly pale flesh. He awkwardly scooted towards the door as the knocking got louder and more frequent.
"Uh, see you next week, I guess." Gilbert said with a wave of his hand. Clearly, his confidence was lost in a split second.
Ivan gave a weak nod as the other began opening the door. As he was escorted from the room, Ivan gave one last glance at the German man. He received a shy smile from Gilbert, and it left his heart thundering in his chest all the way back to his cell.