Basically takes place during Ignite Me or something. I dunno. Warnette. Drabble-ish? OOC? Typos? Ha, probably. Slight Fracture Me spoilers. Reviews are loved.
There's a knife in my hands.
I can't exactly remember how it got there but I don't think that really matters anymore. I look into the mirror in front of me. I've been in here for about an hour, just staring at myself. I can't really find anything more useful to do.
According to Aaron Warner Anderson I'm not allowed to leave this room under any circumstances unless he gives me the okay. I'm not supposed to open the door to anyone but him.
Aaron
or
Warner
Believe it or not, they're two very different people.
If it's Warner I don't want to open the door, because Warner is the one who locked me in here in the first place. Lifetimes ago back when this base was my prison, and he was the warden. He was evil. He was terrible. I hated him. I don't hate Warner anymore but I don't trust him either. Warner scares me.
But Aaron may frighten me even more.
I know so little about Aaron, the boy who is sweet and kind to me. He is earnest and there's an emotion in my veins when Aaron is here that I'm not sure if I want to acknowledge. Aaron is the boy who would do anything for someone he loves. He's the boy that was abused by his father and just needs a chance in this damned world. He's the boy who knows everything about me and accepts me like that.
Aaron/Warner left his room eight hours ago to check on the civilians and makes his rounds like he usually does. He's trying to play everything off to the soldiers. They all think he is even more of a monster now that I'm 'dead'.
I wonder what it's like outside today.
I haven't seen the sky in weeks. A blooming flower in years. I haven't played around in the morning green grass since my past life. I don't know if it's raining snowing sleeting sunny stormy hailing I don't know anything other than what he tells me.
In a way, Warner's room is no different than the asylum.
There's a knife in my hands and I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with it. I have an idea though. Aaron and Warner would both kill me for doing something like this.
I touch the very sharp end with the tip of my finger and blood is immediately drawn, though I'm actually so numb that I can't even feel the pain. That can't be right. And it's not about that fact that I should feel it—it's that I want to.
Adam Kenji Castle Brendan Winston James they're all dead somewhere right now. I don't know if there are corpses or limbs or ashes left of them.
Yet for some reason I've been spared. Perhaps it's to live with the guilt of all the things that I've done, to live with the fact that I'm a murderer that can't even help anyone.
I slice down
once more
This time it's not my finger though. It's my wrist. I don't sink the blade too deep in fear of what might happen, and I'm shocked by the pain that comes from this small cut. Maybe because I'm going so slowly through my arm. It's a slow agony that shakes my arm.
Every fiber of my being knows that I deserve it. The non-existent cracks in the walls and in the ceramic tiles and the sink in front of me scream out that I should feel pain, because I look perfect on the outside but I'm sick on the inside. Inside of me is black black black everywhere with tinges of red and that's how I should look on the outside.
If I am a monster, I must portray the part.
I count the number of breaths between each slice.
One, two, three, four more.
On the fifth my breath catches as I go down again and again, each time heading further up my arm towards my elbow. There's a river of red seeping down my arm and it's almost mesmerizing.
I can't feel the pain anymore and I don't know why.
The door behind me opens and I think that maybe next time I should lock it.
In the reflection of the mirror I catch a glimpse of Aaron/Warner/Him as he strolls in cautiously. There's this horror written across his face that he's trying to mask so hard to no avail. His eyes dart from the back of my head to my arm then to my face in the mirror.
Why won't he just leave again?
"What are you doing, love?" he asks quietly, and this man is Aaron. He's never killed a person or held a gun. He's soft and delicious like a bite of cotton candy. I look away from him. I can't look at his face.
I hear his footsteps pad up to me and his gasp when he sees my arm more closely. My hand that is holding the knife his visibly shaking now and no matter how much I command it to stop it's been given a mind of its own and refuses.
I don't know how to respond to Aaron's question.
Aaron touches my elbow gently and I jump at him. There's a wetness welling up behind my eyes but I will not let it fall down, because I know that if I start I won't be able to stop.
His hand skates down my arm, avoiding the cuts, and grabs my free hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze before letting it go and gripping my hand with the blade in it. I try to yank free but he's much too strong for me.
"Juliette," he whispers, staring at me through the mirror. "Let go of the knife."
I don't know why but I do. My muscles have turned to jelly. Aaron turns on the water, but instead of putting my arm in it he grabs a towel and wets it first before touching it to my arm. There's the initial sharp sting but nothing else after that. I want to collapse on the ground.
There's hurt in Aaron's eyes. He's silently asking me why I would do this. "I don't know," I tell him aloud, and I think he understands me. But he also knows that I'm lying because I know perfectly well why I did this.
Adam Kenji Castle Brendan Winston James all dead.
Yet I was shot in the chest and still am here to tell the tale to no one. Because everyone already thinks I'm dead besides Aaron. It's not fair that I'm alive when I've done so many wrongs and they're dead when all they tried to do was make things right.
The tears start to fall and Aaron wraps me up in his arms like I'm made of glass and getting ready to shatter.
He kisses the top of my head just once and doesn't let me go.