AN: Hi everybody! Wow, first story on the site. Hope you like it! It helps if you listen to the song that goes with the chapter.
Chapter song – Thoughtless by Evanescence
Chapter 1: It's Over.
I have to get out of here. Just clean up and leave. Then we'll be free. We won't ever have to see him again and everything will all be over. All the pain, all the humiliation; it will all be things of the past. The nightmare will finally end.
I could see my hand move towards the blood. I touched it. A cautious movement, as if my hand wasn't sure the blood was actually real. The movement had a mechanical feel to it. I wasn't even aware my hand was moving until I saw it. My body was on auto-pilot. Everything was happening of its own accord. All I wanted to do was leave. Get away while I still could. But my legs wouldn't move.
My eyes surveyed the damage. The room looked…well, it didn't look like a room anymore, more like a crime scene. Wait, that's not the word for it. This wasn't a crime. It wasn't. I had to do it. It wouldn't have stopped if I hadn't. This was not a crime.
A lamp was smashed next to the dresser. Another was next to the closet. I could see pieces of glass all around the floor. Clothes were strewn across the floor, many of them being destroyed and tainted with red. The curtains were ripped apart, giving me a view of the full moon. That was the only light in the room. The walls were empty; everything that was on it having been thrown in the last two hours. Picture frames were scattered everywhere. One of them was reflecting light from the open window. It was the picture that marked the beginning of it all. I could feel myself walking towards it, and then looking down at it.
The white dress looked almost translucent in the moonlight. His shaggy blonde hair was untamable even back then. His cerulean eyes stood out from his black tuxedo. You could see that he was happy. It was obvious in his eyes and his smile. Was he happy though? Did he know what he would become? Or was he already that to begin with? If that was the case…was everything else an act?
His arms were around a brunette. Her hair contrasted nicely with the paleness of her skin. Her smile was so bright. But I could not think of that smiling woman, her eyes glowing with happiness at what she thought was to come, as me. I hadn't been her in a long time. As my eyes continued their inspection of the room, they moved towards the bed…and they landed across him.
His body was face-up. He had nothing but boxers on. His eyes were closed, hiding those cerulean oceans that I had once loved to look into. But that was a long time ago. The blonde hair was matted with blood, so much that it appeared brown in some places, and it stuck to his forehead. Some of the blood was still making its way down his head, leaving behind a trail of red. His arms were spread out awkwardly, making him look like a bird with a broken wing. Guess his arms were broken.
Hmm. It appeared that some of the cuts had stopped bleeding, the blood having dried up all over the arm. Apparently, this was the same case with his legs. His torso was still bleeding though, so not all was bad. There were burn marks across his torso and legs and arms. How odd...I don't remember doing that. Oh well.
His neck was at an odd angle. There was a cut there that was deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to sever a main artery. It was as if it was made with great precision. If you looked carefully, under all the blood, you could see the places where the rope was tied and where it dug into his skin, almost reaching bone. The same thing could be seen with his wrists and ankles. One of his legs looked broken. Not sure about the other one. I was sure that one foot was broken though. I remember that much.
I want to look away. I feel that I should be disgusted or revolted at the side of him. He just looked so…beaten and broken and so…red. Red is the only thing I can see. It's blocking everything out. I turn, wanting to get away from the red. It's still there. I look around: it's everywhere. I try to run. I just want the red to go away. There's a sound. I stop.
What was that? Did something just moan? I turn around and slowly head back to the room. There it is again. Is it him? How is he still conscious?
He moans loader this time. I can see him try to move his head. But he moans even loader when he tries. His eyes open. I unconsciously start walk towards him. I'm close enough to see his eyes. They look so lost and…scared, terrified.
I can't help it. I giggle. The giggle turns into more and soon I am laughing. His eyes grow large as the laughter continues. I can practically feel the terror as it radiates from him. I sneak a peek at his face.
"Hi." Is that a whimper I hear from him? That sound is usually emanating from my mouth, not his. The saying karma's a bitch has never been truer. I caress his cheek with my hand. He finches, tries to would be more accurate, from my touch. Then he groans in pain from the sudden movement.
His eyes plead with me to stop. He doesn't want me to hurt him anymore. He's at my mercy; completely at my mercy. I can feel myself smile at the thought.
"Sss…sssooo…" Is he trying to talk? What the hell is he trying to say? "Sssooorry…sssooorry…" I lost it. HOW DARE HE??? After all this time…how dare he apologize? After everything he did, does he think a simple 'sorry' is going to make me forgive him.
No…that's not what he thinks at all. He just wants me to stop. Well, I'm not going to hurt him anymore, regardless of whether he's sorry or not. I know if I hurt him again I'll lose control and I can't let that happen. After all, I don't want to kill the guy. Just injure him as much as possible without him ending up dead.
I turn to leave, glad that my legs are cooperating now. I feel I should say goodbye or something; something is needed to mark the end of it all. I head back towards him. I bend down but then hesitate. Should I? I should.
I close the distance and my lips meet his. A simple peck, no more than two seconds, yet I can taste the blood.
His horrified eyes look up to mine, cerulean meeting brown. His eyes see my tongue slowly lick the blood off my lips. It tastes like rusted salt. I look into his eyes for the last time, faintly remembering times when I used to look into them like they were my whole world. I'd gone from gazing into them with love to cowering from them as they turned a stormy blue, like the sky before a powerful storm.
I head outside, grabbing the car keys from the front table. I'm void of feelings when I cross the front door. No regret, no happiness, not even the feeling of freedom I was expecting and desperately anticipating.
My feet take me towards my car, a silver Mazerati. It was an 'I'm sorry. Forgive me?' gift. At least it's going to be good for something, but I didn't think he bought it for me with the intention of making it a getaway car after I brutally, almost to the point of it being savagely, torturing him.
I hear a car's engine in the distance. Seems like his brothers did end up hearing the message I left them. Want to know something? They should be bleeding next to their brother. They knew everything and did nothing. His entire family knew. Yet, none of them took pity on me. None of them offered me any help or a way out.
It seems that during my pondering, their car had turned the corner and became visible as it came up fast on the isolated road and parked in front of the house. I open my car door and get in. As I am putting on my seatbelt, I hear his older brother, Dean, scream his name. I think what I did actually astonished them. I can see their faces through the open window. Dean is screaming at his phone, I assume he called his father, and keeps throwing glances at his mangled body. Sebastian is just frozen in either shock or terror. He turns his head and sees me. I smile, it might have come out as a smirk, and wave. He stares at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Dean follows his brother's gaze and comes across me. I smirk at him while revving the car's engine. He shoots me a glare that used to have me cowering in my feet. Now I just lift my chin up defiantly, finger the knife in my pocket and wish that he'd come out and hold what I did against me. He wouldn't look so hot with scar marks all over his face and I doubt his blond-trophy wife would stick with him when he was looking like that. Although she might for the money…
The family won't do anything this…incident. If they do and I somehow end up behind bars for this, they know I'll open my mouth about everything. And what I have to say about the sacred Caldwell family itself and their son Trevor is not going to look good on the front page of The New York Times. Oh, if only the world knew what the prestigious Caldwells have going on behind closed doors. What would they think about their ideal family then; about the family behind one of the top business companies in America? Regardless, they won't open their mouths because then I'll expose so much shit on them that they'll be talked about for decades, and they know it. They're scared because they're in my hands and at my mercy. Good, let them live in fear. They deserve it after I lived in fear for so long.
With a last mental goodbye to the place and its current inhabitants, I back out of the driveway and speed down the road. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I idly wonder if either of the brothers will find the divorce papers that are on the coffee table.
What'd you think? Bad, good, could use some work? It's my first story and this idea's been in my head for months. Tell me if I should continue or not. I have two other chapters written, so it's all up to the readers. Review please.
