Bloodlust
...I'm sorry, but I don't think this can work out...
...I don't think we can work out... ...this family...
...you will find someone better than us...
...we'll miss you...
...goodbye...
I slowly open my eyes with a catastrophic headache shooting straight through my brain. A moan escapes from my mouth. I find myself on the floor, facing the space under my bed. As I reach up to a small clock on my bedside table, I feel a hold on my shirt, and tense up.
I turn my head around to see a little redhead deep in sleep with her small hand resting on a little spot of my waist. Her curls are tousled carelessly on the wooden floor. How did she get down here from the bed?
Fucking shit, who cares anyways?
Shaking my head, I catch her hand in mine and pull it off my shirt. I stand up, and the clock shows me it's only three quarters past three in the morning.
Striding across the cramped room into the bathroom, I grab at the sink, leaning forward. Pieces of the nightmare from last night come back to me in incoherent pictures. The flat is silent, but a buzzing noise in my ears is suffocating me.
I turn around and rest my eyes on the little girl sleeping peacefully on the floor outside the bathroom. Then, I swing the bathroom door close.
Not having her in my sight helps me think, I realize, staring at the pale blue tiles and my reflection on the mirror just above the sink. I certainly do look like a madman. My hair more like a color of copper gold under the light of bathroom and all ruffled up, I can't help but smirk a little.
So what, now? I've got my prey inside my flat, vulnerable. I won't let her go. Not untouched.
Blood-I need to see blood this time.
I realize I haven't seen much lately.
I also realize there's a small blade inside the bathroom cabinet.
It shines bright through the dusty glass of the cabinet.
I hastily take it out, spinning it around my fingers. The coolness is soon consumed by a hot flame as it slashes the palm of my hand. Whether it was intended or not, I'm not sure myself.
Blood drips into the sink.
...drip drip dripdripdripdrip... ...I like the sound of that...
...don't you?...
Better if it's the sound of her blood.
...but it's not hers dammit, it's not hersssssssss...
"Fuck it," I hiss, slamming my bleeding palm down to the edge of the sink. More red.
I turn the water on, watching the pink pooling inside the sink. Then I kneel down before the toilet and throw up violently. The sound of the water and the waves in my brain find their rhythm together.
After flushing the toilet, I splash the water on my face, glaring at my reflection now.
...something needs to be done...
But what?
...a plan, a plan, a Plan, a PLAN...
.
.
.
I quickly get dressed, brush my teeth, and decide to skip breakfast. I drink some warm water, though, to ease the pain away.
When I realize there is nothing more to be done, I wake her up. On the floor, she remains speechless for a while.
Then, she slightly tips her head as if testing it before she groans.
"Why does everything hurt so much?" She winces out, looking up at me.
"You probably need some fresh air," I tell her nonchalantly. "Why don't we go outside?"
She looks out of my tiny window. "It's still dark outside," she speaks quietly.
"Dark is always good, sweetie," I put my arms lightly around her back, and lead her outside into the darkness under the faint stars.
I decide to walk to the smokey bar although it takes long to get there by feet. I don't mind, really. But it seems like the redhead does mind. She clutches at her ridiculously green coat which has a faint but definite scent of alcohol-probably embedded there for a long time.
That's when I realize that the coat is a little too big for her.
Shaking my thoughts away, I take my scarf and put it around her neck which easily successes in covering her shoulders too.
"Tha-thank you," she says.
There's another brief silence as both of us walk through the thick snow.
"You're awfully quiet today," I tell her. It is true.
"It's just my head."
"Hey, it's just a few minutes 'till we get there."
"Get where?"
"To the bar I took you yesterday."
"But I don't want to go there today!" She stops walking, her face carved into a scowl. She looks as if she's about to cry.
"We're not going inside the bar-it's not even open yet. we're just going to the parking lot-"
"I want to go home, Sebastian."
"Wait, sweetie-" I pause for a moment, lost of words. "What's wrong?"
"I said. I want to go home."
"What, back to your mommy again? That coat-it's hers, isn't it?"
She stares at me with this unreadable expression on her face. Fucking hell, this is stupid.
This should be my last opportunity to work on my plans. I can't take it further to the bar when she says she wants to go back.
A man, miraculously, is at a payphone, speaking on the phone in a heated moment.
"Look at that man, sweetie," I tell her gently. "Do you hear what he's saying?"
She looks over at the man, then shakes her head. "I just want to go home."
"Home? He has a nice home, you see. His family is nice too, but it seems like the man doesn't know that. Oh, wait. He's yelling at his wife about their son."
"What- what about his son?" She gulps, her eyes widening under the flickering streetlight.
"Something about... An illness."
"An illness?" I watch as the streetlight shadows and lightens her face.
"And... His age. He's very young, I see. And alcohol? And-oh, dear..."
"What. What is it?" Her face turns pale, then quickly floods with red.
I whisper things-dark things in her ears, and she clutches onto the collar of my shirt. I can feel electricity trembling beneath her skin.
"But, the man-" she winces out, taking a look at him again, then burying her face against the crook of my neck. "Is all this true?"
"Such a childhood, isn't it? He must have felt so... Lonely."
She flinches at the word.
"And you know it never just stops at the family. The passersby, the peers-it gets marked all over the world. And the boy never really did anything, he was just captured in his room. And the man would've yelled that he doesn't want anyone to know that the boy is breathing inside the house-"
The girl flinches again at the familiar words.
"Now he's perfectly ruined. He'll be stuck in there forever, with the man who doesn't even love him. And the boy will blame himself for it. Saying how it's because he was behaving bad, how he wasn't being a good son..."
Every time I whisper a word, she twists as if being stabbed by a knife continuously.
'Illness. Age. Alcohol. Illness. Age. Alcohol. Illness. Age. Alcohol.'
The girl wails out a 'stop'. Her tears slide down against my collarbone, and I can feel her burning sensation turning into a chill as they seep inside under my shirt.
"But nobody?" Her voice doesn't sound sad. Her voice and tears taste like rage. "Nobody loves him?"
"I'm afraid so, sweetie. It was just that man at the beginning. He was too young, you see... Even if someone does love him, it's too late. He's already been broken so many times."
"I... But I..."
I stop whispering and hold her tight in my arms. For a moment, all we can hear is the faint voice of the man on the phone, and the girl's angry hiccough through tears.
"Poor Alex," I say, making up the name of the man's son. "It'd be such a hell to let the man do what he does..."
"Can't you... Can't anyone stop him?"
"I don't know sweetie, maybe you can. But the man is too young to be blamed, I guess..."
"No," she chokes the word out. "But it doesn't work like that."
I smirk. "Then how does it work like?"
I pull away from her to examine her face. Her eyes hold rage and I can see every cells of her body trembling in pain. The flickering streetlight doesn't turn on anymore, leaving everything to empty darkness.
"The man should die," she winces out.
Then, her small body crouches down on the ground, muffling her own screams, taking me by surprise-but a pleasant one.
"Shh- shh, sweetie. What's wrong?" I kneel down, framing her delicate face with my hands, but she refuses to acknowledge me, trembling hysterically.
"I don't know!" She sobs out. "It hurts so much-" she gasps, clutching at her chest. "Right here. It burns."
"Calm down," I grab at her shoulder, pressing her down.
"What's happening to me?" The redhead whispers.
She clings onto her own arms, squeezing painfully on her own skin.
I remove her hands from hurting herself, and I take out my blade and force it in her grip.
"Go figure out yourself," I speak quietly-a bit more harshly then I'd wanted to.
Dizzily, she looks down at the object, trying to figure it out.
"You want me to... Send him close to the clouds?"
"Sweetie. Remember how you tried that, but because you were a bad girl, you only got sent to hospital?"
She nods slowly.
"Kill him, sweetie. Isn't that what your heart is speaking to yourself? Stab his heart out of his ribcage-"
She looks shocked and terrified, but I know. She will do it.
.
.
.
A.f.t.e.r.
The morning star is rising, and I know it won't be long until the sunrise.
Five minutes ago, the girl took the knife.
Three minutes ago, she disappeared with the man into the dark.
A minute ago, I heard a scream.
It was a sure thing, really. With, or without my help, the girl would have done it someday. I can see pure anger buried deep down inside in her green eyes which speak of innocence. She tries to wear that anger down by being innocent, but God- it was all down her.
It could have erupted any moment, and when I saw her back then when I was peaking through the curtains of her house, I knew innocence cannot stop her. Because I knew what I saw. I felt what I saw. Her cries for help overlapped with mine. Years ago to this present, she and I are the same.
I saw myself within her-she's just pure white to forget it, and I'm dark black to overcome it. But nonetheless, we are the same.
Her eyes bleeding out betrayal, rage, pain... And I could just see, that, when she stops suffocating, when the innocence cannot hold it inside her anymore, she'd do anything. Anything that her fury tells her to do. Any fantasies that she'd had during the days of being locked away in the Love House, ignorance and coldness from the others, including her own mother. Stifling her anger.
Camouflaged with her innocence, she must have thought it was seeping inside her, becoming indifferent. Becoming okay. Every time she murmured 'my fault, my fault'.
But with a simple touch of mine- with a tiny trigger, her innocence turns into betrayer- they all exploded. What had protected her from the pain- the innocence is no longer there, and she just feel her raw skin without its armor burning up in flames.
And even tonight, I'll whisper thousands of 'okay's to her, but she'll know even better than me.
I find her trembling beside the body.
"What have I done," she whispers, her bloody hands dropping my blade.
I don't have to look at her face to know what she's feeling. I gently pick her up from the ground, and carry her limp body back to her own house as she gasps out a few sobs.
It starts to snow.
I came to realize. Quite a lot of people are curious of Jace's age. He's around nineteen, though I never thought the precise number would matter.
Also, if you're curious of the man that.. *cough* clary just killed, he's an ordinary man but you know, Jace kept telling her stuff...
if you really really want to know what made her kill him:
illness, age, alcohol stands for Clary and her mom's relationship. Jace also had used words that the mother used to Clary.
And when you see the last part, Jace mentions how Clary had been withholding her anger towards her mother, and since Clary was a bit unstable she was easily affected by it.
-Any questions/constructive criticism/thoughts are welcomed, though I really really hope not to give you guys any spoilers.
-I'll also try to keep updating regularly (I've been updating every Saturday if you noticed)
So there. I hope you liked this chapter and thank you all for reading&reviewing. Have a nice day! :)