A/N: I AM AN ANGSTY BITCH! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!
…I mean….erm…….mew?
Angel's Pain
Written by Sakki-san
Anything you haven't heard of belongs to me. Like……………..I'm running out of ideas.
Anything you HAVE heard of, doesn't. Like the flower shop. (I can't remember the full name.)
After that night, I locked my window. It got hot the first night I did it, but I slept all night and didn't wake up once. That was relieving. Farfarello obviously didn't come in.
I haven't told Omi, Yohji, or Aya about what happened. They don't seem to suspect anything. I've been trying to act as normal as possible, pushing Farfarello and the scar far into the back of my mind. It has to fade someday, the scar; and Farfarello probably won't come back now that I've locked my window. It was all just a way to try and confuse me. Yeah, that's it.
I told myself that for far too long. I wasn't bothered by Farfarello for at least two weeks. By that time, I told myself, he won't be trying to get in.
So I left my window unlocked. It brought immense relief and waves of coolness into my unnaturally stuffy room. I lean out the window for a few minutes, taking in as much night air as I can. Soon I turn back around and go to my bed.
I haven't been lying there for five minutes when I hear something outside my window. It's a loud, clattering, shuffling sound. I rocket out of my bed and peer out the window.
There's nothing out there except a cat around some boxes. I keep looking around. I swear, there had to be something out there other than a cat! I shut the window and look pensively out the window.
Something comes up behind me, and I don't know it until an arm snaps around my chest and another around my mouth, pulling me back into the body of someone else. This time I can reach up with my hands to try and pull whoever the offender is off my body, but whoever it is has a really powerful grip.
"You shouldn't leave your window unlocked."
Farfarello.
Has he been waiting outside my window every day for the last two weeks for me to leave the window unlocked?! Now he's got me in another death grip, and I can hardly fight this one.
"I see your scar is fading…why don't I cut you a new one?"
Has he been watching me, too? What is he, a stalker?! I thought he was a psycho. I didn't think he'd ever take a personal interest in me. Or in anybody else, for that matter. But right now I'm being held against him, fighting, trying to break free. It's useless to try and hurt him, so I'm just using pure strength to try and pull him off me.
It's useless.
"Fighting is pointless." His arm leaves my chest, and I feel his hand running gently through my hair. My eyes have been shut since the start of this. Now my strength is leaving me. I don't like this at all...
My head is pushed against his chest. I'm still fighting, trying to escape, even though what he said was true. Fighting IS pointless.
"It's a little hot in here…why are you keeping your window shut?" He laughs. "Is it because you're afraid of me?" I would nod, but I can't move my head. I'm still trying to pry his hand off my face. "You don't need to be afraid of me…just accept it…"
Accept what?! I have nothing to accept. I just want to sleep in peace for once. And not have to worry about a psycho Irishman sneaking into my room.
His grip on my face relaxes a little. My grip on his hand loosens. Damnit! What's going on here? What am I dong? Why aren't I fighting as hard as I can?
I hear him pull a knife from somewhere. His left hand, the one with the knife, is at my neck. The knife is resting at the base of my throat. I can see the silvery coloring of the blade, feeling the ice against my neck. I go rigid. There is no way I am going to let my throat be cut open. Still, I don't move my hands from his hand over my mouth.
"I wonder…what would happen if I cut you open right now?" He's silent, thinking it over. "Blood would spill…red…staining your skin, your clothes…" Laughter. Very quiet laughter. Why does he think it's funny? I certainly don't. I'd die.
The blade makes a thin cut along my neck. Enough to draw blood, not enough to kill me. Unconsciously I start to sweat. Is he going to kill me? Is he going to do something worse? If he does kill me, who will find me?
"Should I do it?" He's talking to himself, but I can hear him. The knife slides up to the place where my neck and my head meet. My head shifts to the side, pulling away from the knife as far as possible. His grip keeps my head from moving a whole lot, though.
"Wouldn't it be fun?" Fun? Fun for me to die, to kill me? Maybe for him, but I'm terrified now. The knife is gently scraping along my neck. I pull desperately at the hand clamped over my mouth, try to get free.
He laughs, and whispers into my ear.
"Don't be so scared, little kitten. I'm not going to kill you." The knife moves down to the collar of my shirt. "Why would I want to? Other than to watch the blood spill, what reason do I have?" The knife cuts into my shirt, slices it open from collar down…down…down to the end of the shirt. The blade twists so it's settled between two of Farfarello's fingers, and his hand lands right over my heart. I can feel my heart beating at a million beats a second, I'm that scared. Right now he could kill me, and I can't do anything to protect myself. Damn him for being immune to pain!
He knows I'm scared. Whether he can feel it or smell it, he knows. And he's pushing it, feeding it, forcing the fear to the limit. Sweat streams down my face and chest. His hand pushes against my chest. It's starting to hurt. The force is making it hard to breathe.
This goes on for only a few more seconds before I start losing the ability to breathe. I panic. His hand is pushing against my mouth so hard it's getting hard to breath even through my nose, and it feels like he's about to crack my ribs with his other hand. I scratch at his hands, trying to pull them off, trying to tell him I'm dying. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. God, I'm going to die!!!
In one last desperate attempt to get free, I slam my elbows into his stomach. He stumbles back a little, dragging me with him, but his hands slide off to the side due to the force of the blow. I shake him off and pull away, collapse to my knees on the floor, and breathe. I even start coughing. I take deep, hoarse, gasping breaths. All I care about is that I can breathe.
It takes him less than a second to whip me back up to his chest. But this time he only clamps one hand over my mouth. His other hand, the one with the knife, moves in front of me. I catch a split second of the knife being held normally again when it moves out of my range of view.
Then comes the pain. Again. The same pain he used on me before, two weeks ago, on my back. But this time it's on my chest. I claw at his hand, then just grip, to try and get hold of the pain. He carves another cross into me: one line from shoulder to shoulder across my collarbone, another from neck to waist. And this time he cuts me deep.
I expect him to throw me down again, laugh, and leave, but he doesn't. He pulls my head back into his chest harder, so hard I'm afraid my head will crack open. He'd love that. Hurt God, indeed…
"God is hurting," he says. "God will hurt even more when I'm done with you."
My head is twisted sharply to the side, and everything goes black.