A/N: This is completely from Len's point of view, so if there's something big that I left out, it's probably because Len has no clue or doesn't care. Like how Mikuo (tentative love interest) is scouring the country for Rin. And Rin's conflicting emotions as she tries to understand Len more. And whatever Rin's guardians are doing. Or guardian, I should say.
p.s. I slipped in a shower scene for you fangirls, you're welcome ;)
Something has changed about her.
She looks at me differently. Less absolute fear and more…something else. I don't understand it.
I led her to the kitchen and sat her down in front of the table. This was going to be fun.
She watches with apprehension as I take a live chicken out from a cage. My servant caught it for me the other day. I didn't know this country had so many wild chickens roaming around. But in this world, money can get you anything. Even innocence in the face of a crime.
"Hold it down." I command.
Her eyes widen with realization and anxiety when she gets an inkling of what's about to occur. Not so simple-minded after all, it appears. So very slightly she shakes her head, as if trying to convince herself that I'm not about to do what she's imagining.
Truthfully speaking, I saw this on the television as I passed by it a little while ago. She had foolishly forgotten to turn the blasted thing off.
I pull out a large, rectangular blade imported from Asia. I just can't wait.
We both tremble. Me, from excitement; her, from dread.
A sickening sound fills the air as blood splatters and spills over us from a violent stab wound in the neck. Its head is completely chopped off from the sheer force of the impact. Warm red liquid dribbles across my face as I look to her in glee.
She is pale and lightly sweating and ready to hurl her insides. Bright crimson paints her white face and dress. Her eyes are shut tight.
"That's what I will do to anyone who comes between us. Because you are my one and only." I say gravely. I sure hope she knows how strong and sincere my feelings are now.
Instead of screaming and running, she only stares at me for a moment and slowly exits. It was a disappointment. Just what is going through her head?
Something has changed.
I haven't seen her since. Where is she hiding? Not in any of the rooms. Where is my pet?
Ah, but before I search, I ought to wash up. Dried blood coats my entire front. I can't possibly present myself to her like this.
Slipping off my clothes, I enter my shower. A rather high-tech device in comparison to the rest of my house. There is a touch-screen panel with many options from water pressure to temperature. I had it installed since I was always washing things off of me.
The ice-cold water splashes over my bare chest and flows down, along with the majority of the blood. I roughly scrub unscented soap over my body and face. Quickest way to get rid of dried blood.
This is only for her. I personally think dark red contrasts nicely to my pale, marble-like skin. Sometimes I leave it on for hours just to concern the servants. And scare them.
Despite my thinness, years of violence has earned me strength beneath my soft skin. I curse my hair for being so…sunny. I always though a pure black would suit me better. My ice-blue eyes, however, freeze through others souls with one glance. Yes, even a psychopath, pays attention to his body. I'm still a teenager, after all.
Only when I'm cold enough to slip into hypothermic shock do I turn off the water. The droplets slide down my biceps, chest, and faint abdominal muscles. I shake my head a bit like a feral dog and my wet hair flops down over my bored face. Never have I felt the urge to wrap a towel around my waist, as I do not come into contact with others very often.
Perhaps I should present myself to her, just like this.
But I don't. In the end, I decide to settle on some old jeans and a leather jacket. Now it's time to go find my lover.
I found her in the yard.
She was trying to fix up the masses of dead, shriveled up plants. How silly.
"What are you doing?" I ask, even though it's obvious.
She jumps and turns around. Why is she always so startled? Does she not realize that I live here as well? "Just doing some gardening."
"All the plants are dead. There's no point." I flatly respond. Is she stupid? All the easier to manipulate.
"Not all of them." She softly murmurs.
A bright orange butterfly weed sat in a pile of dirt. So annoying. The minute she left, I ripped the flower out and crushed it with my hands.
I don't want her to look at or admire anything except me.
I toss the pulpy remains of the flower in the trash.
Yet I can't stop thinking about it. Does she like flowers? Did she want a flower? Why does she find joy in some plant? Should I give her a flower? What's the point?
No. Her love should go to me and only me.
The next day, I gave her a flower.
An arbutus. I rather liked the meaning behind it. "I love only you."
She had a strange look on her face when she accepted it. A mixture of confusion and…surprise? But not the bad kind. It makes me happy.
"Thank you." She says.
As I sit in the library reading, I feel a sense of boredom. I want to do something. I want to do something with her. Now. I'm so BORED.
What should I do with her? Bond her and whip her? Kiss her? Cut her until she bleeds? The thoughts excite me and I'm practically drooling with anticipation.
Then a better idea comes across me.
I find her in the kitchen, chatting with a chef. A raging jealousy consumes me. Never before have I felt a fire burn so strong inside me. I hate the chef for talking to her. I hate him for being near her. I hate him for looking at her.
He's telling her something, something that's apparently so interesting that she didn't even notice me. She listens intently, a range of emotions flickering across her face.
What are they doing? What are they talking about? Why is he in the way?
I hate him.
So I do the obvious. I grab a large knife from a cabinet and stab the bastard in the throat. Blood gushes out and he slumps onto the floor, choking and gasping. He coughs out some more blood and dies, eyes glassy.
Now he will never talk to her again.
I toss the blooded knife onto the floor. It falls with a clatter. Satisfaction runs through me. I did it. I got rid of an obstacle in our relationship. I smile.
But this makes her scream. Her mouth opens and she belts out a high-pitched wailing noise that pierces my eardrums. I love the sound. It's what I desperately craved for earlier. I want to make her scream more.
She runs away. So this is what it takes to make her scream and run.
No. I was going to do something with her. I went to her because I was bored. How dare she run away? Is she rejecting my love for her? No.
I run after her and seize her wrist. She's crying and screaming, trying to get away from me. I greatly enjoy it, but this was not a part of my plan.
Every shrill scream sends sparks of pleasure through me and every tear awakens the beast inside me. It's ridiculously pleasing. But I need to continue with my plans.
Relishing in the glorious sound of her screaming for a bit more, I cut my own pleasure short. Now was not the time. I deliver a sharp uppercut to her stomach and she falls unconscious. So weak. So easily harmed. So much fun.
I take her limp body into my limousine and order the chauffer to take us to the largest flower field in the area. He takes us to one filled with miles of soft yellow flowers.
I deposit her there and shake her until she wakes up. She wildly glances around and sits up in fright. Then she notices her surroundings.
Tears well in her eyes.
"Why am I here?" She whispers.
"You like flowers." I bluntly state. Isn't it obvious?
She stands up and walks through the field. A faint smile begins to form. We walk farther until patches of yellow and green surround us from all directions. By now the limo is only a black smudge in the distance.
I watch her in satisfaction. But then she starts picking flowers and frolicking in them. Smelling them. Enjoying them. I don't understand. What is she doing? They're just flowers. Weak, useless little life forms that are easily trampled.
Then I start to get angry. She should be hugging, thanking, caressing me. Me. Not those pathetic flowers. I brought her here. She should be grateful. She should jump at my kindness. Why is she not paying any attention to me after what I did for her?
My eye twitches. I stomp on a flower. Then two. Then ten. But there are too many flowers.
Burn. I'll burn the whole field.
A tiny boy walks through the field holding his father's hand. He's smiling ear to ear. Then he breaks free and starts running through the field while the father watches with an endearing look on his face. The air the light and sunny and happy.
The boy giggles and plays. He spends hours there while the father just sits and watches. The love between them is clear.
The memory disrupts my mind and I fall to my knees. Tears involuntarily stream down my face. I don't know what's going on. I can't control them. They turn into sobs.
I'm trembling and sniveling like a baby. I can't stop. It's horrible and weak and pathetic, just like the flowers.
She notices. She's walking towards me. What is she doing? Is she going to think I'm weak? She's going to leave me. No. This is wrong. I never should have come here. I want to turn back time.
A soft, warm touch on my head jolts my thoughts. I slowly look up and see her hand just barely grazing my hair. She has a concerned look on her face.
Relief floods through me. I keep crying and she just stands there, stroking my head. It's a wondrous feeling. So soothing.
The ride back home is silent. But this time I'm the uncomfortable one. She saw a weak side of me. Her opinion of me must be lowered. Yet she looks calmer than before.
What is going on?
