Figured I'd do a pilot chapter for this little chaotic mess of a story since it's been consuming my mind lol
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Shatter Me
Chapter 1
I guess in hindsight, I was always different. For as long as I can remember I couldn't seem to fit in with anyone or do anything right. My mother loved me for a time and actually, I look almost exactly like her. My hair is nearly white it's so pale, face shape and features clearly modeled after hers. But I have heterochromia and one of my eyes is a startlingly blue… It's the only part of me that resembles my father and that small anomaly is what made her hate me. My own mother scalded my face when I was only four years old—She was trying to burn my father out of me, I think, but it didn't work.
People tell me that I'm lucky she didn't blind me in my left eye, but I disagree. She was right to try and cleanse me as she did; I am wicked and it certainly didn't come from her. Case in point, my favorite pastime is killing people; it's the only thing that brings any semblance of meaning to my otherwise abysmal life.
I'm currently standing in the darkness of an alleyway, smoking a cigarette while waiting for my target to come waltzing down the street. I have a perfect view of his front door from here and I know about what time he should arrive.
This particular victim of mine really deserves it. I understand the irony of thinking such a thing when I myself am a serial murderer, but at least I have a moral code, as warped and twisted as it may be. He doesn't; he hurts innocent women and so I'm going to hurt him.
It's been about a week since I started my careful stalking. Though I have plenty of money to bribe my way out of being convicted if I was caught, I find it easier to just be cautious in the first place. The nicotine helps keep me calm while I carry out my dutiful analyzing; I find it almost exhilarating to know that he has no idea he'll be dead in just a few more days.
"Shit!" I nearly scream, jerking from my position. It was light, but I'm certain I felt something tugging my pant leg. It's hard to see anything in the dimness of the night, so I pull out my flashlight, first searching for and retrieving the soiled cigarette I'd dropped—Can't leave DNA just lying around.
After a bit of awkward crouching, I find a window that's been boarded up from the inside. The glass is caked with dirt and grime of some kind, but if I angle my light just right, I can almost see someone moving behind the wood. I turn off and then pocket my tool, hoping that whoever is there will either show themselves or leave me alone.
It takes another few moments, but one of the boards starts shifting to the side and a somewhat dainty hand presses against the glass, pushing it towards me. Honestly, I don't know why I reach out to help, but I do. It takes minimal effort to completely lift and then hold the disgusting piece of glass up, though the moment I move to help, the hand retreats quickly. No matter; patience is one of my better attributes.
In the meantime, I dig through my hoodie pocket and light another cigarette as my nerves are certainly on edge after being startled like that. The sound of my lighter appears to draw whoever is inside back over, however, the wooden board sliding off to the side once more.
I almost drop the newly lit smoke from my lips when I catch sight of big, curious green eyes peering up at me. The 'culprit' is a young man, somewhere between late teens and early twenties, though you could easily mistake him for being younger with his slender, malnourished frame and innocent expression.
I can't seem to stop staring at him; He's beautiful in the strangest way—but he's also clearly not well. The shirt he has on is stained with God knows what and is several sizes too big, hanging off of one of his shoulders. With the exposed skin, I can see hickeys in varying degrees of healing and scars. So many scars. They seem even more prominent given how thin and pale he is, his clavicle completely visible and protruding. His hair is unwashed and tangled; A bruise coloring his cheek… This kid has been through the wringer.
I don't know how long I was staring for, but soon there's a hesitant smile on his lips and that quickly refocuses my attention. How on Earth could he possibly be smiling after what he's no doubt been through? I hear slight clinking as he raises his free hand, revealing crooked, scarred fingers and a bulky chain hooked around his wrist.
The young man points at my face and I nearly go cross-eyed trying to see what he wants. I take the cigarette from my lips and his gaze follows it; I'd wager he was peeking out like this when I lit up the first time and that's why he tugged at my pant leg. Usually, I try not to endorse bad habits but if someone deserves to do whatever the hell they want, it's him.
This one is almost halfway done, however, the ash sprinkling the ground from my movement. I put it out and he almost looks betrayed, returning his now watery green eyes to me with a pout on his lips. The sight makes my stomach flip, something strange flickering just behind my sternum. I'm compelled to move a little faster and pull out the pack I'd been drawing from, giving it a light shake before holding it out.
He looks hesitant, like he's not sure it's worth it to take one from me... like he'll be punished if he tries. I bring it to my lips and pull a fresh one out with my teeth, quickly lighting it and inhaling. The young man swallows slightly as I blow the smoke out to the side and offer it to him once more. That brilliant grin is back and he takes it this time, drawing in a long puff before raising up higher on his toes to exhale over the edge of windowsill; I hope he doesn't fall off of whatever he's standing on.
"Thank you…" he whispers and I'm certain I've just heard the voice of an angel. "Master gives me one as a reward if I'm good, but he forgets sometimes."
Oh, this bastard is so dead. I have no idea how long this boy has been down here, but his statement wasn't fearful or full of resentment… it was like he was reciting a fact and had no clue that he was being treated badly. It's a shame I'll have to kill him too, but I can't have any witnesses; he would be able to identify me for not one, but two murders if I were to let him go.
"How'd'ya get eyes like that?" he asks next, peering up at me shyly.
It's not really 'my thing' to speak to anyone, but he sounds so innocent, so pure. I guess responding wouldn't be the end of the world. "They were like this when I was born; it's called heterochromia."
His dark, delicate eyebrows furrow cutely and I have the most unnerving urge to smile; I never smile. He struggles to mimic the name of my condition, stumbling over the word a couple of times before he gets it right.
"Heterochromia…" he repeats again and I nod with approval. That seems to make him even happier and he almost bounces with excitement, opening his mouth like he wants to ask something else. We both hear a door slam in the distance, however, and his eyes go wide with fear; whoever is keeping him prisoner is back.
I take the half-smoked cigarette from him and quietly put the glass back in place, able to make out a grateful smile and wave before the wood is slipped back down too. The criminal across the street is temporarily pushed to the back of my mind as I walk out of the alley and find the apartment number, committing it to memory.
It really isn't necessary for me to come back to this particular spot in the alley to survey my newest target; I could just as easily do recon from the alley on the opposite side of the building or even from one across the street. But I find myself drawn to that little window like a moth to a flame despite having no intention of making contact with the inhabitant.
From a preliminary check, I found that the scum that lives here is named Tomura Shigaraki and that he 'works' as a drug dealer. Knowing that, I arrive for my first in-person scouting session much later than usual, figuring that he'd probably be up for a good portion of the night.
Just as I crouch and pry open the glass to see if I can catch a glimpse of the boy being kept prisoner, however, my stomach drops and I feel my chest tighten. The rhythmic creak of rusting metal combined with nauseating, husky moans and lewd slapping sounds makes me almost cringe. If I had a heart, it would most certainly be breaking from hearing the young man's sweet, shy voice reduced to a mess of pained whimpers and periodic muffled shrieks.
Impulse almost makes me throw caution to the wind and go kill the sick fuck now, but I'm able to stifle the desire. Being hot-headed isn't my style to begin with and I don't have enough information on Shigaraki to know if he'd be physically capable of overpowering me or if he has a weapon near him. If I'm killed because I go in without a plan, the young man will continue to suffer even more.
His yelps get louder and more shrill after a time, the rocking faster and uneven as Shigaraki gets closer to his climax. I taste blood in my mouth by the time I hear a euphoric moan followed by relieved panting.
My teeth stay clamped on my tongue until I make out what I believe to be the creaking of stairs and a door slamming shut. I swallow the iron-tasting fluid and let out a heavy breath, steam washing around from the near frigid autumn air.
I was already planning on shifting the loose wooden board out of the way to 'check-in' on the young man, so I continue with that objective, completely removing the glass and setting it aside before quietly slipping my blade in between two of the slabs to push it to the side.
Sure enough, I find the boy curled up on a stained, bare mattress; I must have missed it before since I was so focused on staring at him. He's got the arm he's laying on wrapped around his stomach and the other pulled up to his face, covering it as he cries. I don't like it.
It's a huge risk, but this time I'm unable to curb my impulse. "Hey!" I whisper, already digging through my pocket for my lighter. His whimpers quiet and stall some, body uncurling the moment I run my thumb down the ignition strip to cause the 'flick' sound.
"H-Heterochromia?" he hiccups, clearly confused as he sits up. I watch as he rubs those teary green eyes in the darkness of his room like he can't believe I'm really here.
I set my lighter down and use my free hand to pull out my cigarettes next, awkwardly attempting to stay on the balls of my feet while I crouch and hold the wood out of the way. Though it takes me a moment, I eventually pull one from the pack and show it to him, nodding when his face seems to light up.
It's pitiful watching him slowly maneuver to his feet and limp over, especially when he has to stack some boxes and climb up to get level with the window. But the smile he gives me when I let him have the little cancer-causing stick strangely makes the last sickening half-hour worth it.
In the moonlight, I can see a fresh bite on his neck, his anemic skin puffy and red where teeth broke through in some places. "Does it hurt?" I question, blinking at myself as I hadn't planned on making conversation.
He looks confused for a moment before touching the area I'm staring at, his eyes dulling for just a moment before they regain their sparkle. "Yeah, but it doesn't hurt for long… Master likes marking me as his—He says that it's proof that he loves me. I have lots of them, see?"
A tremor of rage pours through me when he pulls his filthy shirt down to show me more evidence of Shigaraki's 'love'. I keep my reaction in check though; there isn't any reason to upset his innocent, coerced beliefs.
He slips his right arm through the gap, effectively holding the board out of the way so that I can withdraw my hand. All I can focus on, however, are the terrible scars that run up the length of his humorous when he lays his forearm flat against the asphalt and blows out another puff of smoke.
"And those?" I question. "Are those also proof of Shig—your Master's love?"
"O-oh… No… I was bad and Master punished me." He explains, his face startling moments later as he looks between me and the cigarette I gave him. "But I'm a good pet now, I swear!"
"I'm not going to take your reward from you," I assure quietly. He calms considerably at my words and I'm once again drawn in to every little movement he makes, specifically his throat this time. Maybe when it's time to kill the two of them, I'll strangle him; he has such a soft, fragile-looking neck.
"C-Can I touch your hair?"
I'm pulled from my deranged fantasy by his hesitant, yet hopeful voice and force my eyes back up to his. My expression must have shown my confusion though because he dips his head down some and almost hides behind the lower edge of the window, leaving only those inquisitive emeralds peaking up at me.
"I… well… Master and I both have curly hair, but yours is so straight and soft looking…" he explains bashfully with a beautiful flush creeping across his previously ashen complexion.
This must be what he wanted to ask me last time, I assume. I'm tempted to say no on the grounds that it's a little unnerving and will mean I have to actually kneel in the filth of the alley, but honestly, how could anyone say no to an expression like his?
Somehow, I end up nodding and shifting to my knees, nearly doubling over for him to easily reach my head. His giggle is melodic when he runs his fingers through my locks and I can just imagine the awe and excitement spread across his face; I bet it's beautiful.
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Yep... I'm a hot mess lol BUT I hope you enjoyed that pilot! :) Likely more to come on this story!