A smile slips onto his lips as the first drop of blood runs down his collarbone. One drop followed by more, and the smile never fades.
The beige collar of his shirt starts to stain red, along with my fingertips wrapped around the dagger handle.
He'...
Calm down, you ain't scared now You accept your fate, you can't relate, you bow down GTG ~ Freddie Dredd ~ "I want you to beg for it." ~
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VDA
Even on the thick, grey wool sweater I'm wearing, the crusting crimson blood is still visible.
A metalic, iron aftertaste sits on my tongue. More blood, obviously, but is it mine or his? That's a pending question I don't think we'll be finding the answer to anytime soon.
I lift my hands up from my sides, palms facing up and slightly shaking, stained red.
The job is done. Honestly went better than originally thought, all things considered. So why such a feeling of dissatisfaction, of discontent?
I sigh slowly, keeping my breath steady and quiet. Don't know why though, there's nobody down here and there never is anyone down here. Well, except for Mars.
I left my watch in my bag, not wanting to ruin the white leather, so now I just sit on the damp floor and wait.
I allow myself to doze off a couple of times, my head falling onto the moldy wall next to me. Strands of blood-caked blonde hair fall in front of my face, scratching at my cheeks.
After about the fourth time of falling asleep and waking up, my heart drops at the sound of muffled voices and heavy footsteps coming from the staircase down the hall.
One entrance, one exit. That staircase.
"...The authority you think you have..."
"...Basically my home now..."
"...Best you shut it before I..."
Out of anybody, anybody, in this fucking house I happen to recognize the voices. I only recognize a handful of people here, but jesus fucking christ, of course it had to be him.
What a clique.
I press myself into the tightest corner on the furthest wall from the door I can find, my hand covering my nose and mouth to muffle my shaky and steady breaths.
Metallic taste and metallic smell cloud my face. I'm used to it, as I've been covered in it for hours, but in such a state of anxiety It's making me want to vomit.
More yelling and more footsteps approach, but never round the corner I'm hidden behind. A heavy door closes and the yelling stops. Footsteps get quieter, but also stay close.
A steady one-two-three pause one-two-three pattern, never getting closer or farther away. Is someone in a... No. No, really? That's stupid it's the Va—
"YOU MOTHERFUCKING PRICK!'' He yells repeatedly, angry, his voice slightly cracking. Loud bangs and noises follow, most likely him throwing and kicking things.
