All that is dark | ✓

8| scars

"WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND?"

Her gaze snapped towards Nathan, who was sitting in front of her. She had spent the whole night on her couch, staring at her phone in the glass of coffee. On her way to Nathan she had futily tried to avoid Dante, until he inevitably caught up to her before she could enter. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His gaze alone was enough to tell her all she needed to know, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he turned away from her. Who did she remind him of? It was the only explanation for him being invested at all in her, wasn't it? And if she did remind him of someone, what had happened to her?

To be honest, she didn't want to know. It would feel too much like looking into a mirror at her own fate. So instead of confronting him about anything she had heard or thought, she sat down opposite the serial killer she had to treat and smiled. Nathan leaned back in his chair, the chains clattering on the table as he mirrored her expression, his hair tousled and his eyes so dark it seemed like she would get lost in them. As he tilted his chin up cockily, she couldn't help but wonder how he had this much confidence.

All her rough childhood had given her was the inability to sleep and a talent for lying, which had helped her when she had made this persona for herself. There was nothing fake about his confidence though, the way he carried the world in the palm of his hand almost jarring. Of everything he was showing her, not much was authentic, but this was, that she knew. Fatigue was clouding her mind, but she just shook it away, knowing she couldn't allow herself to sink away in it.

"Men made of flesh and bone," she said," and the blood on their knuckles."

His lips curled up further, something wicked in his eyes.

"Are you talking about me, my dear Helene?"

"Do you see yourself as someone made of flesh and bone?" she said, almost surprised at the fact that he acknowledged himself being anything less than a god.

"No, I don't," he said, his eyes wandering over her face," but if you want me to be so, I can be human for an hour."

"Alright," she said, intertwining her hands," why do you kill?"

"You're getting straight to the million dollar question," he grinned," smart. If it had been anytime else, I would have given you the choice out of four lies, but for now I'll tell you something else."

He spread his arms, amused expression unwavering, as if he was about to tell her a joke no one had gotten before.

"The room I lived in was about this big," he said," and every day, as if at clockwork, my father grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the walls to wake me up. It was honestly impressive, almost, the way he managed to move that much in a room that small." He lowered his hands, intertwining them as well on the table like she had. "Now, why do you think he did that?"

"I can't answer that when I've never seen him," she said.

"No, you can," he replied," now, think harder. Why do you think he did that?"

Frustration at a failed life, the need for power, a temper which was lost as quickly as his mind. There were many things she wanted to say, but none of them would satisfy Nathan. She knew what the correct answer was, just as certain as she knew that his body was covered with scars underneath the orange prison jumpsuit. Sometimes, at night, she could still feel her own nightmares searing on her skin.

"For no reason at all," she said," just because he felt like it."

"Humans are strange, aren't they?" he mused," acting like we're all above animals as if we aren't slaughtering each other daily as well. At least I know what I am."