Venta Black | Amanda Young

Killer Inside

It's a messed up world
Please enlighten me
There's so much left to learn
Messed up world
You could show me. you could save me.

"Leave me alone!" sobs, cries and screams howled from within me. I was being pushed, harshly pushed and dragged. The room under the stairs.
"You're worthless! A fucking dyke, that's what you are!" Father screamed, and pushed me further into the wooden door of the closet until the hinges gave in and flung the door wide open. He shoved me further inside despite my cries, scratches and wails. He shut the door. I was enveloped in darkness. There was no lightbulb, and I heard the click of him locking the door and storming off to get another bottle. I sobbed, I screamed as loud as I could but my terror was only met with a deeper sorrow. I failed as his daughter, I failed. I had given into a temptation and he had found me. I gave into sin and he found me.
"Please..."
"Let me out."
"Dad.."
"Please let me out."
"I'm sorry, I promise it won't happen again."
"I made a mistake. I'm sorry." My throat was sore from yelling, I pressed my forehead against the small door. I felt like a meaningless, small mouse stuck in a trap unable to get out because of my wounded legs and torso. The bruises were littered across my arms in a pattern of purple, yellows,  greens and blues. I knew why he hated me, and yet at the same time I didn't. I clenched my fists so hard that it hurt and I knew left crescent shaped red marks and bled a minimal amount. It was painful, but nearly therapeutic. It was impossible to stop. I deserved it.

First month:

I strolled around the halls of the wilson steel plant for what felt like forever. Strewn about the big main room were mannequins upon mannequins, hung with razor wire,mouths ripped apart, plastic hollow eyes gouged out. Littered on the tables were remnants of design sketches, machine parts and wires. My boots made heavy thuds on the concrete floor, as I walked slowly over to a machine I knew was much similar to the one that was used on me. Except it was much larger and bulkier, and took on a hastily painted gold sheen as opposed to the rust caked one John used on me. It was almost, twistedly pretty. The jagged edges of the mouth piece looked almost like two crowns flipped  upside-down, and the gears like precious treasures. Yet at the same time, it was terrifying.
On the next table was a photo of me. My stomach lurched. It was my mugshot from when Eric Matthews had framed me for possession. My makeup was messy, and there was a bruise on my cheek. I could still tell, despite the photos monochrome black and white. I remembered that day, I was crying that I didn't do it, and he threw me in jail anyway. With a mocking smile on his face, standing there as they took me away. Four years in that hellhole, fearing for my life as I became addicted to the same substance that he had framed me with. I became what he had said I was, then they all got mad when it had happened. Tell a lie, don't be upset when it comes true. My shoulders tensed and my jaw clenched, I was angry. I was so unbelievably mad. Yet when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I relaxed.
"I didn't expect you to come so soon." John's quiet yet demanding voice said. I felt unsureness creep up on me.
"Didn't have anything else to do at home. Didn't want to sleep." I sighed and turned to face him, he looked the same as he did in my apartment, yet his eyes gleamed with life, blue, rather than looking hollow and dead as they first were. The overhead lights of the steel plant helped. In this light, he looked simply just like a man. A simple human being, in his black and red robe with softly frayed edges. In the lamplight, he looked almost like death herself.
"Follow me." He instructed, and I obeyed. He led me down the hall of the building to a scarcely lit room with a desk and single chair, portraits lining the tops of cabinets that looked like they belonged in an auto body shop. One was cracked in the shape of an X. There was also a familiar looking puppet sitting lonely on the wooden center table. The low hum of machinery made the room feel less quiet. I realized then it looked an awful lot like a kitchen, there was a sink, and an oven. Reminded me a lot of home. John took a seat in the chair. It creaked when he sat, and I stood in front of him on the other side of the table.
"Forgive me for the lack of seating, this isn't where I usually work, however all the pieces have been put in place and I will no longer have a use for my old workshop. Apologies." I simply nodded and smiled nervously. More staring and silence. My eyes darted around the room, and my eyes fell to the puppet once more. John's eyes followed.
"Billy." He said.
"Billy?"
"That's his name."
"Cool.." I felt along the puppets side, dragging my finger down the slope of its nose and feeling its plasticy hair. It had a glossy sheen which I liked.
"Are you confronting your fears?" John stood from his chair and sauntered over to me.
"Fears?" I said in a whisper.
"I know that your test may have frightened you. You aren't sleeping, I can tell. You stay awake at night, staring at the ceiling. Don't you?"
"...." I looked at the floor. Good judge of character I suppose. John sighed and put his hand on my shoulder. The touch was warm
"To overcome your greatest flaws, you have to face the ultimate test of the human will to survive. You've done that, I know you have a new appreciation for your life. However, to face your fear, and trauma of the recollection of such event, you must come to terms with it. This is your life now, and I'll guide you over the hurdles it'll throw in your way."
"Okay." I spoke softly.
"I'll do that." It made sense, his prophecy. It worked on me, it saved me from killing myself slowly with the chemical pleasure of drugs. Cut off my ties with Donnie. Dropped me into a star stitched lake of blue healing, and I'll be pulled out once he deems me ready to work under him. Help people with his guidance.
"Can you teach me?" I looked up into his eyes, and he looked down into mine. Still, they followed almost like a mirror image.
"In due time, as I don't have much time left myself." John's face looked somber and hollow like a plastic shell of someone who once was so lively.
"I want you to carry on my work after I pass."