Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝓑RUISED, TREMBLING FINGERS ACHED AS SHE REACHED FOR THE OLD TELEPHONE ATTACHED TO THE WALL. Her eyes were squeezed shut, listening to the shallow breathing the man let out from where he laid on the floor. Her ballet slippers were carelessly abandoned, whilst the white leotard she wore was stained with crimson blood that she wasn't sure was hers or not. It felt like oil, and the smell was thick, like copper. She feared if she'd open her eyes, bile would come rushing up.
"Ko..da.." Her foster father rasped. "Please."
Dakoda, or Koda, Dupont's eyes flickered open. She swallowed thickly, taking in the scene before her. Xander laid motionless on the floor, staring up at the wall. He gurgled blood, the front of his shirt stained red from where the Dupont girl had stabbed him repeatedly until he was far, far away from her. The knife she had used was on the ground beside her, where she had dropped it after sinking to the floor. The white carpet beneath them both was stained red.
"Shut up," She hissed angrily, slamming her palms into his chest. "You did this. It's your fault."
"Please." Xander repeated brokenly. "Please."
"Just shut up!" Koda exclaimed, shaking her head. She pushed herself away from him, as frustrated tears formed. "I need to—I need to think."
She could still recall his hands on her, the way he had drunkenly let out a laugh and cornered her in her own dressing room. He had gotten past security somehow, probably by pretending to be her caring foster father who had taken her in when no one else wanted her, a twelve year old orphan. It was an accident, she would have to tell the police, it was self-defense.
It was true, of course. It wasn't the first time Xander had tried to force himself on her. It was just the first time she had resorted to violence in return. Now, he was dying. He'd be dead soon. Dead, dead, dead.
Koda doubted the police would believe a twelve year old ballerina, especially one who was said to be a troubled juvenile.
"This is quite a mess," A familiar rough, exhausted voice drawled softly. "What have you gotten yourself into, Dakoda?"
