Clandestine | 18+

45~ Yellow in Orange

( Not Edited ) 
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Adele~Lovesong
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"Disconnecting doesn't get rid of your need for connection, it only amplifies it."
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Estelle Adler Camelli

Slowly, I was healing. Even though the side of my stomach hurt when I walked, I didn't care. I was going to my headquarters and seeing the progress on everyone. I'd been too emotional this past week.

And I think for that reason alone I had to remind myself who I was.

The wind was blowing on my face softly, the stars shining upon me as if giving me their blessing. Such a wonder how I didn't die. When that knife was deep in my stomach, I...

I breathed in. I felt reminded of an other time where I had a sharp edge of a plate inside my flesh. And I was going to tattoo this wound too.

Yet I didn't regret this one. I did it to find my sister.

I had done many things in my life.

Underage assassination, recruiting of the vulnerable so they could work for me in return of a better life, poisoned, skinned people alive, tortured, seduced.

Yet somehow I didn't regret it. All I killed were part of the underworld, and most of them were ugly people.

Yet as I was staring down the road, the buildings fading quickly from my sides due to the speed of my car, I realized I was one of the ugly people too.

And I came from a bloodline of ugly people. And apparently my fucking mother was the heir of it.

And now me.

And Pierce, unfortunately.

My car stopped before the abandoned building where my headquarter hid, and I walked inside. I grasped my knife in the strip I had placed around my thigh. I was wearing a silky black dress. Tight clothes pressed against my wound, making it hurt.

I told Pierce I was going to meet a friend, and he didn't want me to leave, saying I was still not healed and to promise him I wasn't going to my headquarters.

I promised.

Yet what is a promise along all my ugly deeds? A needle hidden in sand, that's what it was. And what obligation did I have to follow his word?

Deep inside me I wanted to say it was because he cared. The way he let me live when he knew I planned on killing him anyways, how he bathed me, held me.

Yet, the ugly part of me, denied it. How could one care for me? Feel softness for a soul who was as hard as concrete?

Entering the elevator, I felt the smell of chlorine. I loved it. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

It was what I used to clean up blood. But it was like alcohol, a smell I could get drunk on. My house smelled like it for a whole month after the carpet my mother's body had fell upon got ordered over and over again by my father to get cleaned.

Then I ordered it to my team to clean the floors with it. I craved it.

It was a smell that brought me back to a faded memory of my mother and me in the pool, the smell of chlorine in the summer filling my lungs as the sun fell on her eyes, making her brown-looking eyes hazel.

What was one of the strongest memories and smells I had of her in the living, was also the longest I smelt after her death.

Every time I walked by that carpet I smelled it.
And it reminded me of what I lost.