Insanity Stains Red

seven

I wish I knew what was happening out there. Time was passing so slowly, it was hard to keep track. I couldn’t hear any noise from outside; the room was mostly soundproofed so as to not disturb the others when my father or whoever else was having their fun down here. But just as suddenly as there was silence, there was sound again. And surprisingly enough, it came in the form of someone I was mostly happy to see – though I probably wouldn’t have minded seeing someone I hated at that point; I didn’t like to be alone.

“Hello Aizen” I croaked, my voice hoarse from the previous pressure of my father’s arm on my throat. I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected him to be the one standing outside my cell; Aizen had never been the one for idle visits – he always had a specific reason for everything he did. I wondered what his reason for this visit was. But I was glad to see him nonetheless, and he was definitely preferable to most of the others that could have come in his place. He gave me a wry look and lowered himself to sit with his back against the cold bars – facing away from me.

“You’ve really done it this time, Eva.” His voice was soft, gentle. I wondered if I should be worried that he was being so nice to me – and what that meant for his reason here; maybe my father had sent him to punish me further - I hoped not. He spoke again, mercifully cutting off my musings. “What were you thinking, beating up one of them – couldn’t you have at least waited to beat up one of the ones under Moore’s control? Why did it have to be one of those assholes?”

“How bad is it?”

“They want your head – preferably still breathing and attached to your body, so they can fuck you up themselves.” He shook his head with exasperation. “Your father is peaking to them on your behalf-” I shorted and he broke off, turning to raise an eyebrow at me. As if he didn’t know what I found funny about that – my father might not want me dead, but other than that he didn’t much care what else happened to me – he had proved that on numerous occasions; something that Aizen knew well. I decided that maybe I didn’t want to know specifics after all. I changed the subject.

“How long have I been down here?”

“A few hours”

“The girl’s dead, then?”

He looked at me strangely, shifting his body around so he could get a better view of my face without having to crane his neck. I think he wanted to gauge my reaction; he was certainly curious as to why I wanted to know – it wasn’t something I’d normally ask. I thought he’d ask me why I cared about this one, when none of the other’s had bothered me, even when I was directly involved, but he didn’t. He merely answered my question without elaboration. “No.”

“Oh, okay then.” I shrugged nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter to me – Which it didn’t, if I was going by my decision to change things; and I was, wasn’t I? I changed the subject again, deciding not to poke at that crack too much; else it would all wash over me. “So are you here to spring me, or what?” I gave him a beseeching look, purposely turning on the charm – though I wasn’t sure how well it would work, considering I was black and blue all over – even my bruises had bruises at this point.

‘The real question is, how are we going to explain this at school? It’s not like we can have the day off just because we’re a little sore!’ That’s if we’re ever let out of this cage – if not, it won’t really matter. ‘I don’t know if I want to be, Red. It’s nice and cosy in here; the bad men are all on the outside – this is a pain-free zone.’ That would have been a reasonable argument, if I didn’t know that father could always just send someone in to drag me out if necessary. I shifted and winced. Sure, it was pain-free, as long as you didn’t move too much.

Aizen chuckled, his body shaking with mirth – as if he had found my question funny. I didn’t find my question funny; there was no reason why he should – I just wanted out. “Not this time, pet. You’re stuck here until your father decides what to do with you.” He brushed a speck of dust off his freshly-pressed shirt, sitting all proper on the ground as if he belonged there. I swear that man could look comfortable in the most unlikely of places; the world was his playground.