Merciful

Chapter 1- Welcome to the Clubhouse

    I expected to forget, to just see black for the rest of my existence. I expected for that little voice in my head to be silenced. When I opened my eyes and saw a ceiling lamp, I wanted to burst into tears. My first thoughts were a hospital, but it didn't smell sterile and hospitally. I sat up to look around and saw plain white walls with plain wood floors. A light throb in my wrist slowly began to register. The heavy white bandages around them began to show their weight. I felt so dull and weak like a lightbulb waiting to go out. I stood slowly, as to not catch a head rush, wondering if I truly had died. Is this heaven, this isolated room with pure white walls? I mean I had died a virgin. Ever so slowly, I opened the door of the room.
     Beyond here was a huge living room with pure white furniture on wood floors. The walls were as blindingly white as the ones before. Beneath my feet, the wood was cold, and it felt as if the house shook with every step. I remembered sitting in my bathroom gun in my hand, blood flowing freely from my wrist.  I remember the hesitation before the feeling of decisiveness. Then...it was hazy. I sat on the white sofa head in my cool hands.  On the coffee table was a note, I unfolded it. It had big bubbly letter drippy in what I presumed was blood and read: Welcome To The Clubhouse. A headless body was propped against the W in a sitting position, and a man in all black hung off the C, holding it over as it dripped blood. It was a good artistic drawing.Soft foot steps caused my head to rise and there before me stood a magnificent man. He was tall and broad shouldered, adorned with dark gray eyes and curly brown hair. The way he walked was graceful yet powerful. In an instant, my hand flew up to my neck as it suddenly all came back to me.
     Those eyes. Those eyes the color of soot and smoke. He had tried to kill me. No. Not exactly. He...saved me. My adoptive parents. Were they...dead?  So many question bounced in my foggy mind. A faint headache began to creep up on me. I rubbed my temples and looked down from the man. I took a huge breath before I thought about what to say to break the horrid silence, and hopefully his piercing gray eyed gaze.
     "Are you going to kill me?" I asked first because it seemed the most imperative question. I looked up to gauge his reaction, to see if his answer was a truth or lie. His hand ran through his messy brown hair restlessly.
       "Does it matter to you?" He asked with a thick Russian accent. We sat in silence as I pondered that question. That moment where I stood, gun to head and slashed wrists, for some reason seemed so long ago. "Because from the looks of it, what I intend to do to you has very little meaning to you. What could be worse than what you've done to yourself?" He said a little cockily, as he leaned against the wall. I sucked in a breath, concerned at the tone of his words and underlying meaning. I gripped the couch hard. 
      "Did you kill my... parents?" I asked slowly the last word feeling like poison in my mouth. He looked at me with a clear expression.
        "Do you think I did?" He inquired as he tilted his head to the side a little. An image of the blood covered knife and his vacant lost expression flashed in my mind. I couldn't bring myself to words and only nodded solemnly. As much as I resented my adoptive parents for ignoring me and treating me like their ward, they didn't deserve to die. I slide all the way back on the couch and brought my knees to my chest, hoping to conceal the low sound of my aching heart. For now, I truly had nobody. For now, I truly was nobody. "You haven't asked me the most important question yet," He said after a moment of silence. Confusion shrouded me because I thought I had. What could be more important than my death? Though it seemed clear to him my life meant nothing to me.
      "What is that?" I asked. He walked over to me and crouched down so he could stare directly into my eyes. Then he came so close his breath was on my lips. The racing in my chest was almost audible.
       "Am I going to let you go?" He said darkly. Still not the appropriate amount of fear rose inside my dull aching heart.  I swallowed the spit in my mouth and looking right back into his eyes I asked,
         "Are you?" He stood up and turned his attention over to the wide glass window, sighing. I expected him to say something evil and sinister. To say he'd lock me up forever and feed me through a slot in the door, but he didn't. 
             "Have you got any where else to go?" He question with true curiosity and a smidge of what sounded like concern. That's when it hit me like a punch in the chest. I truly didn't have anywhere else to go. No friends. No other family. Except perhaps a group home for just one more year, I'd be homeless. I shook my head. "Then no, I won't." With that being sad he walked behind to couch to where a counter/wall separated a decked out kitchen. "I won't be here most of the time. So I truly hope you can fend for yourself." He said as he started to whip something up in the kitchen.
         I'd been fending for myself for more than a few years, but kept that to myself. I stood up and leaned on the living room side of the counter. I couldn't believe this. Had a serial killer shown me mercy and took me in his home? Was this a serial killer? Was what happened at my home a singular incident. I couldn't just say hey you kill people a lot or was this a special case, or could I? After all he held his tongue very little with me.  His utter disregard for my suicide attempt was apparent.
      "Are you a serial killer?" I carefully asked, each word slowly rolling off my tongue. He didn't even look up from the eggs and bacon he was preparing while saying yes. The answer didn't stun me when I already knew it to be true. Still, another thing nagged at me. "Why didn't you...kill me?" He paused for a minute before continuing to cook.
       "I didn't see a reason to." He said as if it was the most normal answer to a normal question. I had no choice but to accept it. After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, he sat a plate in front me piled with bacon and eggs. "For your strength," was all he said. "I don't want you going anywhere until your fully healed." I narrowed my eyes confused as I stared at the plate and listened to his words.
       "You'll let me out the house?"
       "Of course, you're not a prisoner. You can leave anytime you'd like, but for now...I'd prefer you'd stay." He explained. I looked up at his dark gray eyes full of sincerity and melted a little. I nodded and began eating. "Oh yeah, welcome to the clubhouse." I heard the smirk in his voice.
     "What should I call you?" I asked. He tensed up a little and averted his gaze. He was silent. "I'm Claire." I said hoping to warm him up and break the silence. Finally, he spoke through what sounded like clenched teeth.
       "Sebastian."