Riding with the Beast (an MC Fairy Tale)

2 - Sonja

******
Sonja
******

I couldn’t breathe.

They’d sent him for me. Not just anyone, but him.

The whispered names I’d heard over the last few years echoed in my mind: murderer, betrayer…Beast.

I’d never met him, but I recognized him immediately. His wasn’t a face you could forget even if you’d never seen it. The first time I heard about him, Alexander was dragging his grandfather’s buck knife along the top of his mother’s desk. The dark cherry piece had been beautiful once, probably before he’d inherited it. Most of the inlaid abalone rose petals had been crudely carved out. The corners were chipped, and the top ruined by deep grooves from his knife.

His face is like this, Alexander had slurred. The angry, amber glint in his eyes matched the shot on the corner of the table. It’s like someone took a rotting piece of wood and hammered nails into it, then ripped out those nails and left whatever was left to the elements. That’s why you should always make sure the things you’ve discarded are dead.

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but knew better than to ask. He’d either tell me, or he wouldn’t. The only thing Alexander loved more than lecturing was exacting his unique form of discipline. He watched me silently for hours, sometimes, waiting for me to slip up. And I’d been too afraid to move—too afraid to do anything but watch him back as his smile grew crueler. It didn’t matter if I followed his rules because the game was his so he could change those rules whenever he wanted.

But that night he’d barely even noticed my presence. He just wanted to talk.

It’s inhuman, he whispered, finally dropping the knife. People say that if the Beast’s face is the last thing you see before you die, you’ll go to Hell.

I’d thought his claim was ridiculous. For six years I’d lived among monsters. I didn’t think a single face could terrorize me.

Until now.

If I were asked to draw a demon as a little girl, I might have imagined something like him. A profile that looked like the jagged walls of a cliff. Half a face consumed by fire, the other half twisted by long, cruel scars. An eyepatch. Neck and shoulders covered by tattoos that resembled wounds more than art.

I’d almost laughed when I’d heard Alexander’s description of him. I only didn’t because I feared his retaliation.

I didn’t laugh now. I looked at that face and realized I was still the same little girl who was scared of monsters in the dark. And once again, the monsters had come for me.

Run, my mind screamed, but I couldn’t. The Beast would catch. He was larger and no doubt faster. Even if that weren’t true, he wasn’t starving and dehydrated. And he had a car.

My arm shook as I gripped the door. Nothing about this made sense. Alexander hated Cain’s Legacy. But maybe he hated me more. His words came back to haunt me: People say that if the Beast’s face is the last thing you see before you die, you’ll go to Hell.