killer, gbd (EDITING)

7

When I begin to feel myself waking, it is peaceful for a moment, until the unbearable pressure in my head returns. I wince, my eyes squinting. Then a sudden jolt of rage wakens me fully, my eyes searching for the bearded man.

I sit in the same room, even the same chair, but now my hands and feet are bound. My clenched fists shake with the fury I feel burning in my cheeks. The men all look at me, some smirking, some unable to meet my gaze. Grayson keeps his back to me, his fist kneading into his temple. I burn holes into the back of his head with my glare.

I should have seen a red flag, anything, that would have told me that Grayson wasn't worthy of my trust. But I saw nothing. I saw what I wanted to see, I was blinded by ignorance. After all of this time, I thought I had taught myself to do better.

The bearded man takes a step towards me and holds his arms behind his back. I stare up into his eyes. "Aria, I know you must be very upset right now. But, I just want to ask you some questions." He smiles at me, satisfied with himself. I glare back at him, my teeth gritting together, the sound vibrating through my throbbing skull.

"You couldn't have asked me before you decided to restrain me?" I ask, tugging at the ducktape.

He sighs once, as if my question was one of an obvious answer. "I had to make sure you wouldn't run away on me." He smiles widely, my eyes immediately go to Grayson.

"Sounds familiar," I say loud enough for Grayson to hear. He doesn't even glance over his shoulder to me.

"So, tell me about these memories you have of your father." He says, now crossing his arms over his chest.

I keep my mouth shut, leaning against the back of the chair. My jaw clenches as his eyes narrow. Not expecting the response he had received, his eyebrows raise.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, but not to worry child, I forgive you." He clears his throat. "Here, I'll make it even easier. Aria, tell me the last memory you have of your father." He says, leaning forward to put his hands on the tops of his thighs. He smiles down at me as if I were a small child.

My brow tighten even further and I reel my head back. I gather saliva in my mouth before spitting it into his face. He flinches, his eyes holding shut, his lips part. One of the other men in the room rush to get him something to clean himself up with. "Mason," He mutters, angrily wiping my spit from his face.

I look up at the man beside me, who I now recognize as the bastard that choked me out. He raises a hand a brings it down across my face, open. My head jerks to the side from the amount of force he had put behind his slap. My jaw hangs open for a moment as I look down at the floor. A sizzling burn spreads across the side of my face.

"One more time, Mason help me please." The man says. Mason reaches over to my face and grabs my jaw with a large, calloused hand. He yanks my head up and forces me to look at the old man.

"If I wanted to waste my breath, I would have chosen a different profession. When I ask a question, I expect an answer." He takes in a deep breath to calm himself. "What are the last memories you have of your father?" I look him in the eye, a pit forms in my stomach. My mind betrays me by showing the image he wishes for me to describe.

I rip my head from Mason's grasp and clench my jaw. "The last memory I have of my father was when his blood was staining the floors of my house and my fucking hands. Good enough answer for you?" I ask, seething with anger. A deep part of myself aches at the memory and verbal confession that I don't remember anything, but sadness, when I think of my father.