Go to Hell (on hold)

ONE

"Please, don't do this," Kota Lee rasped into Mr. Blackbourne's ear. He threw helpless glances at the two angels across the oak table. They shouldn't be okay with this. She's innocent and pure and far too sweet for her own good. The Underworld would eat her alive.

"Careful, Mr. Lee," Mr. Blackbourne chilled. "Or one might start to think you care for this girl."

Kota didn't care for her, not really. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. He just didn't like it when she cried. Or was hurt. Or unhappy in general. Goddamn it.

"Are we finished here?" One of the angels asked, tapping her fingers impatiently against the rough wood. One, two, three, four, five. Kota wanted to ask them to reconsider. To choose someone else. Anyone else. But he wouldn't beg. That was beneath him and a sure fire way to get his ass handed to him by Mr. Blackbourne.

"Of course," Mr. Blackbourne replied, sliding out of his chair and shaking hands with the two angels. Kota did the same and muttered goodbyes. As they walked out he stared holes into their backs, half hoping they would catch on fire. He wanted their snow white wings to burn.

"She doesn't deserve this," he whispered.

"And what innocent person does? Let this be a lesson to you: your heart is best left closed. She is an unnecessary distraction." Mr. Blackbourne shoved a dagger into Kota's hand. "Here. Get it done quickly. Abaddon needs his sacrifice by tonight. And don't forget to collect some of her blood as proof."

"No, I refuse to do this. Send someone else. Send one of those damn angels."

"Would you rather I take your place?" Kota barely held back a shiver. No, no he would not. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horrors Mr. Blackbourne would put her through.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"Actually, now that I think about it, I think I will go. I fear you will be too gentle with her and I would rather like to meet this girl myself."

"Please don't do this."

"Tell the others I've gone out and will be back within an hour. Cheer up, Mr. Lee. You'll finally get to meet Ms. Sorenson."

~~~~~~~~~~~

I was always the most afraid when the house was quiet. When there were no creaking of floorboards or murmurs of the television. I felt like any movement of my own, even my breath, would set her off. At least in the noise I could hide, but in the quiet, there was nothing that stood between my mother and me.

I tiptoed down the stairs and slinked along the laminate floor into the kitchen. She hadn't allowed me to eat yesterday as a result of dropping a dinner dish, and I was ravenous. Marie, my sister, was at a friend's house and my father was on a business trip. They couldn't stop me from making a sandwich. And with the lack of noise, I assumed my mother was asleep.

Upon arriving at the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. My mother was seated at the counter, a broad, cruel smile decorating her face. I gulped. My body couldn't take another beating from her. My ribs still ached from where she kicked me and my throat still had a necklace of bruises from her hands.

"Mother," I greeted, ducking my head. I scurried to the sink and grabbed a paper towel. I ran it under the sink and rang it out, as if prepping it to wipe up a mess. Worse comes to worse, I could just eat it.

"Is your room clean?" She demanded. A minuscule part of me want to laugh. My room is spotless. Cleaning distracted me from my rumbling stomach.

"Almost." Please, please just let me go back up to my room.

"Are you fucking lying to me?" I spun to face her at the tone. The tone that said she was going to hurt me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"No! No, I'm not lying. I just have to clean up a spill."

"You little fucking bitch. You're always telling me lies. I've had enough!"

She grabbed a knife from the block and stalked towards me. Her eyes were wide and glazed over, as if the pain killers had taken her away to another world and her body was only going through the motions.

"No, Mother, please! I'm not lying! I swear!"

I flung myself to the other side of the kitchen island, my palms laying flat against the wooden countertop. With almost a inhuman speed, she stabbed the knife through my hand and into the wood, pinning me in place. I screamed and tried to pry the knife out, but it wouldn't budge.

I mumbled incoherent words through my tears, begging her to spare me. Pain pulsates through my hand, and my fingers grew damp with blood. Mother ripped the knife out of my hand, bringing on a new wave of pain.

"You are a worthless whore who contributes nothing to this house. I have had enough of your freeloading," she hissed. She drove the knife into my stomach. I gasped as pain exploded in my abdomen. Please, no. I don't want to die.

Mother pulled the knife out and positioned it to make another stab, this one at my heart. My uninjured hand moved of its own accord and gripped the handle, pushing it to the side of my body. I yanked the knife from her hand and repositioned my grip. But it wasn't really me. I had no control over my movements. Though I could tell exactly what my body was going to do.

I was going to kill my mother.

I tried to let go. I was already going to die, no need to drag anyone else down with me. But my hand wouldn't stop. I watched myself plunge the knife into the base of my mother's throat, could feel the knife push through skin and muscle. I heard her gasp, then gurgle crimson blood and she fell to the floor.

I followed her soon after. The adrenaline faded fast from my body and I sunk to my knees. I leaned back on the island for support. Mother twitched and tried to speak, her words coming out as jumbled gurgles. Her bathrobe partially untied to reveal a silk nightgown. I remember that gown. Just last week it was covered in my blood. Three days ago I put in her dresser, clean. I hated that thing. It was an ugly yellow color, with stains dotting the hem and the lace trimmings falling off. And it was the last thing I was going to see before I died.

I could hardly breath, let alone move so I sat there, waiting for death. The pain faded and now I couldn't feel at all. I don't know how much time passed as I stared stupidly at our house. It was plain, cold, and something I swore to myself I would escape one day. Now I would be escaping, but not in the way I thought I would. The tears began to spill faster down my cheeks. There was so much I was never going to experience.

The slamming of a door caught my attention. Someone was here! Maybe I would get to live after all! Two men walked into my peripheral vision. One had bouncy blonde curls and sympathy in his eyes. The other was cold, his steel eyes showing no emotion behind black-rimmed glasses. I opened my mouth to call for them, but all that came out was a trickle of blood and a pitiful cry. The blonde knelt down beside me. He examined my face and torso, lifting an eyelid and prodding at my stab wound. I stared at him, begging with my eyes for him to do something.

"How much longer do you think?" The gray-eyed one asked.

"Not long. Perhaps a minute or so. Dipping the knife in poison was a nice touch," his companion replied. What? How is that possible? I had never met these two in my life. How had they gotten into my home to poison our knives?

"H-help," I managed to croak. I grabbed the blonde one's hand, silently begging him to help me. He gripped it tight, though his expression was still passive.

"Don't worry, Miss Sang," he said. "Soon you won't be in pain any longer."

Black entered my vision. I could feel the life leaving my body. My heart rate slowed. My breathing became even more labored. I took one last look at the two strange men then closed my eyes. I took a breath in. A breath out.

Then nothing.