Death, Please Take Me Away (BxB) [Completed]

Death, Please Take Me Away (BxB)

I had that dream again. The one about an angel with black and silver wings. The dream I have been having since I was three years old. I dreamed about how gentle he always was with me. He was the only one who ever cared enough to actually love me. He never said those three little words but it was conveyed in his actions. The way he lovingly petted my hair as I cried in his arms. The way he curled his body tightly around mine like a second skin. The way he place light butterfly kisses up and down the base of my neck. Yes, he cared about me. He cared a lot about me, I just knew it.

"Blaine! Get up and get down here, now!"

Oh, no. What did I do now? I wracked my brain to find an answer as I hastily did as I was bid. The last thing I needed to do was keep my step dad waiting when he had that angry tinge to his voice. I most certainly did not want to be beaten for pushing his patience - ha! - too far.

I rushed down the stairs, tripping on the last one and being sent flying across the room. I landed on my face on the carpet in front of his steel-toed boots. I winced at the close proximity. All it would take was a flick of his ankle and I would get a face full of boot. That was the last thing I wanted. I would rather have cereal than rubber for breakfast, thank you very much.

He looked down at me as I picked myself up off the floor. Thankfully, he didn't take the advantage of my position to kick me. I guess he didn't want to leave any bruises where they would be visible.

"About damn time," he growled.

I winced when he grabbed me by the elbow and pushed me toward the back of the house. I did not like the direction we were headed in. His and my mother's room was at the back of the house. I barely held in the whimper desperately clawing at my lips. He shoved the door open with his foot when we reached our destination. I gasped at the sight of the bed.

"Clean this mess up."

He slammed the door behind himself and I heard the lock on the other side of the door click. I fell to my knees and let out a shaky sob. Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Why did he have to take her from me? My mother was the only person other than my best friend, Leslie, and now, she was gone. Because of him. Because of that selfish bastard who can't stand to see anyone else happy.

I looked up at the bed again and let out a pained shriek. At this point, I didn't care if he heard me and beat me or not. I had finally lost everything I found worth living for. He had finally broken me. My mother was gone. I covered my mouth and tried to fight back the sudden sickness. The last thing I needed was to have to clean up my body fluids as well as my mother's blood. Oh God. My mother.

I got back up on my feet, my knees feeling like jell-o. I slowly made my way to the bathroom closet, careful not to step in any of the blood. I opened the door and pulled out the mop, a bucket, the pine-sol, and a body bag. Yes, we keep body bags in the closet, so what?

I closed the door and let out a shaky breath as I stepped over to the bathtub. I turned the water on as hot as it would go and hissed when I placed my hand under the stream. Yeah, it was definitely hot enough. I silently watched the steam rise for a moment before finally placing the bucket under the facet and pouring in a liberal amount of pine-sol. I turned the water off after it was full and left it in the tub for a moment. I went to the sink and looked in the cabinet under it and pulled out the industrial size bottle of bleach. I looked at it for a minute, then turned back to the tub. I heaved the mop bucket out of the tub and placed it on the floor. I put a stopper in the tub drain and turned the hot water back on. I poured a third of the bottle of bleach into the tub. It would take a lot to get all of the blood out of the sheets. I sighed and tapped my foot as I watched the water fill the tub.

I took the mop and bucket and stepped back out of the bathroom and walked as close to the bed as I dared get until I actually had to touch the body on it. I sat the bucket down and placed the mop in it and turned back to the body bag I had laid down earlier. I grabbed it and took a deep breath and stepped up to the side of the bed. I laid the bag down next to my mother and unzipped it. I carefully pulled her body into it, as if she would still feel pain.

That brought me up short. Had he hurt her before he did this to her? I mean, yeah, she had obviously died an extremely painful death - she had stab wounds everywhere - but did he purposely keep her alive longer than need be? Stupid question. Of course he did. He loved to torture people, no matter who it was. I looked over her numerous cuts until my eyes finally landed on her neck. The bastard had slit her throat - no doubt he did it only after he had tortured her and stabbed her so many times. He wouldn't have stabbed her after she was already dead. That would have taken all of the "fun" out of it for him. I carefully brushed my fingers over the wounds on her stomach. He had hurt her so much during her life, so why did he have to do this to her before finally killing her? Why? What did she do to deserve this? Nothing that I could think of.

I pulled myself back together and finished placing her in the bag before zipping it up. At least her eyes had been closed. I don't think I could have handled it if they had still been open. I tugged the body bag off of the bed and placed it in the farthest corner of the room. I turned back to the bed and set to work stripping it of its sheets. I took all of the bed coverings into the bathroom and submerged them in the steaming bleach water. The water immediately turned pink and I sighed. I turned to the bathroom closet once more and took out a small bucket, a sponge, and a bottle of dish liquid. I took these to the sink and filled the bucket up with hot water, pine-sol, and dish liquid. I shut the tap off and carried the bucket and sponge back to the bed. It would be best to clean the bed before I mopped the floor.

I set to work scrubbing each blood splotch individually. After I was finished with that, I took to the task of mopping the floor. That was the only way I was getting through this. Thinking of cleaning up the evidence of my mother's murder as tasks. A single tear slipped down my cheek as I rung the mop out and started scrubbing the floor with it. Eventually, everything but ringing the sheets out was done. I took both buckets back to the bathroom and poured the pink, sudsy water in the sink. I grabbed the mop and sponge and began rinsing them out under the hot running water. After that was finished, I placed the recently-cleaned-out buckets and the mop and sponge back into the closet. I turned to the bathtub and let out a rush of air. I still had to ring the sheets out and, most likely, fill the tub back up and repeat the process again. I hated this. I hated this with a passion.

After what seemed like hours, the room was finally clean and free of all evidence other than the body bag in the corner. The only thing left to do now was wait for that monster to come back and let me out of here.