Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
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"It's a defence mechanism, you know I have a load of those" I moaned as Isabelle gave me the cold shoulder.
"That wasn't in defence" she snapped, she hardly turned in my direction. Anger threatened to rise from my calm demeanour, along with many words of profanity. But, I kept them down. Due to me not wanting to be kicked out of our bed to the couch. The silent treatment I could handle, not being touch starved, not again.
"Sure it was, you punched me",
"I could've done worse! You know I could've" she seethed. She then whipped around, her eyes glazed with hurt. That's when I saw her and I mean it.
I never noticed how she had gotten so thin, her eyes nearly sunken and her spine peaking out through the back of my shirt. She was wearing it and they almost looked too big.
"Belle-",
"Don't call me that! My name's not Belle, it's Isabelle. Like your's is Malachai, not Mal or Kai. I don't even know why I'm here! Oh yeah, because of you!" She screamed suddenly.
"I told you, I told you this wouldn't be easy, you knew full well!",
"Oh my God, I hate you!",
"You too! How could I love some fat freak!",
"How could I love an abomination!".
I saw red. And before I knew it, a knife was buried in her abdomen.
Her hands shakily grasped at the handle before she pulled it out. Like me, she was in shock, the adrenaline was keeping her on her feet until her legs finally gave out. I couldn't help it, no matter how mad, I was always there to catch her. Isabelle never touched the floor unless she was in my arms. As I cradled her, panicked as my embrace grew stronger. I could hear her apologies, I didn't understand why, I couldn't. However, again and again she called my name.
"Mala... Malacha...",
She was trying desperately to say my name. She spluttered and fought for breath with each letter pronounced.
I didn't find a thrill in this. Not like with my siblings. I was blind and here was the only person that cared about me, she was laying against my chest, waiting for death while the minutes seemed like hours.
Two weeks later, I made my first attempt to kill myself. Maybe it would be an effective escape. I'm not suppose to feel guilt, but I did for her.
And on that day, I realised we truly couldn't escape this hell.
