Scapegoat

Blood shed

I opened my eyes, the sunlight bathing my skin as I lay on my side. I tried closing my eyes, what happened last night was not something I wanted to deal with. Thoughts bit at my brain, forbidding me to go back to sleep. I looked around me, I felt guilty for running away from Amelia after battering her. I knew that she was probably crying to her mum and her stupid parents would call the police, therefore I would be sent to a foster home. I could almost see the officer’s accusing expressions; I didn’t really care about a foster home though because I would probably just run away. I sat up, my stomach growling; I reached into my drawers and found my pocket sized mirror. I looked so tired and worn out, I touched my cheek. I winced. I could still feel the pain from it, how did I get a bruise, I wasn’t even touched by Amelia? Quickly I gathered my purse and placed my hoodie on, pulling the hood up, just in case somebody recognized me.

I got down to the shops and gathered everything I needed; I got to the counter and paid for my things. When I left the shop I thought I was in the clear but somebody came running up to me and pulled me along with them by the arm. It was Damien; I was confused as to why he was showing up again. Suddenly he pushed me into his dark car; the leather was hot and sticky. Damien jumped into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine before pulling out swiftly and speeding off.

“What’s going on?”  I tried to keep my temper under control as I demanded an answer from him.

“They’re at your house already thanks to your little dealing with Amelia Penton.” He looked like he was stressed and really pissed off.

“How do you know about that? Where are we going? Who’s at my house?” I fiddled with the bottom of my loose summer dress, I was freaking out. My breathing got faster and I started to sweat.

“The police are at your house, Amelia told me and I am taking you to my holiday home somewhere far away where you’re staying with me for a while.” I had started to have a panic attack as I took in the sudden information that was thrown at me. How could I live away from Marshall? He’s the only person I trust. This was insane. Damien stopped the car to a halt and held my hand as he turned to face me.

“I don’t care if you don’t have feelings for me, I care about you. And I know you don’t want to be in a foster home so I am doing this, things will be fine but you have to trust me.” He dropped his hand to his lap, still holding mine, as he started the engine and steered the vehicle with one hand.

I had fallen asleep for a few hours before I felt the engine stop, we had arrived at a quaint little cottage. The cottage sat on a shelf with a sheer drop at its front and protective cliffs at its back. Looking at it I could see no straight lines as the building was made blurry and bearded by ancient ivy. The door could only be perceived by the clue of the wicket gate set in a wavy slated wall enclosing the property. A rough thatched roof bends and waves over the whole as if it were a poorly placed piecrust lifted irregularly to admit three dormer latticed windows. The surroundings were forests made of fern trees and large pine trees, but mostly the whole house and area was covered in a smooth blanket of snow.

“Do you like it?” Damien turned to me but I was already out the car, I wandered through the thick snow and towards the front door. I looked back at Damien who was walking over with multiple suitcases, I stared at him. He walked up to me and opened the door, gesturing for me to go inside, I did exactly that.

The cottage wasn’t much different from what you would expect and therefore I went straight for the window, gazing out into the vast forest. Trees were everywhere and I just wanted to run into them and never come out again. I turned saw Damien standing, staring at me with a menacing look. He strode toward me.

Suddenly his fist collided with my cheek. Blood filled my mouth, the pain blinding, but I raised my arms up in time to block his next punch. We fell to the ground, arms and legs entangled, and his fists sunk once, twice into my stomach. I wrapped my hands around his neck, digging my nails into his flesh. He made a choking sound, and pulled back hard. I used my leverage to grab his head and slam his temple into the corner of the table. I watched as his eyes dilated, and blood began to flow from his head. He seemed to sway, dizzy, so I knocked him to the ground. Now, finally in a position to retaliate well, I proceeded to punch him. His hands raised sluggishly, slicked with blood as he tried to grab my wrists. It was easy to swat them aside, disorientated as he was, and I swung my elbow down with crushing force against his nose. There was a loud crunching sound, and his nose began to spew blood. He laid there, his breath wheezing and eyes closed as a bubble of blood formed at the corner of his mouth and popped. Now, we were equal, our faced coated in the red liquid that was draining down onto our chests, staining our shirts. I pulled up, unwilling to continue beating an opponent who cannot fight back. As I crouched to stand, he lunged forward, tackling me from behind. His breathing was rapid, and I cried out as his hands neared my neck. He tightened his fingers around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I gulped and gasped for breath, digging my fingernails into his wrists, trying to dislodge him. Desperation to breath overtook me and despite the pain I began to thrash and buck under him. The edge of my vision went dark, so using my last bit of strength I brought my foot up hard into his groin. He cringed, but continued his steely grip. I repeated the process once more, then again, and his fingers loosened a bit, and he began shaking. Seeing my change, I flipped over, lunged forward and sunk my nails into his neck. His skin popped under my fingers, his blood seeping out of the fresh wound. He let go of me then, and grabbed his neck. He started backing away, but his life was already flowing out of him. He hit the ground at his bottom, leaning against the table leg. His eyelids fluttered, but I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I crawled to my feet, my throat in agony, with blood spread over my hands, and walked by him. On the way out the door I picked up a knife and threw it at him, hitting him directly in the heart. His body fell limp and landed on the ground in a pool of crimson.

 Once I stepped out the door Damien stood before me and when I worryingly glanced at my victim I saw a pale limp body, a man who I didn’t recognise. What the hell was happening to me? I looked down at my blood stained hands, I was a killer now? Then it hit me, it's back. She's back, I was going insane and this was just the start.