Sad Savior

TWO

Sadie

I wake up in what looks like a basement, dirty and wet. I try to sit but only get greeted by a pounding pain in the back of my head. I groan loudly. "Mornin'." A male voice fills the room and my fuzzy eyes focuses on the face of the voice. He's paler than pale, with even paler blue eyes and a shaggy mess of light brown hair. He sits in a recliner chair, a sketchpad in his lap. Smoke trails off an ashtray next to him, blurring his face with ghostly vibes. "How's your head?"

"Who the fuck are you?" My voice comes out raspy. I push myself up, ignoring the pain, and run up to the guy, reaching my for knife before I realize I don't have it. I don't even have my boots on. I press my arm to his neck. "Where the fuck is my knife?" Before I could react the guy has me pinned to the cold, hard wall, now his arm on my neck.

"Slow down, girl. I'm stronger than you." I choke for air. "You killed my uncle."

"I kill a lot of people." I spit out.

"I know." The guy's presses his arm harder on my neck, cutting off any chance of getting air. "You need to stop that." I can't speak. I struggle. I've never been in this position, I'm also the one who controls. I have that power.

I try to narrow my eyes and compel this boy, but he shakes his head. "Not gonna happen. That compelling shit? Doesn't work on me." Black dots crowd my vision and I wiggle in his grasp. He removes his arm, I drop to the ground in a heap. I breathe heavily, catching my breath, pulling my knees up to my chest. The guys goes back to his chair and grabs the sketchpad again, scribbling in it. He looks up at me every once in a while. We sit there in silence.

"Sadie," The guy says after what seems like forever. He sets the sketchpad down and raises his hands. "I'm Shane. I won't hurt you like that again, if you don't hurt me. Got it?" All the roughness from this guy fades, his pale eyes full of forgiveness. I wasn't buying it. I look up at him threw my eyelashes. "Where's my knife?" I growl.

"Right here," He sets my sweet little Scarlet on the cold, cement floor. I cringe at how he's taking care of her. I quickly crawl over to grab her, running my fingers along her mix of smoothness and roughness all together. "You must really love that thing."

I jump up and run towards him, pressing my baby on his neck. "Scarlet isn't a thing." I say through gritted teeth. "She's my best friend."

"Your knife is your best friend?" Even though my knife is pressed against this Shane's neck, his lips stretch into a smile.

"What's wrong with that?" I press her harder into him.

"Okay, dude. I don't hurt you, you don't hurt me, remember?"

"I don't fucking trust you, Shane."

"I can kill you faster than you killed my uncle." His words almost make me drop Scarlet. I loosen my grip and he breaks free. "Come on, man. I know who you are. I know all your tricks. The only thing I don't know is why. I'm pissed at you for killing my uncle, sure, but eh. He was a dick. I don't have my parents anymore and I don't have him either but whatever."

"Your parents are dead?" I tilt my head. Shane nods. His eyes show no sadness, no shame. "Tell me your story, I'll tell you mine."

"I already know your story." He says it so smoothly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Not all of it." I go over and stand in front of him, Scarlet in my hands. I tilt my lips up in a sexy smirk. Shane motions his hands in a "get away from me" way. I back off.

"That shit your trying to pull? Doesn't work on me, sweetheart." My smirk falls and I stand silent.

"Who are you?" This guy, he's different. He doesn't make me want to tear his throat out. I can't trick him with my eyes, I can barely even touch him.

"Tell me your story, I'll tell you mine." His smirk matches the one that fell off my lips seconds ago.

"Thought you already knew it?" My voice sounded different. Confused.

"Do you wanna hear mine or not?" I shrug and fall back on the chair Shane sat in earlier. "Get out of my chair, though." I shake my head. "Fine, come on." I follow him out of the basement, trying my hardest to miss getting my bare feet cut on broken glass, which seemed like it popped out of nowhere. I follow the lanky guy up wooden stairs and into the room I recognize as where I killed that man from earlier. Shane's uncle? Who knows. Blood still splattered the floor, but the body was gone. I didn't bother asking any questions. I'm not the type who asks questions, I just get on with life. I find myself slowing down, my eyes connecting with the pictures lining the walls. How did I not see this?

Signs of a family was everywhere. Everywhere. Different sets of eyes meeting mine over and over again, frozen in their glass frames. I felt an aching pain in my chest and I tried my hardest to not have my hand shoot up to try to stop the pain. Why is this happening? I can't feel anything. I shouldn't, anyway. I pulled my shoulders back and followed this weird guy into another room.