I walk out of the hotel room, leaving yet another additon to my long-very, very long- string of lovers. I sigh. It's not the most noble of jobs I have to admit. And if I'm being completely honest, it's getting a bit boring. It's the same routine every fucking night. The same movements. The same words. People are so easy to please. But maybe that's only because I know exactly what they want, and what they all want is the same thing. They want to feel loved. Wanted. Like they mean something to someone. And I get it. Even I want that. It's what I do what I do.
I shudder, shake my head, put on my headphones, and continue walking. I shouldn't be thinking about this right now. -But I am.- It's over and done for the day. That is, until the sun sets below the horizon. Then it begins all over again. It's done. Stop thinking about it, I tell myself. Besides, Medusa's waiting for me at home. I think about her, letting all other thoughts vacate my mind. I continue walking until I reach my apartment complex. I take the stairs up to the second floor, where my apartment is, and search my pockets for my keys, hoping I didn't leave them at the hotel. I didn't. Thank the stars.
A sharp pain runs down my back. It starts from the back of my right shoulder and goes all the way down to the left side of my hip. "Shit!" I curse. I run a hand through my silver-white hair. "Stupid fucking scar." I mutter under my breath. I open the door to my apartment and walk inside. A snake -Medusa- slithers toward me and I pick it up. "Hello beautiful, " I croon, "did you miss me?" Medusa winds herself around my arm, making her way to my shoulder. "I bet you did. Are you hungry, Medusa?" I remove her from my shoulder and set her down on the counter. "Just hold on a second, girl. I'll get you some food." I get Medusa her food and then walk back to the the kitchen to get my self something to eat. Again, a sharp pain traces the long scar on my back.
I scream, biting my tongue in an attempt to deal with the pain. Memories flash through my mind, transporting me back to the past for a few moments. Forcing me to relive a moment I'd rather forget.
When I was 15, I received an almost lethal birthday present. My mother stood motionless, indifferent to the terrible deed happening right in front of her. There wasn't even a hint of an unspoken apology in her eyes. My father took a blade and dragged it from my right shoulder, all the way down to my left hip. Blood ran down my back and onto the hardwood floor.
That night my parents took me to the hospital to get stitches. I heard them tell the doctor I slipped and a sharp rock cut my back. They said that they were worried. That they didn't want to lose me. That I meant everything to them. I laughed when I heard them say that. They were lying. They were acting. They didn't love me. They just didn't want to lose their toy. They just didn't want a mirder on their hands. They abused me every year, without fail. They didn't care. If they did, that wouldn't be hurts me like this. They wouldn't torture me.
The doctor said that I was laughing due to the fact of how much blood I had lost. He said it was making me hysterical. - Which, I'd like to point out, isn't even correct.- That only made me laugh more. If only he knew.
A few days later, when my dad was deemed healed enough, I was discharged from the hospital. When my parents -if I can even call them that- and I returned home, I was ordered to stay in my room. I did.
That is, I did stay in my room, until I heard gunshots. No one came for me. There were only two gunshots. Then it was over.
I walked over to my parents' bedroom and found them lying in a pool of their own blood. Staying where I was, I looked at them both said, "Fuck you, " and stood there, watching the life creep slowly out of their bodies. My father only said a handful of words to me with his last dying breath. But I will never forget what he said.
"Go fuck yourself you little bastard, " he said to me, "we never loved you anyway."
The phone rings, momentarily removing the memory from my mind. I walk over to the phone and answer. "Hello?" I say
"Is this Kassian Reyes?" The voice inquires.
"This is he. How can I help you?"
You can help me by giving me what you've so stupidly refused twice before. "
I drop the phone, memories flashing through my mind. A sharp pain traces my other two scars. I received them a little less a year ago. One after the other. From the same person. By the same hand. One of them starts on the left side of my collarbone and runs all the way down to the middle of my right. The other starts below my left eye and curves down to my chin.
After seeing my parents die, I ran away from home. I had earned some money through various jobs and had even found a place to stay. I was headed home one day when . . .
I shudder, I can't bear to relive the events in my mind. Not even for a few brief moments. I can still hear his voice. Still feel the places and the way he touched me. The knife sliding across my skin. "C'mon Medusa," I say, my voice shaking, "we can't stay here anymore. We gotta go."
I'm nearly finished packing when I hear a knock on the door. I take a deep shaking breath, walk over to the door, and open it. "Long time, no see." Says the man, a wolffish grin on his face.
"Unfortunately," I say under my breath. "You need to leave. " I say, louder this time.
"But I just got here. "The man says walking towards me. I draw the blade I always keep on me.
"Get out." I demand.
"Or what, you'll stab me?"
"Yes, actually, I will."
"No," he laughs, "you won't. " I smile and scoff at his statement.
"You wanna bet?" I move out he blade until it touches the mans throat. "Don't underestimate me."
"Oh , I'm not. But you're not going to stab me." He grabs my left hand and turns the blade away from himself and towards me. "Instead, you'll either do what I want, " he says stepping closer to me, he continues to step closer until his lips are close to my ear."Or I'll give you a new scar to add to your collection. "
"Get away from me." I say. My voice tight with fear. We're in my room now. When the fuck did we get in here? I think. The man takes the knife from my hand and throws it onto the floor. He pushes me backwards onto the bed. "Please no, "I beg.
I feel something placed into my hand. Something that wasn't there a few seconds ago. It takes me few moments, but I realize it's my knife. "Thanks Medusa."I whisper under my breath. I lie on the bed doing nothing as the man comes closer. It takes everything I have, every ounce of my strength in my body to not move. To lie still. It pains me to do it, but it's the only way this will work.
When the mans face is only inches away from my own, I smirk and stab him in the chest. Blood covers the blade of my knife.
The man sits up and puts his hands on the wound in an attempt to stop th blood. I laugh. I probably shouldn't be but he's a fucking idiot thinking I would just sit there and do what he wanted. "You bastard." He says to me. "I laugh again.
"It's called karma you son of a bitch. Don't bother trying to stop the blood. I know where I hit. You'll be dead within the hour. C'mon Medusa. Let's get out of here."
Medusa and I leave the apartment without a clue of where to go, or what fate has in store for us.
