Body of Scars

Chapter IX

(Charolette P.O.V)

Raphael’s blade gleams with scarlet mercy. I wish I had enough spirit to ask for it. The slices in my skin weep deep shades of crimson. There are so many cuts lining my forearms, neck, chest and stomach I have the appearance of a torn up piece of meat. Raphael stands dominantly above me, wielding the flashing blade with a deliberate slowness. “It will be a shame to scar your face” he speaks and I’m grateful to hear a sound that isn’t my own demise. A snarky comment is often due at this point but my mouth gapes lazily, shaky breaths sending warm waves of air past my parched lips. 

The door to my cell is abruptly opened and it is what I have been praying for. “Raphael!” I hear the distant shout and recognize the handsome silhouette of Anthony as he horrifically stares from Raphael to my diminished form. I sense that there is someone behind him. An alarmingly tall man with a slim build similar to Anthony’s. My eyes strain to catch the details of his face. His armed with only a disgusted snarl though I can almost feel the power of wealth which rolls off him like expensive cologne. “Raphael. Stop” he speaks calmly, making Anthony seem like a whinging child. Raphael drops the stained blade roughly to the ground, glimpsing up at the man as if waiting for further instructions. “Apparently our prison has a claim so large it can justify her reasoning for killing my son” his voice sounds bored by his own statement and I feel a regretful fear begin to tighten my stomach. How can I pull off such a lie to a man like this?

“Right. That she killed Thomas because he killed her sister” replies Raphael blandly, though I catch his meaningful glance toward Anthony. “That’s right” speaks Thomas’s father and I see great lines of tension begin to crease his forehead. “Anthony feels that I have to address this. He feels that I might change my mind about her fate” he continues, a thoughtful frown turning his handsome face to a mask of unpleasantness. “Her sist-” begins Anthony though he is cut off by a tremendous shout. “You spoilt fucking child. If you think for a moment that I would grant freedom to some murderous bitch because of some false reasoning as to why she killed my son, than you are wrong. Very wrong Anthony” I feel a faint quiver pass through my body though its hard to recognize the feeling when so much pain consumes me. “Thomas was a murderer!” I am surprised by the ferocity of Anthony’s statement as he screams back. “If you won’t let her go, kill her then. Don’t let her suffer like this. It’s inhuman” 

My breath catches, though no one can hear as Anthony’s words bounce loudly from wall to wall. “As weak willed as you are I’m surprised you’d suggest killing her” replies his father, pausing thoughtfully to glance toward Raphael and I. “Raphael” he continues, “Hand me your gun” his arm extends, long fingers gesturing toward Raphael’s belt. Raphael hurriedly reaches for his gun which is tucked expertly in his belt. I watch, horrified, as he hands it, handle first, to Anthony’s father. “The gift of mercy” speaks Anthony’s father, almost kindly, as he hands the weapon to Anthony. 

Anthony’s fingers close tightly around the handle, his eyes flickering nervously from me to the gun. “Ok” he speaks softly after a long moment. He steps toward me and I groan loudly, attempting to shuffle my body away from his dominant figure. I want to speak but my heart beats widely in my lungs. I watch desperately as blood seeps from my wounds and stains the concrete ground. 

Raising the gun slowly to my head I stare intently into the icy, powder blue globes which are his eyes. If I’m going to die, I want to see something beautiful before the black. Even if that beauty is found in the person who will cause my demise. Unblinkingly Anthony pushes the gun gently to my skull, his eyes never wavering from mine. 

The moment is coming and I want to shut my eyes. Like a child. Afraid. Jared, I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I speak in my mind hurriedly, knowing time is slipping through my mortal grasp. I hear the familiar click as the bullet slides comfortably into place. I think of the many times where I had been the person holding the gun. The decider of a fate which wasn’t my own. 

Abruptly I feel the gun pulled from its place pressed against my skull and pointed generally in the direction of Raphael. I hear the deafening clang as the gun is shot and a heavy thud as Raphael crumbles to the floor. I don’t miss the astonished expression which settles on his face even after death. Anthony’s father gives a hoarse shout and I watch as his long limbs extend in an attempt to grab the gun from Anthony. I miss the struggle between them, having shut my eyes momentarily as dizziness crashes through me like an overwhelming tide. 

I hear the speedy shuffle of feet, the sharp intakes of breath and the shouts of father and son. I hear the struggle end and open my eyes tiredly to glimpse a scene tenser than the other before. Anthony stands squarely before me, his back toward me. The gun is held firmly in his hands, pointed directly at his father’s chest. “You won’t shoot me” speaks his father matter-of-factly, his arms swinging loosely at his sides as I watch him access the situation. He looks for entry points, escape routes and eyes Anthony’s position. I realize his trained. Though none of that matters when you aren’t the one holding the gun.

“Not to kill” speaks Anthony defiantly, his shoulders lifting up and down as he breathes heavily. “I’ll come back when you’re man enough to accept that the girl you’re protecting is a murderous whore and the one that killed your brother” speaks his father, folding his arms gracefully across his chest. He waits only a moment for a response though impatiently turns from the scene, stalking toward the door. “You killed my brother” speaks Anthony softly. So soft I only just catch his words. His father turns abruptly, having heard it to. “How can you say they when the murderer sits only behind you” he screams widely, his cool facade falling swiftly from his character. “I don’t know how. But I know you ordered it. I know you killed Thomas” replies Anthony and I stop to admire his courageous tone. His father falls silent, eyeing his wearily.

“Clean up the mess you made” he replies blandly after a while, gesturing toward Raphael before stomping from the room, the door shutting roughly after him. I hear the unmistakable thud of locks being set in place and I want to groan at the fact that I’m trapped. We’re trapped. You aren’t alone now.

I’m not sure if I’m comforted by the idea. Though I can hardly think. Blackness is falling over me and I find myself wanting only to look into the icy depths of Anthony’s eyes.