Enter Apathy

Not By Blood, But By Choice (9.)

Special thanks to Strawer-berries for helping me find inspiration for this chapter. I didn't know where to take it, but thanks to her, I do. 😌❤️
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Kalaraja's P.O.V

The door in front of Kalaraja taunts him. He's cross-legged on the floor, determining the answers she gave him. Lilliana sits behind that door, tortured, injured, and probably full of contempt. He wonders just how apathetic she has to be to have not had a reaction to him killing an innocent animal right in front of her. It's not that he cares, but why doesn't she? Any other person would've been appalled. Is she really as apathetic as he is?

These questions and more float inside his head. Many people are forced to deal with trauma at a young age, and many of those people find a way to cope and find help, they find ways to be normal. Why didn't Lilliana recover? She had therapy, she had a normal life after the incident that wrecked her. Are certain people born broken, or are they changed so much that they'd never have a chance to be normal ever again? What made her so broken? What made her so numb that she barely felt pain when she was being tortured? Why is she like that? Why is anybody? These questions are all shadows compared to the next one: why is Kalaraja like that? He closes his eyes, sighs, and feels a flashback possess him.

       Tears fight to fall down Kalaraja's face at his brothers' funeral. Rain pelts the tarp above the crowd gathered to mourn, and fog dances like ghosts around everyone's feet. Somberness thickens within the air. He rubs the new tattoo on his wrist; two daggers crossing each other like a plus-sign.

Tragically, both of his brothers were killed in a gang incident. He and them had all been involved in gang affiliation, one way or another. It's what they turned to after the foster homes. That's where he'd met them; two scrawny boys with matching brown hair and brown eyes that were filled with pain and amusement at the same time. They were twins, two years younger than him. Immediately, he'd taken them under his wings, fought off their bullies, gave them the last bits of his food, and spent every free moment with them. They became brothers and friends, and somehow more. Their family was more solid than anything any of them had known before. They played pranks together, stayed up past lights out, and laughed harder than thought possible. Family had been found within the Hell that was their lives. Those boys became his home.

These three abandoned boys found ways to stick together after they turned eighteen. They got kicked out of the group home, and they turned to gangs. Not being taken in by a loving family had damaged them all to the point that they thought they weren't worthy of normal lives. They'd all been rejected their whole lives so that's what they'd be; rejects. They turned to drugs. They turned to robberies, threats, and drive-bys. It was a hard life, but they were together. For years, they remained family. They remained together.

Until a week ago.

A week ago, the boys, Edgar and David, went on a run without Kalaraja. They thought they could handle it, and they probably could have, if the rival gang had actually played by the terms set. They met on neutral ground to discuss territories. The deal went sour. Edgar and David ended up with countless bullets in their bodies, an overkill. It was, essentially, a message. 'This territory is ours,' it seemed to say. Two young boys had suffered at the false promise of peace.

Kalaraja angrily wipes a tear from his face and leaves the funeral. He can't just watch them be put under a bunch of dirt and then forgotten. This shouldn't have happened to them. They never caused anyone harm, Kalaraja had always been the one that carried out the violent jobs- the sending the message ones, the robberies, the kidnappings of CEO's for money, and once, a murder.

But those boys had never harmed anyone. They just ran drugs. They spent more time getting fucked up than doing fucked up things.

He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. He'll find who did this to them. He'll make them pay. Whoever did this just stripped him of the only family he'd ever have, and they were going to regret it. The rain camouflages the tears that stream down his face.

Days later, Kalaraja has found the three men that murdered his brothers. It took quite a bit of looking, but his contacts had been willing to help him, for a price. So, he paid.

He sits at a bar, not too far from his suspects. The beer he's drinking swishes in the bottle as he swirls it, waiting for the right opportunity. He's been here for an hour, and any minute now, they'd leave.

As if on cue, the men rise from their seats, pay their tab, and walk out of the bar laughing. Kalaraja follows them. He feels hate boil in his stomach for them, how dare they rejoice and be happy while his brothers lay dead by their hands, beneath the ground? He'll teach them the consequences of their actions. He'll teach them all.

The three men stop outside the bar and say goodnight, then split paths. The cool night air dances over his skin as Kalaraja chooses to follow the biggest one. If he takes him down first, he won't have to expect much of a fight later on from the others. Kalaraja stands tall at six feet and has a muscular build. He weighs one-hundred and seventy-two pounds, which can't be too far from the first suspect's body build. It's definitely a challenge, but if he takes him by surprise, he may just have the upper hand.

Kalaraja stalks him down several dark streets and turns until they reach a desolate part of down town.  Tension rings within his ears. Half of these buildings are abandoned, and the ones that are owned are private and closed off. It's a good place for someone to disappear.

He pulls on his black leather gloves, then pulls out a nylon rope out of his pocket. He twists it in his hands, ready to feel it tighten against his grip while his victim dies and he achieves some revenge for his brothers' deaths.

Kalaraja closes the distance between them swiftly and quietly. In a flash, his rope is around the first suspect's throat and being pulled tighter.

"What the f-" The man's surprise is cut off as Kalaraja kicks the side of his knee to bring him to the ground, face down, and then digs his knee into his spine. The rope tightens around his neck as the man struggles against Kalaraja's grip. Choked groans escape him as he tears at the rope around his throat, and then he flails his body in an attempt to free himself. His knees kick wildly beneath them.

Kalaraja hisses in his victim's ear, pain evident in his voice, "How does it feel to be robbed of a future?"

He quickly and roughly tightens the rope, causing something to snap.

The man is dead.

Kalaraja realizes that he feels no panic, no remorse for taking this man's life. Shouldn't he feel something? Is this normal? Don't people feel a tinge of regret or adrenaline after this sort of violence? This can't be normal. Perhaps his emotions died when his brothers did.

Panting, Kalaraja stands and tucks the rope into his pocket. He stares at the body that lies on the concrete before him. His name had been Jack while he was alive, but now he'll be reduced to another statistic that had to suffer from tragic gang violence.

The news and media won't know that it's so much more than that, so much deeper.

This is vengeance.

His next target will be Owen, the second suspect, but hardly the executioner. He was the get-away driver on the night of Edgar and David's murders.

He'll suffer just as much for playing his part, no matter how small. Kalaraja plots the second suspect's death as he leaves the body of the first one behind.

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This chapter will be split into two parts, this first one and then the next one. I didn't want to cram too much into one chapter! Thanks for reading 😌