EVELYN (ON HOLD)

6 ~ Punching the Wall

"Love is giving someone the power to destroy you...but trusting them not to" --- Paulo Coelho

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Deep, dark red blood.

It's everywhere around him.

On his hair, his white apron, his face, dripping down his long nose, and on the carpet. A pool of blood around his head.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Blood.

And the whole room's spinning and spinning and spinning, and I'm not sure how I'm standing, how my eyes are still open, how my heart is still beating, how my breaths are uneven and I see.

I see the look of disgust on Archer's face. I see the shock and worry on the soldiers. I see the remnants of horror and fear on the chefs face as the colour drains from his face and he's almost as pale as his apron and I see blood.

The garish life fluid pools red around him. The scarlet that once ran in his veins now lay by his corpse and cant bear it anymore.

And then everything turns black.

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'-rest. Then she'll be good to go. And don't forget the vitamins.'

'Will that be all?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You may leave.'

Footsteps. A door opens, closes.

Silence.

'I know you're awake,' I can feel his breath on my face and I instantly open my eyes.

His face is right above mine, and his smile looks like it hurts.

I move my face back and he stands up properly.

And that's when it all comes back.

The chef. The gun. The blood.

Archer shot his chef just because his salmon wasn't cooked properly.

I study his face, eagerly searching for a sign of remorse, guilt, pain. To see if he regrets it. To see if he realizes how harshly he acted.

I see none.

I don't wan't to talk to him. I don't wan't to look at him. I don't wan't to be near him.

He's read my thoughts without my permission. He shot a man for alterations in his meal. He knows my mind and he has the power to control thousands of grown men. He's not afraid to use a gun. It seems normal to him. Nobody stopped him and nobody told him not to. He didn't get punished for it.

I hate him.

I move back and get out of the soft folds of the duvet on the bed quickly from the other side and he watches me with his hands in his pockets. I wan't to be far, far away from him.

My feet land on plush carpet. Blood red carpet, and my breaths become quicker. I avoid looking at the floor. The walls are creamy white and have swirly golden patterns on them. There's a chandelier made of crystals and diamonds and sapphires and the light's making shadows with the bed, the dressers, the hat stand, the lamps, me and Archer. The room is large and comfortable and exquisite.

And it hurts me to think a man like him lives in such luxury. It disgusts me.

I walk to the large, glossy brown double-door and turn the handle to open it and it opens quite easily.