AUBREY

one

(Cain's POV)

Drops of crimson splatter carelessly around the body, the floor pooling in a deep red.
The men surrounding us stiffen a fraction, the air doubling in thick, violent tension; the body slumps heavier, only a few, slight pants escaping from his dry lips.

"I think you've done enough now, Cain," one of the men says, emerging out of the shadow into the scarce showers of light.
My grip on the body's shirt loosens at his words before I dismiss them, bringing my fist to his face in swift contact, delivering a heavy blow to his cheek. I do it again. And again. I'm bringing my fist up again for one final blow before a hold on my arm occurs, keeping me in mid hit.

"Cain. I said, that's enough," the same voice echoes, quietening the room - as if there was any murmur audible, anyway.

Shrugging off his hold, I pull my hand down, licking my teeth in annoyance. "You said teach him a lesson, boss. I don't intend to stop until it's finished."

"You're gonna end up killing him, kid," another man speaks out, shaking his head slowly, "you don't need a criminal record whilst you're still at school."

The boss, Carlos, pats my back respectfully: I know it - he's proud of me. I've been working for him and the gang since I was thirteen - at first, it was for some loose cash, some extra funding for my family. But the thrill of the danger, the excitement of getting caught any time pulls me to the the job, an imaginary magnet forcing me down this path as long as possible.

Water scatters over the floor, the scarce light from the shattered window illuminating each drop. Most of the odd jobs that we do happen in this abandoned warehouse: a derelict building that's waiting to collapse - also known as '101' to the gang.
The light dances over the man's unconscious state, exposing the gentle rising over his chest. A slight slither of guilt creeps into my body but it quickly vanishes as soon as his eyes flutter slowly.
As the prey awakes to slight consciousness, I pounce on him eagerly, slamming my hand on the collar of his shirt. "Who sent you here?"

A chuckle rises out of his throat, his eyes smouldering with pride. A stupid move. He's put himself in a position of vulnerability and if he's lucky, he'll make it out of here half alive.
"I'm.. Not saying."

The grip on his shirt tightens, and I pull him close to me, seething into his presence. "I said," my hand on his neck, fastening my grip, "tell me."

"Cain..." Carlos warns, his voice rising.

"I know, let me just deal with him."

The man snarls, his face wincing visibly in the slithers of light, "Alright, tough guy, who do you think sent me?"

My mind flicks through countless names of enemies, each name sending a flush of hot, livid anger pulsing through my veins.
"Skull, Andrew, North..." I murmur hurriedly, my fingers becoming impatient and my body rising in heat. And that's when it clicks. The North region mafia gang: notorious vipers who only prioritise the taste of death. Countless times they've sent rats and moles to ruin everything we've worked for, and I will not let it happen again. Not under my watch.

"Son of a bitch," I spit, gnarling my teeth in rage at the man. White, hot anger blinds me as I lose sight of any rationality, delivering a final blow to the man.
The North want a message delivered back? Gladly. I'm envious to not be able to see their faces once they see the dead, mutilated body - that's my gift to them.

As the body slumps the heaviest it ever has since it entered the building, and the breathing comes to a halt, I smirk.

I hope they enjoy this gift, I think to myself.

~~~~~~~~~

"Cain? You're going to be late to school, and I need to get to the university early. Cain? Are you listening to me?"

As my mum is relentless in giving me orders, I half listen to her as the lack of sleep washes over me. I murmur an inuadible response to her requests, forcing myself to get out of the bed.

Moving the body into the car and then also driving the car to the South took until the early morning, consequently making me late home.

As my mum leaves the apartment, I hear her shout at me once more before the door slams, leaving me in resounding emptiness and silence. The images of the body flashes in my head over, and over, and over again; the spill of blood, the meeting of my fist and his face echoes in my head until I can't take it anymore.
I slam my fist into the wall above my head repeatedly until scarlet is visible on my knuckles, and until I'm tired not only physically, but emotionally.
The cold of the wall shocks my back as I slump against it, putting my head in my hands. A burning sensation vibrates along my knuckles from the wall, but I'm numb. I feel nothing.

No, I think, I won't fall victim to the deep whole of inescapable darkness. Not again.
I yank a shirt over my body, not caring enough to see whether I look adequate for school.
One more year, that's all.
And that's all I repeat on the way to school.

~~~~~
(Aubrey's POV)

"That's the fifth time you've rejected him, Aubrey, and you've only just come to school."

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "Whatever."

I know I must seem uptight, rejecting boy after boy after boy, but I don't understand why I'd lower my standards like that.

"Oh my god, I forgot! Homecoming starts in a month, and we haven't got dates yet. Hey, do you anyone will be available?"

How incredibly dull. My friends constantly engage in mindless talk about boys, or anything not worthwhile. Of course I wouldn't explicitly tell them what I think.

"Girls, please. You don't need a date to look like the hottest there," I sigh, rolling my eyes.

Neither of them retort back, instead they retreat into a whole other exciting conversation about what to wear.

Sometimes, just sometimes , I feel the loneliest I could ever be when I'm with them.
And sometimes, it gets too painful to bear, but there's no escape - not really.

"Look! There's Cain, late as always."
"God, why does he think he's so special because he broods?"
"He is hot, though."
"Definitely!"

My heart tightens at this conversation and I huff exasperatedly, averting my gaze to the infamous Cain Villareal: the brooding loner. The boy with the messy, blonde hair and strange pink eyes; the boy who has a new scar everyday - whether it be on his knuckles or his face, and the boy who never speaks to anyone.

Swiftly getting off the parked motorbike, he glances downwards at his hands and frowns ever so slightly. It's kind of cute.
He must feel the my burning stare as, right on cue, he glances up, uninterested.

I shake my head, raising my eyebrow as I saunter towards him. Everyone knows he rejects social interaction, but surely he wouldn't reject me.

"Cain Villareal. Late as always."

He laughs humourlessly, inching away from me, "Aubrey, I don't care about anything you have to say right now."

Tightening a smile on my face, I ignore the blow to my self esteem, "I was just going to ask about your knuckles. It wasn't there yesterday."

Cain rolls his eyes, bored and shoves past me, refusing to listen to me. The infamous attitude of his shows itself as always, marking his solitude as he was always from me, leaving me on my own, in the middle of an empty parking lot.

I don't care how much he thinks he doesn't need anyone, I want to speak to him. And I won't take no for an answer.
He must be lonely. Having no one to speak to. Surely.

An inexplicable pain rolls around in my heart as the sight of the lone wolf walking towards the building: is he more lonely than me, someone who everyone wants to speak to, or is he less lonely, content with himself as good company?

Crestfallen for no apparent reasoning, I sigh. Surely he's going to want to speak to me.
He has no one else, after all.