𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 || 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

7: Unexpected Help

2 years later

>>>>>>>>>

Two years is a long time to have been running, but I had finally felt like I had some semblance of peace in this place.

London was a bustling city, crowded and full of the most amazing places. One could never feel bored here.

***

Shortly after having faked my death, I obtained a fake passport and went to Amsterdam to tie up some loose ends as well as empty the apartment I had of what little belongings I valued.

The apartment was a gift from James, and he often visited me there. Sometimes it was for work.

Most of the time James talked of our childhood and the things we had gotten up to as kids. Most of which would make any sane person recoil at the idea of two children doing very un-childish things.

I can't really remember the first time I met him. Much of my childhood was a blur. It feels as if he was all of a sudden inserted into my life.

In the absence of family, James often looked out for me.

He used to joke that I was his bodyguard ever since I beat up a group of boys a few years older than myself for harassing James.

They had been on my radar for a while, but James insisted that he'd deal with them. And I trusted him.

That was until one of them punched James, calling him a freak.

I vaguely remember getting furious and beating them up.

It was only later that James told me that one of them was in a coma and was unlikely to wake up. A brain bleed apparently.

The other two were too terrified to speak. Psychiatrists blamed it on trauma. The police made attempts to identify the assailant but it was no use pushing two now broken children.

James sounded proud when he told me what I had done. I don't remember feeling much of anything except the strong desire to protect the only person who cared about my existence.

James was the one who first taught me how to use a knife properly. I was 11 and he was 15 at the time. he told me how to defend myself properly with a weapon, telling me the vital spots to hit and render my opponent incapable of moving.

I was drawing the scenery outside of my living room window in Amsterdam while James spoke, pouring a glass of whiskey from the bottle that was reserved for him whenever he showed up.

He sipped the whiskey as he walked up behind me, looking at my drawing. I was too focused on my task to notice the expression on his face as he looked at me.