Enviously Infamous

Part 10

Cleo's POV:

I wake up to the sound of car doors in the garage, and just lay there, motionless. After five minutes of laying down like a corpse, I check my phone and see that it is 3:50. I guess the boys are home now. I groan and bury my face back in my pillow. Only 2 1/2 hours of sleep. 2 1/2 hours of nightmares.

I wish I could forget my dreams like everybody else. Forget my demons that make me imagine death. I imagine death so much, that it feels like a memory. It is a memory. He killed me. He broke me apart and put me back together like a puzzle. A beautiful, dangerous, flawless puzzle.

I hate being flawless. I wish I wasn't perfect. Maybe being flawless is my imperfection. He made me fragile. Not like a flower, but like a bomb. I never had a chance to be soft. I was always bloody knuckles and shards of glass.

I wonder how people describe me when their talking about me to someone's who's never met me. Maybe as a absolutely stunning, murderous little creature. Filled with poison, but blessed with beauty and rage.

Half of me doesn't care. I want people to be afraid of me. I do very bad things and I do them very well. I'm going to hell anyways. Might as rule this world, before I take over Satan's.

The other, much weaker half of me fears that eventually the people downstairs, who call themselves my family, will see me the way the way I see myself. A monster.

And as always, the stronger half wins. Why should I care what they think of me. I faced all of my demons alone. I learned many things about many things, but in the end, all I learned was how to be strong, alone.

I may have lost some battles, but I won the war. And life mocked me. It told me, "Congratulations. You have survived the war. Now live with the trauma." But what it didn't know was that I would rather live with the trauma, than with the man that wore the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

And maybe some people are just born with tragedy in their blood, but you just learn to live with it. To fight it, or accept it. To fear it, or control it. And hope that your last breath, is a sigh of relief.

I snap out of my deep, dark thoughts, when I hear Luca talking to one of the maids downstairs. "Hey Ms. George. Where is Cleo?" He says in his usual chirpy voice.

"I saw her go to her room earlier. I don't know if she's still in there though." She responds back.

"Okay thanks!" He says, and I hear footsteps running up the steps. Ughhh nooo. I just want to be left alone, in my depressive state.

I pretend I'm sleeping, so that he wouldn't bother me. He opens the door and steps inside. I can feel him staring at me.

*Well that's not creepy at all.*

I hear him chuckle lowly, and automatically know that he's up to something. He leaves the room, and goes next door to his room.

Well I guess not.

I go back to my depressive thoughts once again, and hear the door open again.

So he's back.

*I have a bad feeling about this.*

I hear him tip toe towards the bed, and snort, trying to hold back his laughter.

Amateur.

All of a sudden I feel a splash of water hit my face. I jump up and surprise, and turn to glare at Luca.

"WAKEY WAKEY!" He yells, while running out of the room.

So he's chosen death. Alright then.

*Put your shoes on first, so you don't slip on the floors.*