Twisted

Chapter Ten

Quick A/N: Dedicated to gabbyholt12, just cause. :D

Chapter Ten

I couldn't help that I had grabbed her neck like that.

It's like proof. Proof of how hard my life was. Proof of who I am. Proof of what I have been through. It's related somehow, I know it. Little connections connect this to that, resembling a sort of web. It's all connected, all related, all the same, somehow. Like a gigantic family with cousins, aunts, uncles, stepsisters and stepmothers, fourth cousins twice removed, and siblings. They're all connected, but most don't even know that they're related, or even in existence.

I didn't even know that I had killed my own brother until it was too late.

You know, when people are watching something on the news, or they hear about something on the internet that involves people getting hurt, they might think Oh, well, only two people died. That's okay.

Yeah. It's kind of not.

That's two people who will never completely live their life. They might have a wife, or a husband, or children. People who are fully expecting to see them that afternoon after telling them goodbye in the morning, blissfully ignorant of what was to come.

Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. Probably something along the lines of This kid fully understands the consequences and guilt of killing somebody, so why does he continue to take lives?

I've lost everything I've ever loved. Even my parents, whom I never even had the chance of knowing.

My brother, killed by my own hands.

Stupid stuff, like my pride, dignity, and integrity.

Or perhaps material possessions, like my knife. The only thing I had that belonged to my father was stolen from me.

There's sincerely no ending to the amount of times I've woken up on the ground, either in a cold sweat or screaming.

Welcome to my life. I suggest you hang on.

***

There was smoke, and blood. So much blood.

I clamped the hilt of my knife between my teeth as I scaled the side of the building, trying to gain a vantage point. I squinted through the smoke and coughed violently as I inhaled. I could feel the heat from the fire that was lapping at my heels, slowly singeing the flammable fabric of my pant leg.

I could hardly see anything through the gray haze. Another fit of coughs wracked my already weak body. I could not make out anything save for the sillohettes of the city going up in flames. There were no signs of my enemies. Probably all dead by now, anyway.

I started clambering down the steep side when something caught my foot. I looked down swiftly to see a hand clasped around my ankle. My eyes widened as I tried to shake off whoever it was. One of my hands slipped from their already loose grip on the slick edge of the building. Whoever was grabbing me, however, kept up his assault.

I still couldn't see a face when a raspy voice said, "You're not getting away if I can help it!" followed by a somewhat manaical cackle.

Who was this guy? I decided I didn't care as I readjusted my hold on the roof and grabbed my knife from my grime-covered mouth with my free hand. Without pausing to think, I stabbed the place where I had judged his shoulder lay. Whoever it was let out a strangled scream, and the smoke cleared in that same instant.

His face looked familiar somehow, even though it was twisted into an expression of agony. I felt that I had recognized the way his eyebrows arched, and he had wavy dark brown hair, closely resembling mine. He looked at me with a pleading look on his face, and I looked at his shoulder.

I immediatly wished that I hadn't.

It was completely covered in crimson blood, tainted scarlett by the dirt and ash that covered him. It was running all over his body. He yelled as I kicked him loose, and he tumbled to the ground.

All thirteen stories to the ground.

And I had the unfortunate luck to hear the sickening crack as his limp body hit the pavement below.

In that moment, I realized where I recognized his features.

On me.

***

You have no idea how many times I have wished that I was a different person, with different ethics, different friends, parents, maybe even go to a school, play on a sports team, actually be a normal fifteen year old. Maybe even have a girlfriend.

But no.

At this point, I should really be used to this lifestyle. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. Survival of the most treacherous. And I am, in a way. However, there's just always been this notion, this absurd idea that had managed to manifest into my mind, that maybe, just maybe, I could run away. Escape. Skedaddle. Get the hell out of there. However you want to put it.

I probably could, so long as I lay low. I would have to change my appearance, of course. Bleach my hair, maybe even get colored contacts to hide my green eyes. Change my name. Not legally, of couse. Never do anything legally. Here's the thing, though: I'm not even registered as a person.

That's right. I don't technically exist. I rather wished that I didn't, actually.

This fact was the reason why I was perfect for killing people, because I could literally never be caught.

Yay me.

***

A/N:  Short background chapter. I hope you could tell that it was Chase's point of view. Leave comments, vote if you like, share if you like. Thanks! :)