Rusty Halo - (The Script Fanfic) - ON HOLD

Chapter 4

Mark's POV

Another show, just a different day. They all seem different to the naked eye, but seeing the stage through a performer's eyes is different. Your every move is watched by squealing teenage girls, waving their phones in the air as they desperately try to capture the moment. Let's just say that having your every move watched for an hour and a half straight can be quite provoking, almost like they are pleading me to aim one of my guitar picks at their observing eyes. Trust me, I could make it happen with a quick flick of the wrist, call it an accident and nobody would know any different. Nobody.

But I would know, and I don't know if I would feel all that ecstatic afterwards.

But then why should the aftermath affect me? It's basic human-nature to feel the need to dominate other humans. Do you ever feel the urge to knock someone over the edge, whether that be physically or emotionally? That's the sense of dominance we crave, as humans. Call me messed up if you wish, but it's true; it's all within us. Some of us tend to lean towards that side a little more than others.

Personally, I'm not proud of the things I've done. Did Circe deserve to die? No. Instinct told Dan to kill her; instinct told me to clear it up. I guess I blame instinct for clouding my conscience every time it comes down to the God-like authority of deciding who lives and who doesn't.

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During the sound check, none of us truly spoke to each other. Even Dan didn't speak to me. Then again, his eyes were distant. I took that to mean he was comtemplating the possibility of finding another 'perfect' girl during the night's show.

He never really had a type. In fact, each of his women were very different from each other. I retreated off stage to the bathroom, removing the bracelets from my wrist. There tattooed were the names of girls, each scrawl marking a memory that could never be captured truly, only to be etched onto my skin as a memorial for each one.

There was Brooklyn. Her hair had been thick, yet short in a smoky black shade. She had been front row, stationed in front of Glen. Her cry for help had been shrill and pleasing to the ear, like a mermaid calling to lost sailors. She had enticed me with the scars up her wrists and the blank nature of her dark eyes. She hadn't been the first, but her's was the first name that Danny had learned.

Next was Claire, her eyes wide and pleading. Her screams were not as loud as Danny had taken the time to remove her tongue. Her blood was thicker than the others and harder to remove from the pavement. Her bones were fragile as I dumped them, almost snapping in my hands.

Last on my wrist was Alison. Her hair had been dyed a peculiar colour - a hot pink - until her copper-smelling blood had re-coloured her hair to a crimson. Her eyes had been piercing green and she had been the most curvy of the lot. Her vocal chords had snapped as Dan cut too far into her throat, so her cries were more of gurgles anyway. Wrapped around her throat had been a necklace of gold, two initials upon the front. M.W. I had pocketed it and sold it on, using the unnecessary money to have her name written into the skin upon my wrist.

I took out a black sharpie from my pocket, removing the cap. I touched the tip to my skin, adding the name 'Circe' just below the others. The writing was nowhere as neat, yet a deep tension eased out as the scribble absorbed the memories of the moment. The weight had been lifted from my shoulders, only to be moved onto my wrist with weaker bones.

Somewhere within in me wished that I could turn back time and allow the girls to live. If they had lived, what use would their lives had gone to? They had all been broken anyway. Me and Dan had done them a favour, and one that their remains would not cease to forget.

I placed my bracelets back over their names, reminding myself to permanently add Circe to the list. Removing thoughts of them from my mind with less ease than usual, I picked up my guitar to continue the normal practicing routine of a band member.