In present-day Athens, Atria had just begun writing her law school admissions essay, delving into a dark deed from her past. Let's see how that essay is coming along—and get a little glimpse into her past firsthand...
**Please be advised that the flashback features some dark and distressing material. This is meant to give readers a real sense of the characters' past and to hopefully make an emotional impact. I used my best judgment in crafting this scene; the tone and descriptions are gritty, but not very graphic. I hope this makes for a worthwhile read. Just wanted to let you all know!**
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Scene 7: The Same
A.D. 2015
And it was not in self-defense; it was for a far better reason...
She watched as ink leaked into the last dot of the ellipsis, pouring and pooling as her paralyzed pen lingered on the spot for far too long. Swelling thick and dark like the blossom of blood on white cloth in the wake of a wound. A gunshot to the heart.
Words such as these should never be written, she knew. The memories on which they drew were meant to stay forever buried. What had she been thinking? Why had she opened the floodgates of hell, sent her mind sinking into the damned, depthless hole of her soul?
The gates burst open by accident all the time, throughout her life. In tortured dreams and in the shadows of her sleepless nights. But yesterday, when she'd sat down to start this essay, with the weapon of a pen pressed into virgin paper, she had opened them on purpose.
Intentionally. Just as intentionally as she'd killed a man, so long ago.
Every time Atria tried to write the next sentence, she ran into the same pool of ink, the same impasse. Signifying that the only sentence she could ever write was death. Dragging her back into the darkness.
A.D. 1999
Heavy. Hard. Hot. Like a log of old wood in a slow-burning stove. Big, bad, potbellied stove. Buried beneath the weight, no matter what the smoky voice might say, she knew this was the opposite of love.
"You are so pretty. So damn pretty, baby. You know I love you, right?" the hateful whisper lied. "I love you so much. Do you love me?"
He always spoke of love. The scariest part was that he seemed to mean it, to believe it, from the bottom of the twisted void that should have been his heart. He was just sick like that. Sick enough to equate love with something disgusting. Whatever had made the master of the house so sick, she hoped she wouldn't catch it. Unless she already had.
"Do you, baby?" he demanded again, stifling her sobs, exerting pressure in a painful place till she surrendered with a nod. "Tell me."
The scary hand shifted a bit, just enough to allow words to slip past her lips. Atria knew what she had to say, if she wanted the pain to go away. Though there would always be more pain, starting again each time it came to the illusion of an end, she knew. "Y-yes, sir, I do."
Somewhere at the edge of her senses, the few that weren't numb, she thought she heard a presence just outside the master bedroom, banging loudly on the locked door, rattling the rusty knob.
A violent sound, yet utter music to her ears. Every bang and every rattle held the promise of salvation. Even if the assault against the door, the gate of hell, was all in vain. Still, the sound softened the pain.
"Good girl. Show me," the master commanded, ignoring the noise, exerting pressure once again when she failed to obey him right away.
Oh, no. Please, no. She didn't dare protest out loud, though.
Her apparent reluctance ignited his rage. "Don't you shake your head at me. Don't shake that pretty little head. Don't fucking dare."
Just as the hand rose up to strike, before it could come down, the door burst open. The lock had finally been broken. Over the master's shoulder, Atria saw a shadow in the doorway, and the shadow was the brightest and most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was not the first time Eldor had tried to intervene. But every time he tried, her heart held out hope that it might be the first time he would succeed.
He barged into the room, dark eyes afire. "Don't dare touch her."
The master was unfazed. "You get the hell out of my room, boy."
"You get away from her."
"Or else what, huh?"
Eldor reached into his back pocket. And then, all of a sudden, Atria saw that his heroic hands were holding something very scary.
The master promptly froze. "Where the fuck did you get that, son."
"I'm not your son."
"Yeah, sure. And she ain't my daughter. Not really," the master answered, slowly rising from the bed. "Nothing wrong going on here."
Eldor's fingers shifted slightly, and she heard some sort of sound come from the scary hunk of metal he was holding. Click.
After a sharp intake of breath, the master moved forward a few timid steps. "Put it down. Come on, now, you know you won't shoot. You're a good boy. You know you're a good boy. I raised you right."
Bang!
Then a cry, a curse, the sound of something, someone falling to the floor. The next thing Atria knew, gentle arms were around her, lifting her off of the bed. As Eldor led her toward the door, she felt a hairy hand extend toward her, managing only to graze her leg. So whatever had happened, the man wasn't dead. Some part of her was disappointed.
"You're gonna pay for this one, boy! I swear you're gonna pay!"
The voice trailed after them as they rushed out into the hallway. Eldor slammed the door shut, then reached for a nearby bookcase, summoning all his strength to shove it into the doorframe. Knowing that it would be a solid blockade, now that the master was shot in the knee, rendered lame.
Crippled though he was, he was not to be silenced. "You take her away from me, I'll fucking kill you! Understand me? Where you gonna go, son? Where you gonna run? Where you gonna take her, huh? Ain't no one gonna love her like I do. You hear? I'll fucking kill you!"
They ran toward the attic, passing by the bedrooms of the other foster children on the way. All were out in the hall, alarmed by the horrific noise they'd heard. Eldor tucked the gun away and urged them back to bed with reassuring words.
In their secret alcove, after a wordless while with him tending to her wounds, Atria gestured at the scary thing. "Where did you get that?"
"Shhh."
"Can you teach me how to use it?"
He applied another band-aid. "No."
Click, bang echoed in her head. She couldn't let it go. "Why not?"
"Because you're not a killer, Atria. I'll never let you be a killer."
"What if you can't stop me?" What if she was fated to be...?
"Can't stop me from trying."
Part of her wished she could. "At least give me a better reason."
"Fine," he sighed. "Because you're seven."
She blinked up at him, green eyes afire. "It's almost my birthday."
A.D. 2015
When I was eight years old, I killed a man.
Atria found herself staring at that fatal first sentence of her essay, as the horror show inside her head came to an end. Thanks to a sudden interruption.
A knock on the door. Not a rattle, not a bang, as it would've been were she locked in, a victim. But the door was ajar; she was safe. And knew that when she turned, she would see the same beautiful shadow as always.
She loved him almost as much as she hated herself. Almost. But how could she help feeling hatred for herself more fiercely than anything else?
At the all too tender age of eight, she had turned into the very thing Eldor had said he'd never let her become. And she knew now that she was indeed fated to be—the eerie sense of power she'd unleashed inside herself so recently, seeing her death wishes coming to pass on the dark streets of Greece, made it clear to her, now more than ever.
She would always be a killer.
She just hoped he wouldn't hate her for it. Yet somehow, deep down in her dark, hateful heart, she knew that he wouldn't. Just as surely as Eldor would never really love her, in the way she wanted, Atria knew that he would never really hate her.
These were the thoughts that brought a lone tear to her gaze, flooding the last dot of the ellipsis as it dropped upon the page. As she rose and fell into his waiting embrace. Always the same, no matter what else ever changed.
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... Thoughts? Feels? :/
P.S. Dedication to @Flame_ofAmarog, silver medalist in the Voters' Choice division of the Fateful Olympics fanfiction contest, for the fantastic fanfic "The Guild"! And also one of the four fabulous Fatefuls who entered the Triathlon event (by submitting in the fanfiction, fan art, AND Book II cover contests) :D
Next scene, we'll stay in the modern day, to check in with someone whom we haven't seen in a very long time...
** And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :) **