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Tragedy.
An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
One of many definitions in our wide world of philosophy and thinking.
I would put my signature under this but I will add the part where no one can look away. There will still be attentive, lustful eyes on even the most gruesome scene.
The moments in front of me could count as such. Blood, wounds, or even signs of torture on a body have never bothered me, as strange as it may sound. I was always aware of the dark places the world beholds. Many advised me I should become a surgeon as I have always had a strong sense of concern for others at the same time.
At least I thought this until I laid my eyes on a man beating another till he was lying on the floor, spitting blood, choking on it. My shame overrides me as I feel compelled to stop what is happening. But I know I have no power and I would only embarrass myself, by being stopped before blinking twice.
I look around, coming across faces, begging for the pain of others, and as bile rises in my throat something inside of me strikes to live. Thousands around me watch this scene. My heart pounds as another punch follows and I would bet my life on it that if the crowd didn't scream their lungs out and the sick pounding in my head didn't torture me I could hear every bone in his face cracking. His face falls to my side, almost in slow motion, almost as if the movement must draw my attention because only then does it matter. Angry red veins burst open, his face covered in so much blood, no imagination could make out a human façade anymore.
It is my dream to become an actor, and I am preparing myself for settings of horror, crime, and gore that are part of my job description. I hope to someday bring terror to people worse than anyone before me did. I watched crime documentaries, and I reflected on every film I found that so many before voted as the worst of them all. However, seeing this man, this stranger on this harsh, almost beaten-up floor... makes me understand that I am not aware of anything.
Blood is oozing out of his face.
Could it be his eyes or his nose? So much blood.
Suddenly, the smile, the white shining teeth-or at least the broken stumps-takes my attention away from the red.
I naturally take a step back as the man pushes himself up again, as if lying on the ground and being beaten gave him another dose of adrenaline. Opening a biology or psychology book would easily tell you that, but nobody truly believes how powerful fear is.
You might even ask yourself if agony is still agony when the beholden themselves don't feel it anymore.
And at this moment jealousy comes over me.
I can imagine what a high this must be... If you are suffering, you gain strength.
If everything hurts so severely, it doesn't feel more serious than a scratch. The itching goes away with another dose of pain.
Excruciating pain.
It didn't feel that way with my dad.
When I let my eyes wander away from the man heaving himself rapidly from the ground, that's what my body craves. The crowd almost drives me away, wanting to turn around and run.
Almost.
My gaze landed on the man I least expected to see in such a deprived, brutal position.
I never imagined Kaden Graham Harrison being here. My project partner was the man who insulted me a bit too often. The guy I like to tease back. Almost a boy, age-wise. 21...22? I am not sure. Sometimes proper, but partying as if there was no tomorrow.
There is more to him than that, as I am aware. Not everything he says is meaningful but all of it means something. He is more intelligent than most would suspect, but his parents are probably behind him hiding this.
He thinks it's a weakness. To cover it, he uses unreasonable arguments as evidence. He hides words he uses regularly in his brain to avoid being seen by others. Not academically. Idiosyncrasy, Axiomatic, Esoteric, Hegemony- sometimes they slip through other times he utilizes them to show power or apply them in a wrong way to figure out the level of his antagonists' intellect.
Being thought of as dumb is a blessing.
You can only prove them wrong but a smart person wouldn't.
An intelligent person would simply exist and show them how low they are.
How is this man standing only a couple of feet away from me, his eyes finding mine?
The air caught in my throat, the dry skin of my lips aching before I wet them and my cheeks fill with blood. Biting down... regretting it instantly... wanting to do it again.
My eyes burn but my lids can't fall shut because of the rush of chemicals coursing through my veins. When he caught me from across the room, I thought he would look surprised. But if so he is good at hiding because as his gaze is focused on me, a stoic expression shocking me to my core. Not a blink would dare to occur on my face as his opponent takes a lung at him, driving his fist into his jaw.
The pumping in my head intensifies.
He would want me to be afraid and concerned even when he stumbles back because of the punches force but I will not give in.
I will not give in to Kaden's demons trying to fill me with fear, so I swallow down the natural gasp wanting to erupt in my agonizing throat.
"Is this man insane?", I ask myself as there is no refusal, no pain on his face before the emotionless expression is replaced by a smirk crawling onto his face.
His white teeth were bloodied, leaving a trail down his neck. His grin widens as for a split second his gaze travels to his opposer before it lands back on me. Another punch.
Another.
Another.
The word repeats in my head as the pictures are flashing in front of my eyes.
Three syllables keep me awake.
Another.
Another.
She passed out, again.
Why can't she control herself?
It's not about how much she drinks... it's the combination.
I am so sick of this, I am not her babysitter.
I love her and I don't want her to land in a ditch but goddamnit I have a life.
The urge to let my eyes roll in the back of my head is fighting against my will to prove them wrong.
Fast hits land him in his gut, his muscles constricting, blood gushing over them from all the cuts and split-open veins.
Keep me awake, Kaden.
His grin widens, a scary look on his face.
No, not scary.
Terrifying would be more accurate as after the next kick to his gut he takes his thumb and wipes the blood off his busted lip, looking straight at me.
Ironic how he tries to wipe away a little cut when his entire body is covered.
Drenched in the red liquid.
I only realize my mouth has dropped a little open as he takes a short look at it and then his eyes find me again.
Then his next motion almost missing it because it was such a tiny move.
He winked at me before taking a punch at his rival ten times worse, stronger... more brutal than all of the other guys' before.
His gaze is away from me but it might as well burns still on my skin.
All those moments.
His thumb brushing over his lip.
Punch after punch.
Him taking a step back every time the other one kicked, punched... lunged at him.
Him winking at me?
Winking?
It felt like an eternity to me but in reality, this wasn't more than 3.78 seconds.
3.78 seconds, goddamn it.
And it was all a game to him.
He wanted him to have a few punches.
He wanted to feel his body giving in...
Only a little.
His "rival" cannot be called an enemy but nothing more and nothing less than a casualty.
So the next move at his opponent would be much stronger.
He wanted more fun.
How far is this game going?
Nobody would stop him.
My heart pounding in my chest as I force my head away.
Because I didn't want to look.
Because I didn't want to find out.
...
Or because I wanted to look.
Too bad.
Run, Aleandra.
You are not here for this.
You love the adventure.
You want drama.
"Not this" , my brain screams.
Yes, this. Aleandra. That's why you came here. You wanted to run... you wanted to be free.
Young lady, don't be an embarrassment. You are a judge's daughter. You cannot behave like that.
My mother's voice echoes in my head.
You are here to get away from her.
I can blame hearing her voice in my head on the booze... on the mixture with my medication but I know she was always there.
The anger rises inside me alongside panic.
I have to get out of here.
What I didn't know at this second was that the problem at the moment wasn't in my head.
It wasn't a parent, another part of my family.
I turn my head around wanting to drag Em and Harvey out of here, but they aren't around me anymore.
She is standing feet away from me behind Harvey who is in a heated conversation with a man a head shorter than him but with a torso as muscular as one of those body builders.
My first instinct is to rush to them, feeding into my nosiness.
But the second I take a step forward a big palm wraps around my arm putting me to a halt.
"Fight or flight", is a physiological response that occurs in response to a perceived threat or danger. A survival mechanism that prepares the body to either confront the threat (fight) or escape from it (flight). Natural, you could call it.
The definition of natural can be reinvented for the abused ones of us.
As I turn my head the first person reaching my vision is another man who looks like security, towering over me.
A stranger.
Then my eyes find the way to the person keeping me in place.
Not a stranger.
My eyes slightly widen and in no scenario could I have ever hidden my shock as there are two other males standing behind the man I know so well.
All my life I have known him but how does he seem as much of a foreigner as the others in this room when the fury in his eyes is directed at me?
But not only fury, concern, shock, and confusion.
A tailored suit, I know must be Armani, as it is his favorite brand, golden cufflinks adoring it, a tight tie bound around his neck. A strong odor that smells so expensive I wouldn't have ever believed to find it in a room like this.
But still... so familiar.
"Dorian?"
"I cannot run from this family, can I?" I only half-joke as my brother's eyes bore into mine.
As he doesn't answer.
Sorry for the little plot twist again. I am sorry, I promise I will try quitting:) The next two chapters are almost done.