Chapter 47
I cough violently, the screaming from before effecting my voice now instead of when I was doing the screaming.
"Aw, does wittle pwincess want some water?" Alec taunts, putting a delicious-looking, pure glass of water just an inch away from where I can reach.
I ignore him, knowing that if I struggle to get the glass not only will I end up tipping it over, but I'll also bring great pleasure to Alec.
That's something I'm not going to let happen. I've already planned his death.
"Does wittle pwincess think she's all bwave and couwageous?" Alec laughs, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
"I didn't think you'd know a word like that," I croak out, my voice raspy.
His insolent blue eyes turn dark as he glares at me, and the crazed look from before comes back.
"Listen, bitch, now that you've seen what your father can do, he won't hesitate to do it all over again," He growls.
I lean my head back, once again, closing my eyes. I block him out and imagine he isn't there.
Then I imagine burning him alive, watching him scream as the fire catches on and eats him up.
I imagine tying him up with chains dipped in lava and throwing him into a huge oven, turned up to the warmest point.
Then I imagine bringing him out, well-cooked, and peeling off his skin so that he can feel what it's like to be stripped off your dignity.
A small smile etches onto my face, and I feel something kick my foot.
"Stop smiling like a psychopath, bitch."
I open my eyes and look at him, trying to muster my best 'cold Arsen' look.
"You should never call a psychopath, a psychopath," I tell him, raising an eyebrow. He snorts.
"Where'd you hear that from, Killing Eve?" And I burst out laughing.
But the tears of pain don't stop they burst out just as my laugh does, and I shake my head.
"That's exactly where I got it from, but you know what's funny?" I ask, smiling at him. He gives me an apprehensive look.
"I don't care what's funny," He growls. I scoff.
"What's funny is that someone like you - a literal, sadistic psychopath - watches something like Killing Eve," I laugh again, and he rolls his eyes.
"And what the fuck is wrong with that?" He snarls. I shrug.
"Nothing. Just that...it's like, psychopath porn, you know?" And this time, he gets up and grabs my tortured arm.
I bite my tongue so hard to stop from screaming that I taste metallic blood instead of pain.
"Bitch, I'll kill you," He growls.
I swallow, wait--I don't swallow, I spit in his face.
He slaps me, on the exact spot Shanaya did, and I feel my pain double, but I still stop the scream, because he doesn't deserve to hear it.
If anything, I deserve to hear his screams.
"Spit in my face one more time, cunt, and I'll really cut out your dirty tongue," He snarls, jerking my face to the side.
I grit my teeth and glare at him because the last thing I'm going to do is make noise.
Eventually, he scoffs and gets up, slamming the door as he walks out. I wince a little but smile nevertheless.
Well. He's gone.
I slide my hands out of the loose chains and then squeeze my eyes shut when immense pain shoots up my left arm.
Damnit, I forgot.
Gently caressing th injury, I get up, feeling slightly dizzy and stumbling back a bit.
No. I need to be strong. If Alec catches me again, no doubt, he will kill me, even though I'd like to see him try. Except, my arm might end up killing me first.
So now the race begins! Will it be the Arm, or Alec.
I shake my head and stagger over to the door, using my elbow to push down the handle, which I successfully do.
Opening it is the easy part, but the ladder that leads down the attic...now that. That's where it gets tricky.
I try not to let a frustrated moan escape, and instead, do the stupidest thing I can think of, which benefits me a lot.
Sitting on the first step, I make my way down the ladder one slide at a time, finally reaching the ground since there weren't that many steps.
That's over with. Now, I just need to get to the front door, which means...
I furrow my eyebrows when I see the front door right in front of my eyes. It's the front door because the windows on either side reveal the driveway, and it has one too many locks.
Cautiously making my way over, I bend down to elbow the door open.
"You know, you remind me of someone, kid."
I freeze, afraid to turn around because of who I'll see. Yet still, I turn.
I don't know if it's sadistic or masochistic, but I want to feel my fear.
"Who?" I hiss, glaring at him, my arm exploding with shock, almost as if it senses the man who messed it up.
He gives me a numb look. "Me."
"How can I possibly remind you of you? I'm not even the daughter you wanted," I spit out, knowing how much it hurts to admit it out loud.
Just makes it more real.
"Where do you think you're going to go once you're out of those doors? You think that boy is waiting for you?" He snorts, unsmiling. I roll my eyes.
"I'll find my way," I mumble, turning back around. A stomp of his foot stops me.
"No, you won't. I've heard you follow him around like a lost, naive and gullible little girl. Don't you realize he will leave you eventually? When he doesn't need you?" He questions.
I whirl around, glaring at him.
My father's right. Arsen will, eventually, leave me. He'll get tired of the lost, naive and gullible girl who follows him around everywhere.
But I can think for myself.
"He doesn't love you, kid," My father says to me.
I look into those eyes I used to try and find comfort in, but they just seem dank and unresponsive.
Cold, even.
"And who said I wanted him to love me?" I hiss, my brave glare from before wavering slightly.
And then weirdly, my father smiles. It's the first genuine smile I've seen so far.
It reminds me of when I thought he actually used to care.
"I'm proud of you, kid. But there's something you don't understand," He says, his smile vanishing. I furrow my eyebrows.
"What don't I understand, then?" I ask.
He smiles again. "That you're more of a psychopath than you could think. You see, there's a difference," I roll my eyes.
Great, another story.
"A difference in what, dad?" I raise an eyebrow, wanting this to be over with as soon as possible.
Telling him I don't want to hear won't make a difference. He'd just tell me anyway.
Maybe if he does finish the story early, I'll be able to get some ice cream along the way home.
Wow. You big baby.
Shut up. You're me, so you want ice cream too.
I'm the other you. Which means no, I don't.
Whatever.
"There's a difference between you and Turner," He looks at me. Then it clicks.
He's trying to tell me that I'm a psychopath as well.
I am not a psychopath. And how dare he call me one.
"Turner is someone who truly believes he's right. He is responsible, cunning and a con. Turner can charm people to lure them into a trap, then, he kills expertly without permission or plan."
I raise an eyebrow.
That does sound like him.
"And you, Xanthe, are the same."
"I thought you were naming differences," I hiss, angry that he's still calling me a psychopath.
He just laughs coldly.
"The difference between you and Turner is exactly that. You may think he has no emotions, that he turns them off, but actually, he completely runs on emotions. They are what drives him to kill. His emotions, his feelings, they're too strong for him to be normal,"
I let this process through my brain.
"You, Xanthe, you don't run on emotions, no matter how much you show them on your face. Something about you makes you unique and sickening. Because you may try to deny it, but murder brings you more pleasure than you can count."
I grit my teeth.
Now he's talking nonsense.
"You're telling me? Fine, let's say, in a hypothetical situation, that I am a fricking psychopath, but that would be because I inherited it genetically, from you and mom," I snarl.
He just smiles, but this smile is empty.
I watch him as he walks forwards, and leans down so we're face to face.
"Xanthe, you're not normal. Just like you weren't normal when you stepped on that parrot I got you for your sixth birthday," He says.
I stumble back, my eyes wide.
He remembers that?
I can't believe I'd forgotten.
I'd been so focused on forgetting that it completely slipped from my mind.
Being so hellbent and angry on revealing all those secrets and lies Arsen told me, I didn't realize how many I was keeping.
And that was one story I had wanted to forget so badly.
My shocked face looks up at the man who made me like this.
He was right. There may be a huge difference in me and Arsen, but one thing was the same.
We both had horrible parents.
Wincing as I bent down - and then straightening again, I smile when I retrieve something nobody had thought to have patted me down for.
My gun.
I lift it with my uninjured arm and point it at my father. He just gives me a blank stare. I growl.
"Why aren't you calling for Alec or begging me to stop?" I hiss, but he just shrugs painlessly.
"Because I knew it would come to this. You're in deep now, kid, and although I can help, you won't let me," He says.
"Stop. Calling me. KID!" I yell, and the gun goes off, shooting a dark hole through my father's head.
I stand aghast, staring at him as his wide eyes turn glassy, then blank again, as he falls to the ground.
A pool of blood puddles under his head, eventually reaching my clumped shoes, but I don't move, still in shock from what I did.
I killed my father.
And I don't feel anything.
Suddenly, the sound of someone running on wooden floorboards catches my attention, and I turn to see Alec standing near the entrance to the hallway, staring at me.
What I see in his eyes shakes me to the core, because I see something I never wanted to ever see.
Fear.
He's scared of me. But I don't want him to be.
Yes, you do.
I walk towards him, and he takes a step back, stumbling along the way.
"Stay away from me you crazy psycho!" He cries.
What kind of idiot runs backwards? If he wants to run, why doesn't he just turn and run?
He'll outrun me, anyway. He's taller.
But, sadly, this doesn't run through his mind, and instead, he falls.
I look at him for a while, tilting my head to the side.
"You know," I start. "When I first saw you, back at that party, I was captivated by your eyes."
He glares at me. "I don't care."
I smile.
"Of course you don't. And the thing is, your petty blue eyes aren't so pretty anymore. They're just...normal, I guess. So now, you're useless," I shrug.
His eyes widen as I point the gun at him.
"W-wait, what are you doing? Put the gun down, bitch," He growls.
I close one eye and point the gun at him so it positions itself in between his eyes.
Looking at it with one eye closed is better.
"Bang," I say. Alec swallows, visibly relaxing.
"You ain't gonna shoot me, then?" He asks. I keep smiling.
"I am, trashcan. You watched me kill my dad. So naturally, I'm going to have to kill you, too."
And before he can say anything, I shoot him.
Now that wasn't so hard, was it?
~*~
I look at the parrot in its cage.
It's very pretty. All colourful and bright. It reminds me of the sun because it's yellow, but it reminds me of blood because it's kind of red, too.
"What shall we call it?" Xena asks, looking at me with big, doe eyes.
I sigh. "Why do you always want to name the things we get? I don't wanna. Let's just call it birdy."
Her hopeful look vanishes, but it doesn't matter, because the birdy is still there. And I'm going to keep it. Forever.
It's mine, now.
"Come on, shall we play hide and seek with it?" I ask, giggling. Xena's eyes widen again.
"But what if Mamá and Papá get us in trouble? They said don't take birdy out," She says. I sigh again.
She always loves ruining fun. Maybe she should just not play. That way, I can keep birdy and she won't notice.
"Fine then. If you don't wanna play then don't. I'm going to take it out," I tell her, folding my arms.
When Papá folds his arms, he looks big and powerful. So that's why I'm going to fold my arms.
"But Xanny, the parrot is mine, too," She whispers.
"Then play," I shrug, opening the door to the big cage.
The parrot flies out like a pretty butterfly, and even Xena gasps with wonder. I give her my best, showing-off smile.
"Told you it would be cool," I say, running after it and squealing.
Suddenly, it turns in the hallway and disappears. I swallow.
"Oopsie daisy, where did it go?" I ask, looking everywhere. Xena starts whimpering.
"Um, Xanny, maybe we should tell Papá now," She says, tugging on my arm. I glare at her.
"No, Xena. Then Papá won't let us buy another pet. Don't worry, okay? I'll find it," I tell her.
Xena's sad eyes make me sad, so I promise myself that I will find my birdy for her.
She runs off to our room, probably because she doesn't want me to see her cry.
Turning around to look under the sofa, I find the parrot standing there, pecking at the wooden floor.
Silly! It can't break through the floor, I've already tried with a hammer. It's too hard.
Besides, then Papá will chase after it with a flaming, hot spatula - he did that with me. It was scary.
"Come here, birdy," I coo, holding out my hands.
It straightens itself and turns its beady, black eyes towards me.
I stop and kneel, looking at it.
Why is it staring at me as if I did something wrong? As if it's accusing me of something very bad?
Maybe birdy needs to be punished for making Xena cry.
"Come ON, birdy, stop being naughty," I glare at it and pick it up, squeezing its tiny little neck as it makes noise.
This is how Mamá and Papá punish me, so I should punish the parrot like them, too.
But it still only looks at me with dark eyes, and I don't like it, so I throw it to the ground. It starts screaming again, and that makes me angry.
"STOP it, you'll wake everybody up!" I whisper-scream, but it doesn't stop, its feet waving about funnily.
I quickly do the first thing I remember Papá doing when he saw a rat, and I stand on it, feeling it become silent under my feet.
I giggle when I feel something wet tickle me, and immediately clamp a hand over my mouth when Xena runs into the room.
Her eyes widen when she sees a tiny ball roll towards her, and then she starts screaming like a crybaby.
Mamá and Papá punished me very badly that night. They pushed me against the wall and I banged my head against it, but not too hard since blood didn't come out and I didn't feel dizzy.
I don't like Mamá and Papá when they're angry. It's scary.
I wonder why they don't do it to Xena, too. She's just as bad as me, and it's her fault for not trying to stop me.
~*~
Slowly, I open the door to the house and pop my head in, but the darkroom indicates the gang is still out. I slip in quietly.
Making my way towards the basement, I set my goal to walk past Don's room without a second glance. Until I realize his room is the first thing you see once you land.
I swallow, nostalgia creeping in as I imagine him laying on his bed and laughing at something stupid Logan did.
Closing my eyes for a second, I take a deep breath and proceed towards my goal.
Knocking lightly on the bedroom door, I wait for the person to open it.
When he does, the glare that passes through his stormy eyes kind of freaks me out.
"The hell do you want?" Ace growls. I lift my arm and show it to him, and once he reads it, his eyes widen.
"I need your help," I mumble.
Still staring at my arm with an undecipherable look, he opens the door wider.
"Get in."
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3031 words.
Guys, Xanthe may be the MC, but she is not one of the good guys. And neither is Killahead. Just wanted to let you know, but don't worry, it's not a spoiler.
You see, the difference between MPC and most cliche books is that...this book doesn't have a happy ending.
'Cause we all know villains never win.
Xanthe's a psychopath now, same as the rest. But, the book isn't finished just yet.
There's more to come, fam.
Just remember...
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