Messy and Shattered (3 page)

Chapter Eight - Aimee

I walked happily into Erin’s room, it was finally her birthday and I always had this tradition where at midnight I would give her one present. I wasn't sure if this present was a good plan or not, as it might bring up old wounds, but I knew she would love it. I held onto the Tiffany & Co. box and almost skipped into her room, the anxiety from the Steps earlier having left me after my much-too-long shower.

My eyes flashed as I entered, my mouth hung open. I heard a voice.

"Be quiet."

I looked at the man in front of me, he didn't look scary or threatening, to anyone else he looked harmless. He had a wide white smile that could make any girl melt, I had seen him before, by the fountain, and he had shaggy long blonde hair and
innocent baby blue eyes. His Australian accent added to his worldly charm. He looked like a sweet and kind surfer but with a jaw gripped tight that showed anger. I looked down at the blade gripped in his palm and the blood dripping from the edges. His face read almost of sorrow, but only almost.

I looked at the floor, my voice lost in a scream. I looked down at her soft cheeks, her auburn hair and her still
, green eyes. She wasn't blinking, she wasn't breathing. I saw the crimson spread from her cut throat, all over the Italian marble floor. It seeped into the cracks. This girl, this fifteen year old girl with blood staining her favorite floral dress... She couldn't be my sister, I wouldn't believe it.

My scream echoed through the room, I didn't care if he killed me in that moment, what did I have to live for now? I reached down and kneeled in the blood of my sister and held her body close to me and
sobbed into her hair. I didn't want to ask why, I didn't have the energy; I just wanted to hold my sister and cry until I couldn't feel anything ever again. I had lost so much. I dropped her present to the floor and her birthday card was now soaked in her blood - blood sprayed along the walls and on the canopy over her bed. My little Erin was gone and I was alone. I couldn't move. I think I was in shock. I could have ran or fought but I didn't, I didn't want to leave her. He came up to me and he expected me to move or to care but I was lifeless. I held onto her and he kneeled beside me. I looked up onto his eyes that seemed so warm but must be so cold and said the first thing I could think of.

"You will pay
."

H
e lunged at me with a needle and pierced it through my neck. Suddenly I felt weak and my eyes heavy as I drifted off imagining all the ways I would make this murderer pay for his sins. I would see him in hell.

Chapter Nine - Draco

I had picked Aimee’s now unconscious body up and noticed the gift she was going to give to Erin. I placed her on Erin’s bed while I opened it.

Inside was a locket,
a simple silver locket with an inscription on the back reading 'You are never alone.' I felt it in the pit of my stomach, the guilt spewing at me. Inside the locket were two photos: one of an older woman who looked just like Erin, and another of Erin and Aimee smiling together. I held the necklace in my hand for a few moments and placed it in my pocket.

I picked her up again
and headed back to my room, then placed her on my bed. She would be out for a few hours. Luckily, no one had heard the scream, or if they had, they decided to ignore it. I went back to Erin’s room and cleaned up a little, bringing the bags of bloody items with me to burn later. I picked Erin up and placed a scarf around her neck. This was the tricky part. I hadn't planned on killing her here. It was too messy and unprofessional but she had taken me by surprise so now I had to get her out of the hotel with ease. I went to her wardrobe and found a hat and pushed it over her head and then picked her up in my arms and would claim she fell asleep if anyone asked. I was in the reception when I saw the red stain coming through the scarf and I hurried to our van. Rahul wouldn't be back tonight, so I drove out as far as I could and marked the location on a map. I brought Erin out and started to dig. Within an hour, she was in the ground and buried. I had that pinch of guilt again when I left her there alone.

I got back to Aimee in the hotel. I needed to get her to our location and I was dreading how the hell I would explain this to Rahul. I left a note on the side table for when Rahul got back saying
:

C
hange of plan. You know where to meet me. D.

I drove for a couple hours worried that she woul
d wake up soon but she didn't, and finally, I made it to The Shell. Where ever we went for these sorts of trips we had a Shell. It was always in the middle of nowhere and always a building that could be carved into our uses. We had high security put in place before we had flown over her. Finger print scanners and pass codes to each door. You can’t be too careful who could find us or who could get out. Well, they thought they were careful, but I guess I was the exception to the rule. I held Aimee and brought her through the building. She wouldn't be allowed into our quarters; she was just a product we had to refine and sell. I found her 'bedroom,' and I use the term bedroom lightly - it was more of a cell. The walls were white, everything was white. Rahul’s great idea, he said that having either darkness or too much white made someone’s sanity decay and made them easier to manipulate. In the dark, though, they felt they could hide, and in Rahul’s words... 'They can hide, but they can’t run' he used that like a mantra.

There was no bed to sleep on, she had nothing just a floor. That's how we worked. If she was good she would get nice things. If she was bad she wouldn't. I placed her
on the floor and sat in the only chair that was in the room; it was white and metal. I waited for her to wake up.

Chapter Ten
- Aimee

My head pounded. R
ather ashamedly, that was my first thought. The next one was of Erin. I swallowed hard to stop myself crying. I had to be strong. I tried to use my other senses before I opened my eyes. I listened carefully, concentrating on the very fine noises. I heard slight movement of clothes and a light sigh. I wasn't alone. I felt my hands shake and I pleaded with them to stop, I didn't want whoever was with me to know I was awake.

"I know you're
conscious Aimee, you can open your eyes."

H
is Australian accent came through thick and I knew who it was. I was suddenly terrified what I would find once I let my eyes open. I hated this man beyond words and I didn't want to do anything he asked, but what choice did I have here? I was surprised to notice that I wasn't restrained. I fluttered my eyes open.

My eyes hurt from the light; it was so bright, I blinked over and over until my vision adjusted.
I looked around the bare room. No window, no furniture, just a large white room. There was a glowing keypad-type machine by the white door, and in front of the door sat the man who murdered my little sister. I should be scared of him, the fight or flight instinct would suggest I would be scared, but I had nothing left to lose. He could kill me, it didn't matter to me. In hindsight, it was rather foolish of me to think that the worst thing he could do was kill me. I stared at him with pure hatred and contempt. He stood, his height making me a little nervous, and so I tried to copy and get to my feet. Whatever he had given me hadn't released my legs yet, so instead I just looked pathetic. I heard a little laugh and I shot my eyes at him and saw him smile at me. The sick fuck was enjoying watching me try and fail.

"You know, if you
hadn't drugged me you wouldn't be laughing right now. I would take great pleasure in fucking up your day," I growled at him, he moved closer and I tried in vain to scoot away and he chuckled again.

"Really think you could touch me before I made you regret the thought? Rather foolish if
you ask me, Aimee," he grinned, but it didn't match his eyes, his grin looked forced.

"Don't call me that
," I said quietly

He moved even closer to me and my hands shook again, I was so sure I could be strong
, but deep down, I was absolutely terrified. He crouched down beside me and ran one finger over my cheek and I turned it away from him. He then held my head with his hands, his thumbs pressed against my cheekbones and he looked deep into my eyes. His eyes were soulless and dead; or at least that's what I told myself.

"I can call you whatever I
like, AIMEE." He emphasized my name and I wanted to be sick, maybe it was silly but a part of me thought that was the only thing I owned and I didn't want him to have it on his lips, in his mind. It was mine.

"Why? Why us? You killed my sister, you f
ucking killed her you sick fuck! I hate you! She was fifteen!" I almost screamed at him and my eyes sparked with fresh tears. I expected a cocky and smart answer. Instead, he pulled me in with my lifeless limbs and held me in his arms. It was uncomfortable and confusing and I tried to push away; his grip felt strong and somehow I felt my body move against him as I sobbed and said over and over "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you...”

He looked at me and I noticed a garment in his hand
that he had kept from my view before, it was a white baby doll corset-type top and white matching panties. He caught my look.

"Ever heard of Einstein’s theory on clothes
?" I stared at him completely baffled but I decided it wasn't story time and I wasn't some dumb little pet. I happened to know the answer; I had studied Sociology at Uni. He might be trying to appear intelligent but I was strong and he on his best day would never be as good as me on my worst.

"Yes I do, he said choosing clothes was a distraction; took away the power of concentration. What is your point, murderer?" I snarled and he still held me
; his fingers pushed a fraction harder.

"See, smart girl. If you call me that again
, though, I'll make you regret it.  This is all you'll have to wear. Change into it once you get the feeling in your legs back"

He pulled me in closer and whispered into my ear.

"I’m sorry for whatever happens to you" and I felt new sorrow, still for Erin but now also for my future. He caused this future and I knew that no amount of hugs or fake apologies would make me forgive him. My future was uncertain and I knew I could trust no one. I knew I had to be patient and wait to make my move.

I heard a voice from nowhere and realised there was a speaker in the far corner.

"Stop fucking cuddling the bitch, and get your arse out here, you need to explain to me what the fuck you did and why I shouldn't kick your fucking arse!"

The voice was angry and sharp with a
foreign tang to it, and I looked at the murderer - and now, it seems, my captor. I caught his eye roll and he let me go. He didn't say a word as he walked to the door and took the metal chair with him, he tapped some numbers on the keypad and the door opened. I was alone. Finally, I could cry.

**

It seemed like hours had gone past, but I had no way of knowing the time. I could finally walk and move. I looked at the garment he asked me to wear and left it on the floor. I looked around the room, looking for anything out of place; I was relieved when I found a small door; I opened it slowly, cautiously; inside lay a toilet. No sink, no shower, nothing except a toilet. I wondered why they wouldn't just fit a sink in here, but was glad I had a toilet at all, the idea of asking to go felt beneath me and I wasn’t planning to soil myself anytime soon. When I walked back out into the white cell, he was back. He held the garment in his hand and raised his eyebrow at me.

"Can you just tell me what the hell you want with me
?" I kept the mantra in my head: ‘don't be scared, don't be scared.’

His eyes shot dark and his anger bled through them. I noticed he had a cut lip and realised the other man had decided words weren't enough.

"I want you to do as I fucking ask. Put the thing on or I’ll put it on for you, and trust me sweetheart I’m not in the mood to be gentle about it."

I glared at him, maybe I was exceptionally stupid
. After all, I knew what he was capable of - I had witnessed it - but I didn't care. I pulled the garment from his hand and he smiled a little in the corners of his mouth; that was until I threw it to the ground and spat in his face; such a disgusting thing to do but if I tried to hit him he would over power me, and honestly, I enjoyed watching his look of disgust. It lasted only a second but long enough to know he was mad.

He wi
ped the spit off, and instead of looking angry, he grinned.

"If y
ou wanted your spit in my mouth, you only had to ask, Aimee."

Suddenly he pulled me into him and I was slightly confused. He breathed into my ear

"Do. As. I. Fucking. Say."

I gulped hard and my pulse raced. I stood
, my hands shaking, and I refused to falter or cry… or let him know I was nearly desperate to say 'okay, I’ll do it'.

Before I could think any more
, he grabbed me and pushed me against a wall; he placed his hand on my throat hard and stared deep into my eyes.

"You look just like your sister when you're scared, those sad little eyes. You'll end up like her if you keep defying me. Sweetheart
, I was kind to your sister ..." he leaned in and breathed over my lips "... I would make it extra slow for you, I promise"

I heard a small whimper escape through my suffocating lungs up to my crushed throat. He pulled some scissors from somewhere, my vision got sh
aky and my heart almost stopped. I felt a tear escape my eye and I hated myself for it. He brought the scissors to my black tank top and cut both straps and then cut the middle of the cotton, the cold of the scissors scorched onto my skin. He watched as it fell to the floor. Next was my white shirt which he cut easily. He looked at me, his hand still slightly choking me. He licked his lips and my skin felt dirty. He brought the scissors between my breasts and cut, my bra following my other clothes. I felt as more tears ran down my face, I felt so ashamed. I moved a hand to cover myself when he pushed harder against my throat.

"Don't make me hurt you, Aimee
."

He finally cut my lace panties and I was completely vulnerable, completely nake
d and in my own mind… I was completely his. He pulled the white lingerie down over me and pulled the panties up my thighs, and as he reached my privates, he brushed his hand a little close and my breathing became louder to stifle a cry. When I looked into his eyes, it didn't match what he was doing. It confused me. He looked... scared, sorry and guilty. His actions were unremorseful and arrogant. I was finally how he wanted me, he let go of my throat and I felt the burn where I knew a bruise would turn up. I was a fighter, I coughed hard and he smirked at me. My cough was harsh and strong - he enjoyed hearing me catch my breath - after a few minutes I could manage to breathe clearly.

"What's your name?" I asked almost sweetly

"My name? You can call me Draco. And no, before you ask, that isn't my real name."

I smiled at him, manipulating him for a fraction of a second
, enjoying the power play.

"Draco, I have an idea. How about..." I moved closer to him and ran one finger over his chest as I leaned close enoug
h to whisper in his ear. He looked uncomfortable but he allowed it "...You do the world a favor, and drop dead." I went to lean back and he grabbed my wrist.

He held it, pushing his strength into it wanting me to cry or be sad from the pain; I pushed the pain away and kept smiling at him. He wasn't going to win. Finally
, he laughed.

"You've got lead balls, Ms. Davies, I’ll give you that
." He released my wrist and told me to sit on the ground. I did it because I wanted to not because he told me. I rubbed my wrist as he brought a meal over to me. It looked disgusting, it was lumpy and white.

"Eat" he simply said.

"What is it?" I asked playing with it with my plastic spoon he had given me. I guess he trusted me not to spoon him to death.

"Just eat it
, for fuck’s sake," he said, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

I was so hungry
, but I refused to eat
that
. He held the bowl tight and I crawled away from him. He shook his head and took the bowl with him as he left the room for a few minutes. I had won; I smiled in triumph and saw the lights on the keypad shine meaning he was coming back; hopefully with something less gross to eat. He came back with a hockey stick, a heavy, wooden hockey stick.

"Okay, princess, this is how it's going to go. E
very day you refuse to eat
that
, you'll be given it again the next day until you
do
eat it. I don't care if it’s gotten hairy and grown three legs - you won’t be given anything better and every time you don't eat..." I tried so hard to crawl away but I wasn't fast enough, he grabbed my ankle and pulled me towards him, I watched as the hockey stick rose and heard it slice through the air until it made contact with my thighs, the pain was red hot. I whimpered and I almost heard him whisper he was sorry. I knew I must be mistaken, because he hit me again in the same spot, "...two hits every time you refuse. So your actions cause this, not me. Do as I say and you won’t be harmed. I am trying to protect you, trust me."

H
e walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Trust him, really
? I don’t call beating me protecting me; but if it was, what was the alternative?