josie
december 2103
The knife slipped from my hand and clattered on the stone floor. It was like a cold ghost passed through my soul. As if someone punched my stomach and shook my brain. My eyes were wide open, but the dark was suffocating. I felt snakes with empty eyes slither up my legs, wrapping around my torso, slipping down my shirt, and tightening around my heart. Help. I gasped for air, but my lungs were crushed. The snakes squeezed. Blood filled my cracked throat. It rose and rose, trickling past my eyes like warm heavy tears—
I shook out of it.
Shadows casted over my burning eyes as I lowered my head. I trembled ever so slightly. "I'm done," I whispered harshly, my eyes fixed on the tauntingly crooked knife on the floor.
"I saw, mi amor," his voice drawled from the other side of the room. I felt his presence only after I heard his voice. He's not playing anymore. I clenched my jaw. His shoes made no sound as he walked calmly towards me.
Gently like a feather, his cold fingers curled around my chin and tilted upwards. He was smiling slightly, his eyes peering through the cracks of my armor. He was the only one that made me feel vulnerable. "I wish you would take your time. To relax. You were in perfect control of the situation, yet you always panic."
No. "I'm done," I repeated, my voice slipping out quietly. I stared into his eyes steadily, not daring to hesitate. His smile faded slowly, and his green slender eyes seemed to grow darker.
The fingers holding my chin moved up to trace my cheek tenderly. He sighed and walked away to a wall and sat slouched on the floor against it. Surprise flickered inside me. He rarely let down his shields, even around me. He usually kept up his inhumane cold demeanor, especially around others. This meant that he was sure nobody else was watching us.
He almost seemed... like an ordinary guy. He closed his eyes and dragged a hand through his dark messy hair. "Why must you hate me so much, mi lunita?"
"I'm done killing people to satisfy you. I don't want to do any more of this sick training."
Enzo raised his head to gaze at the crumpled figure in the corner. My stomach twisted. "You mean, you'd like to get out to the real world?"
He already knew the answer. "No," I mumbled while looking down at my feet, "I want to dance."
Enzo remained silent for a while. Melancholy swimmed in his expression. I stood there awkwardly, then decided to sit down. The floor was cold.
He started to chuckle. "You're really Meg's daughter, huh. I see her in you all the time."
I didn't know much about my mother. Enzo was always vague about her, always carefully planning his words. I did have a memory from the children's hospital… but it hurt to think about it.
This could be my best chance to convince him. Hope stirred in my chest along with the cold fury that still lingered. "I'm not like you, I actually feel something when I see their eyes. They plead to me. Criminals or not, they've all been a victim at some point. They've all suffered. How can you keep going on like this, without feeling anything?"
Enzo tilted his head to look at me and smiled sadly. "You can't let compassion take over you. That's a charm you possess, beautiful yet so dangerous. You've yet to encounter those that don't deserve your pity. They are the real monsters. And once they've hurt you plenty…" Enzo trailed off and inspected his clean elegant hands. He closed his eyes. "You eventually lose that feeling. It's nice, to be free of it at last.
"In this world, there are the strong, who persevere and climb to the top, and the weak, who suffer at the bottom. I've raised you like this so you don't have to suffer at the bottom. You've been so strong the first few years, but lately, you've let your feelings get in the way. At this rate you'll plunge to the bottom. What's gotten into you?"
The pain started to ebb away as numbness overtook me, and I felt warm streaks of tears streaming down my cheeks. Was it blood? Was it poison? I couldn't tell anymore. Soon, my body felt like an empty shell. "Papa," I whispered as my shoulders shook, "I don't want to hurt people anymore. That boy… he reminded me of Silas. I couldn't hurt him anymore."
"Ahh, pero mi amor. Pain is the clearest path to reality. Pain itself… doesn't exist. It's just a path to a better place."
The tears slowed and I caught my breath. "Papa… is Silas in a better place now?"
I heard him sigh. "Yes… he's in a much, much better place…"
That night was the first time I saw my father cry. It was ugly and raw— he sobbed and screamed and tore himself to the gates of hell. I was only eight years old, and was new to all these emotions, so I simply sat and watched him
s h a t t e r .