♟️Shum by Go_A
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"No, it's simply because I'm a world taller than you, my genes are superior. Even having a very tall father, you came out a dwarf, and it's not my fault if you are so insecure with your short height. You just didn't get all the best from your genes."
"I much prefer to be hypothetically short like you say I am, than be a ridiculously tall girl, like the sauceless blondes you can't keep your eyes off in school, because I would much rather be with someone I can wear the highest damn heel I feel like, without being as tall as or taller than him, and still be able to make out them in my favorite position, which would not fucking happen if I was taller than I am or as tall as they are," I snapped heatedly, too hostilely, way more than I should, and when I saw the maniac grin curling his lips, I cursed myself, and retracted, looking away.
Fuck, I hate it. Every time he provoked me, I always snap and say all the shit that actually comes in my mind, hurtful shit, that I always did my best not to yell at other people. Or just all the nastiness I try to hold back, not to be hostile enough to be thrown in a psych ward.
"I think that's the naughtiest comment I've ever heard out of your dirty mouth, Cinderella," he said in a tone that I just knew that was a shit-eating grin curling his lips, without even looking at him. "And didn't you say before you didn't like guys taller than you?"
I lied, because I turn into a pathological liar when he's within 10 meters from me. He undoubtedly brings the worse out of him, but it's not like he doesn't deserves it, "That doesn't concerns you," I snapped annoyed, gloves on. "Where are going to put Christian's remains?" I stared at him, just wanting to make the previous topic go away, because he's the last person on earth whom I should talk about positions with.
"There," he pointed to a pile on the corner with six big black buckets, then he got it and put it between us, separating the five around us.
"Will these six be enough? He was a big guy," I swallowed, staring at the amount of crushed meat and bones and organs and blood all around us, doing my best not to puke. In fact, I'm genuinely surprised I haven't puked yet.
"Had it been me, it would need about 10 of these buckets, he'll fit in six," he snapped, which was quite the subtle but obvious way to say he is bigger than Christian, as if I didn't known that. Hah, conceited jerk. "Come on, let's get over with this before he starts to stink."
"He is already stinking," I crunched my nose, and I stared in horror as he filled his big bare hands with the remains and threw in the first bucket, starting it. "Why are you doing that bare hand?" I gasped horrified.
"What? Worried for me?" He provoked.
"No, it's because it's disgusting," I cringed.
"And I'm used to it," he scoffed. "Besides, I grew used to feeling he texture of those who died to us, because they deserve death, so, making sure they really are dead feels nice."
"Because that's not sick at all."
"Will you stand there like a Princess or will you come here and help? Your hands maybe be smaller, but there's a lot to catch in here, Cinderella!" He side-glared me.
"Princess?" I mocked. "Red like this?"
"You're normally red," he scoffed.
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" I judged.
"No, it's a fact. You're normally red."
Only my hair. "The fuck I'm not," I snapped, crunching down and filling my gloved hands with the remains of the bastard I killed, doing my best to look at it like I would dead cow meat. "Did you kill someone when you were 10, or did you see someone being killed at 10?"
"I was held hostage," I froze, turning to look at him, "by four men, they wanted to get money from my father, it comes with being in this social class, a bunch of vultures try to fly around us to get something. Many take the route of kidnapping, making hostages, and some bolder ones straight up try to rob them. Father was in a quick travel to Milan, so I stayed as a hostage until he came back. When he did, he killed them with one of his hunting guns as soon as he saw how they had beaten me up, so, he got the bodies here and brought me here to help him on this."
Doing my best to keep it cool, at the bizarre sign of him opening up to me of all people, I put the amount I had filled my hands with on the bucket closest to me and grabbed more, keeping my mouth shut.
"That was also when I learned the real reason for the cabin, pipe, crusher, and the lake, and the only time I used the gloves that I handed you. I was shocked, because sure, I was a child after all, but I understood it, especially when father told me he tried to avoid me from seeing this side of our life, but warned me that these kind of things would happen again. He wanted to prepare me to be able to save myself when it did, and to be able to save people I care for, just like he didn't even think before killing the four to save me."
"It was also..." he paused for a second, "around the time mother married my dad. She was already living with us, she lived with us ever since I was,"
"8 and I was 7, yes, I know how the story goes, I remember more vividly than I wished I did, how it felt to be abandoned by her," I couldn't help the bitterness in my voice as I clenched my jaw, throwing more two handfuls of the remains on my first bucket, and he went silent, probably regretting opening up to me about that to begin with. "I ain't sympathizing with you on that. You had what I didn't. I can sympathize with you losing your mom, but not with how you have mine as yours, because she was a mother to you, while I had to be that for the twins."
"I don't want your sympathy, Aella," he snapped and I felt his eyes burning my skin.
Turning to glare at him, I said, "Why are you sharing your little sad story with me then?" The words leaving my mouth before I could even hold them inside, and his eyes darkened, turning deadly, angry. "Just because you're helping out with getting rid of Christian's body after I killed him, Tristan," I said it all very frankly, eyes on him, "it doesn't mean our relationship has changed. You being a killer for whatever reason or having been in near-death situations, doesn't make me hate you less, it doesn't make me pity you in the slightest."
"If there is something I do not want from you, Aella Diamantini, it's your fucking pity. It's good that you cleared this out, because it would be a nightmare if you were to think that you're of any importance to me at all, just because I'm doing this, you ain't. You remains the same in my eyes, nothing but a worthless, heartless, uninteresting, unimportant, friendless, unlovable, mistakable, forgettable, classless, bitter little girl from the butthole of Los Angeles, who comes from nothing and thinks she's anything at all, when she's the same as she's always been, the same she'll always be. A nobody."
I drained all the emotions in my face, feeling everything in my being grow colder, hiding how much that word in the middle of his hatred-spit hit where it hurts the most in me. A simple word who's always been a trigger to throw me in the darkest of the endless pits in my mind. Nine letter, one word: unlovable.
"If I'm so uninteresting, why are you wasting your time speaking to me?" My voice was cold, an emotionless void.
He gave me one last scrutinizing up and down look, showcasing that superiority complex of his, making me want to crawl out of my skin, and he said nothing else, not a word, even less spared me a look. So, to save the little face I still have, I did the same.
I hope the next person who tries to kill him succeeds.