by Mason, V. F.
In all those instances, he has been with me, offering me himself even if for a fraction of a second and never walking off unless he soothed whatever troubled me.
Then after I came back, he has wrapped me in tight protection, looming above me during every founding five encounter and never allowing them to hurt me or for me to drop guard around them.
And me?
I’ve been nothing but a coward all this time, either running away from him or ignoring him.
But the worst part is not even that, but the fact that I’ve denied my feelings for him so much I ended up with the stupid idea of being in love with his brother.
The flower that started to bloom when we were kids got crushed by his indifference, and slowly I buried it deep, not wanting it to flourish, because it had the ability to bring me pain.
Love has no place for cowardliness; only fear does.
I have no clue what he has gone through all this time, and I haven’t even bothered to comprehend, selfishly seeing only why I should guard myself from him instead of trying to understand him.
The minute I learn something new about him, my instinct is always to run away from him and never toward him.
No wonder his alter ego harbors resentment for me. In his eyes, I do nothing but hurt Eudard, never choosing him.
I look at the surface and never dig deeper, always afraid to know what his heart hides.
Does everyone treat him like that? Accept his coldness and never wonder what eat at his soul?
“Cassandra.” Judging by Arson’s annoyed voice, I know I’ve zoned out of this conversation for too long.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m handling everything. If I need you, I’ll call.” With that, I hang up on him before he has a chance to say anything.
Then, with determination fueling my blood, I dial another number and wait what seems like forever before she picks up with a soft, “Hello.”
“Dr. Allegra? Hi, it’s Cassandra Scott.” My psychologist is exactly who I need to speak to, to clear this mess I’ve left in my wake by running away from him this morning in panic.
I intend to learn about dissociative identity disorder to better understand Eudard and his alter ego, because his clipped replies haven’t given me much to work on.
He might be a serial killer, but it’s not like I haven’t met those before or believe he can hurt someone innocent. Without panic clouding my judgment and hurt, I can clearly see there is a story to his darkness and madness that he tries to hide from me.
Or protect just like his alter ego does.
This time around, I won’t run.
I’m already a sinner anyway.
So why can’t I love the devil?
Chapter Nine
“When I look at her, my dark soul roars.
Ready to start for this beauty any wars.
I rein these maddening desires in.
Because her heart forever belongs to my twin.”
Eudard
Eudard, 15 years old
The metal clangs soundly when two swords clash against each other under the summer heat, and the sound reverberates through the space, alerting everyone in close proximity to the activity.
One of the guards whistles and says, “Let the fight begin.” What an idiot, it began the minute we entered the circle on the field. He just didn't get the memo.
The guy I got paired up with this time, Jim, smiles brightly while tossing the sword from hand to hand barely sparing me a proper glance.
He is taller and more muscular than me, so in his eyes, I’m just a kid who will be easy to beat.
We are both bare-chested, wearing only jeans and heavy boots. As we start to circle, our gazes are trained on each other, but mine is more drilling, because I catch the slightest of details.
Like how he leans on his right foot turning slightly to the left, which indicates to me his left side is weak and he got hurt recently around the liver area. Or how his eye twitches several times and he scrunches it to focus on my sword. Bad vision from a distance. Or how he slowly pants, already getting tired from this small sword fight even though we’ve barely started.
Yeah, he is buff and probably can kill a person with his bare hands.
But I think with my head, so my win is almost inevitable. I’ll just have to decide if I want him to fall on his knees with dignity or smear his blood over the concrete.
I laugh inwardly at my own joke, because in this world, the likes of him don’t deserve my mercy. I step forward and swing my sword at him, but he blocks it, connecting with his, and then he swiftly turns to his right side, pushing it forward toward my stomach.
Darting to the side, I avoid it by arching my back and then hit him with mine, grazing his shoulder. He hisses in pain, small droplets of blood appearing on the skin.
Guards hum in the distance, applauding me, and I bow a little, flashing them a smile even if inside I want to grab one of their guns and fucking kill them all.
Jim’s face darkens, and he says, “Enjoy it while it lasts, kid. You’ll be weeping on the ground soon.” And he swings forward, aiming for my neck, but I duck in time, piercing him in the leg instead.
Twisting it a little for good measure, I take it out, swiftly sliding back while he groans in pain to more chants from the audience.
“You were saying?” I ask, my brow rising. “Look who is crying like the little bitch he is.” As I taunt him, he runs toward me with a roar, his sword ready to attack me, but I knock it away and then turn around, hitting him in the back with my arm and kicking his legs from under him.
With a loud shout, he falls on his stomach to the chanting of the crowd. “Get up, get up, get up.” He breathes heavily and tries to rise but fails when I kick him harder in the face and pierce him with my sword right in the shoulder.
Louder screams slip past his lips, and he falls back on the ground again, lifting a cloud of dust around us. “Checkmate, Jim,” I say, tapping my foot against his chin so he looks at me. “Remember how you told me to shut my mouth after one of you stabbed me with the knife for fun?” His eyes widen in fear, and he tries to mumble something through the blood in his mouth, but I don’t give a fuck about that. “It was hilarious. Let’s try it again.” Before he can even blink, I stab his splayed palm with the sword, going through his flesh and pinning him to the ground.
Oh my devil.
His scream is so loud my ears are about to fall off.
The audience goes wild, chanting my name louder, and I bow once again, heading back to Liam, who is holding water for me with a bright smile on his face. “I knew you’d win,” he whispers, hooking the lock of his hair behind his ear, and leans forward. “Daddy is very pleased.” He puffs his chest up. “He even told me I can come next time too.” There is so much joy on his face I sometimes wonder if Liam is an idiot or something.
Because he seeks his father’s approval all the fucking time and always calls him daddy despite said daddy beating the crap out of him and selling his ass constantly.
At least he allows him to wear boys’ clothes now, or maybe that’s an act in front of people.
We are outside Uncle’s mansion in an open area, right in the middle, behind his house that he transformed into a sword-fighting ring while up on the hill there are benches for the audience.
The fucker got inspired by the gladiators and decided to build himself a ring, although he rarely uses it, except to show off to his friends.
“Eudard.” He claps from several feet away from us. “Good job. My true heir,” he says with wonder in his voice.
I barely spare him a glance, continuing to gulp water while Liam’s mood sours. “True heir,” he repeats after his dad, frowning. “He never calls me that.”
Liam has the weirdest fucking problems. Who wants to be called his heir anyway?
“Whatever,” I mutter and want to go back inside the house to enjoy the AC, but Uncle’s voice stops me. “Eudard, how about another fight?” Even though he phrases it as a question, we both k
now it’s a command. “I invited my friend tonight for the exchange.” Cold sinks into every bone, and he points at several cars coming our way. “We have a new product, and I think it’s time for you to learn the business.” The bile in my throat rises, and I want to punch him, but we both know my hands are tied.
As long as he holds a threat over my twin and family, I can’t do shit and must continue to come here, even if fucking me doesn’t bring him any more pleasure. In fact, for the last two times I visited, he completely gave up on it, claiming that my physique no longer excites him.
I preferred for him to use me though, because, knowing him, if he doesn’t, he’ll pick another kid. So instead, every night, I slipped a pill to him that I got from back home so he would fall asleep and not call for the kids.
They all showed up during Christmas last year. He’s kept them in cages, claiming they could no longer stay with Edward, though I have no idea why that is. Clarissa watches over them while I figure out how to get them out of this hell without angering Uncle.
I’ve learned a lot through the years, mainly the fact that he operates a human trafficking and prostitution ring, scooping up innocent kids from all over the country. He would talk deals, invite me to their dinners, and discuss these things while I could barely survive hearing about them.
And whenever we went to these meetings, he warned me not to use any of that information or his friends would kidnap my little sister from right under my dad’s nose, and I’d never be able to find her.
I didn’t doubt his words, because he is a sick fucker, but I’ve still memorized all the names and deals, writing them down in my journal when no one watched.
Even Liam.
I plan to go to the FBI once this summer is over, because no way in fuck am I letting him touch those kids. He hasn’t used them yet, claiming he was bargaining for a high price from various clients, so I want to make sure no one gets hurt.
If I have enough information for the feds to get all those bad guys behind bars, Uncle won’t be able to hurt my family.
Pure and simple, yet it’s taken pieces of my soul every single day to withstand their company or live under the scrutiny of all those kids’ eyes when I go to the basement to feed them.
I don’t trust the guards not to hurt them.
It’s not like I give a shit if they hurt me or not, because Eunan would take over anyway, bearing the burden of one man’s insanity.
Over the years, he’s shown up, always to protect me, never letting me experience the pain again; well at least he blocked it out of my mind. I’ve woken up with my body slashed and throbbing many times, grateful I wasn’t mentally present in the moment.
I know that according to psychology and all that shit, it’s my alter ego and part of my personality that protects me from abuse and allows me to disconnect in the moment.
But deep down, it’s still me who suffers, but giving my alter ego a name sure makes me feel like I’m not alone in my misery.
He is the only one with whom I can share my nightmares. He’s stayed my companion through it all, and maybe writing journals to him is ridiculous, but somehow it gives him and me bonding time.
He doesn’t resent me, but instead, he almost loves me and doesn’t fight for dominance with my consciousness. He doesn’t have demands of his own like a desire to do something or go somewhere.
And based on my research, it’s very rare.
But then we are nothing but ordinary, right?
“My three business partners are here,” he announces with joy. Coming closer to me, he points at the various vehicles that have men emerging from them with boys around my age next to each one. “I told them all about my fighting ring. Since we have a deal to negotiate, we decided the one whose fighter wins has dibs.” He slaps me on the back, running his hand up and down. I shake it off, finishing the bottle while squeezing the plastic so hard it crushes in my hold. “Win it for me by killing him,” he orders this time.
Liam whines, rushing toward us and murmuring to him, “Daddy, please.” He grabs his elbow, but Uncle pushes him forcefully away so Liam lands on his ass, tears streaming down his cheeks.
For fucking real, when will he learn?
I give him a hand to pull him up while ignoring the panic slowly rising inside me and the headache forming. Eunan wants to break free to take one more burden from me.
I’ve never taken a life before, but I should have expected this from Uncle.
It’s a wonder I haven’t lost my mind at this point.
Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on my thoughts and the chaos erupting, finding a calmness within my mind and connecting with part of my subconscious that doesn’t want me to do it.
But I don’t need Eunan’s help, because I’ll gladly kill them all without remorse.
What’s one more sin in an already never-ending pile?
“Sure,” I reply with nothing but indifference lacing my tone, while Uncle’s mouth spreads in a smile.
“Great.” Then he calls to one of the men in a gray suit, “Ready to start, Alan?”
The man nods and then motions for a guy next to him to prepare to fight. He removes his hoodie and his strangely blue hair comes to view, while everyone sits on the benches just like in ancient Roman times.
Not that I’m afraid of anyone besting me. Uncle hired the best teachers for us to learn all the tricks and hooks to sword fighting. He only wanted his men and me to participate, but he relented when Liam begged him to be allowed to learn too.
I’ve got so many scars from all those practices, my chest reminds me of one slashed piece of flesh, although most of the new scars are layered on top of the ones Edward gave me.
And as always, Ridge Campbell didn’t pay enough attention to care or wonder about why I asked to be excused from swimming class.
Dad pretty much gave up on me when the doctor confirmed my DID after I had an accident at home. He shouted his ass off at me and raised his hand, so it was impossible to push Eunan back.
A visit to a psychologist followed, not that it helped much anyway. Dad probably tried to make sure I wouldn’t run off like Mom did years ago, even though we still lived with her nightmares around us.
And honestly? If she had to grow up with the likes of her family, I didn’t blame her. Even though I resented her a little for giving up on us.
Shaking off all the emotions running through me, because they never help my misery, I flex my muscles and will my galloping heart to slow down.
I get in the ring, studying the blue-haired guy as he continues to flick his lighter, all while swinging the sword back and forth, his silver eyes trained on me.
We are the same height and size, so we must be the same age. Maybe he is slightly older than me, but not by much.
I have a feeling he has experienced hell on earth too because the dead look in his gaze has the power to kill anyone. It’s like permanent boredom is forever etched on it, giving the impression that nothing would surprise the guy.
I pass by Jim, who is still moaning, since no one has bothered to help him. I pull out my sword coated in blood and listen once again to his cry of pain.
Music to my ears—nothing better than the sounds of their suffering.
Swinging the sword to face this new guy, we circle one another, and I understand he won’t be easy to take down, because compared to Jim, his focus is one hundred percent on the fight and on every move I make.
The better kid will be the victor.
I have no mercy for any fuckers willingly engaging in this fucked-up shit, and I didn’t see anyone dragging him against his will. I think it’s impossible for anyone to make this guy do what he doesn’t want.
“Let the fight begin!” the guard shouts. I roll my eyes at their voices and notice how the guy smirks, sharing my amusement.
Frowning at this, I stand in fighting position, ready to strike, when gunshots erupt around us.
Everyone jumps from the benches while the guards from all over come to the rescue; eve
n the ones from the various cars come running as they remove the safety from their guns.
Not that it does them any good, because the fire continues coming from every corner and killing everyone targeted.
Guards fall one after another while they run around trying to figure out where the shots are coming from.
Among all this madness, I stand still, watching with fascination how they freeze and fall to their knees, how bullets pierce their bodies and leave blood and death in their wake.
Their lifeless bodies are stumbled over by others trying to escape. Finally, all these business partners dart toward the cars, but one of them blows up, because it was shot at so much.
I don’t have much time to enjoy it though, because the blue-haired guy grabs me by the elbow, pushes me down, and covers me from the explosion of another car as the ringing in my ears starts. I move to the side, but he keeps me down and covered.
Through the fog of dust around us and sound of screams, I hear a deep voice shouting, “Arson!” And the guy above me lifts his hand to catch a gun flying in our direction.
He gives it to me and then catches another one, telling me, “Kill whoever you see.”
Fucking what now?
I cough through the dust in my throat, straightening up while gunshots continue to erupt all around us. There are so many bodies falling and screaming I have to scrunch my eyes to see them all properly.
Arson orders, “I’m going to stand facing this side and you stand facing that way. Protect my back while I protect yours.”
Who the fuck is this guy? And why does he want to protect me anyway?
What the hell is going on here?
Are they all from the FBI or something? Did they finally find all these fuckers to put them in prison?
“I don’t know how to shoot a handgun,” I inform him. The gun feels foreign in my hands. “I’ve never killed anyone.” A ridiculous conversation in the current circumstances, but it’s not like I’m his best bet in surviving.
I don’t mind dying if it ensures the safety of others and those sick bastards get caught.
