Someone Regrets. Ch. I
Title: Someone Regrets
Author: Me and xtsukanda
Format: Novel; Chapter
Length: 5078 -Ch.1
Status: Work In Progress
Rating: T (For Now)
Warnings: This novel contains violence and gore even though there is not much in this chapter. Also contains mild language. No further warnings for now.
Next Chapter
Summary: It is a cruel world we live in, filled with dangers around every corner, rotting secrets, and filthy lies. There are those who face the facts as they are, and those who choose to protect themselves with denial. With a second glance, there are always those who try to change the facts- to rewrite truths. This woman, you can say, is all three. Accepting and denying the facts, but at the same time, hunting down a man whom she was arranged to kill. To eliminate from this world.
Chapter I: Slipping
"Claude..."
Drip
"...Renaud"
She takes a deep breath in. To calm herself of the chaos that was happening inside her; her war with herself.
In, Out, In.
Calm now, she opens her eyes to reveal shallow blue orbs. After all, there is no point in getting worked up over little things. She needs to be focused on her one goal;
Her uncle.
The center; the center of all her thoughts and emotions. Or rather...
half of them.
It has always been like this in her life; everything she owned, everything she had, she only had half of it. This included thoughts, feelings, and even the emotions inside of her.
Drip, drip, drip...
The blood drips off the knife that fits snuggly in her left hand. The same knife which helps her cut down opponents now cuts her off from her thoughts, bringing her back to the current task at hand.
She drives the knife in and drags it down with precision and experience. Oh, how much it would hurt to experience this mutilation.
As if she cares.
The stench rises up to her face, assaulting her senses, causing her eyes to narrow and her nose to wrinkle. Her hand, now becoming slick with the blood that coats the knife, slips a little from said knife.
"Hmph...this is a messier job than I had anticipated," the unsympathetic girl says, her eyes further narrowing into slits. It's as though she does not want to see the carnage any longer, but this assumption is not true.
No, it may be, for a part of her...but at the moment, this bloody mess does not even touch the edge of her discomfort zone.
The guts spill everywhere, somewhat resembling messy pasta. There is no way of telling if it is male or female any more...nor does it matter.
The pile of flesh has already been greeted by the hands of death, and the lone girl standing in the room plans to devour it, like how the horrid being she's named after would.
Satan.
Her name, quite suitable one will say. Well, for half of her at least.
"Oh, fuck." Profanities often get the better of her during times like this. The knife had just barely missed her thumb by a few millimetres. How careless of her. With her skills, nothing like that should have even gotten remotely close to happening.
Maybe she is losing it.
Maybe she needs to practice on live, moving, targets instead...
Not just a writhing piece of flesh, attempting to save its meager life, while its organs slide out oh-so easily with the guidance of the blade.
"What are you trying to do," the girl asks, seemingly talking to no one in particular. "Do you think you can flip yourself away from me?"
She takes her knife and runs it through the skin, once more. Distractedly, she wonders when the pitiful attempts will stop.
Maybe when all the organs detach? She snickers, almost triumphantly at the idea.
With this thought in mind, she gouges the organs out with her sharp, unforgiving fingers.
With the knife out of her hand, she reaches over to turn on the sink; her method of purification, and rinses her hands off. Bringing her hands to her face, she sniffs them and once again, her facial features cringe from the stench. Oh, how will she get rid of it? She doesn't want it to be branded on her hands...forever reminding her of the hands of a killer, but oh well, she was never one for denial.
No, not this half.
She sets the lifeless body in the pot along with the spices. An air of mock sadness overcomes her aristocratic features.
She mutters to herself with the slightest grin.
"Poor, poor fish."
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The yellow sunlight that shines brightly in the morning filters through the calming ocean blue curtains and fills the square room with its natural warmth. Barely any clouds are in the way of its radiance. Hormone-driven birds chirp at each other, communicating and hoping to find a mate.
Beep beep beep~
The alarm clock cries out its usual mind-splitting song and the precious 4 hour slumber of the girl nestled comfortably in her blankets is brutally disturbed. Jerking awake, she reaches a hand and promptly smashes the alarm clock to the floor.
"Oh crap!" She exclaims as her hand feels blindly on the floor for the alarm clock, which surprisingly, is still wailing. To the girl, it seems as if the blue and white clock becomes louder and louder as if it were a baby dropped accidentally by its mother. How is it that it still hadn't shut up yet? Why doesn't it realize that the scrambling girl is already awake?
The blind hand feels its way across the floor and knocks against something hard and cold. Presumably the alarm clock. Instead of gripping it though, the fast movement only proves to knock it further away from her position. With a pouted grunt, the girl succumbs to her fate and rolls out of her bed dragging the comforter with her. She stands up; blinking groggily as she searches for the blue and white screaming piece of plastic that was "Made in China".
"Ah, there you are." Seemingly talking to no one, she bends down and picks up the alarm clock, silencing it with the flick of an elegant finger against the off switch.
The now fully alert girl stands in the middle of her enclosed room, and exhales a sigh of relaxation. With that early morning crisis dealt with, she can now proceed in preparing for her day. She looks down at the previously wailing device with slightly clouded over eyes and registers the numbers displayed as the time in her mind.
'Seven thirty,' she says in her mind, as if there was someone else to hear it other than herself.
Still standing bare footed and half clothed; wearing a pink camisole and her blue & white striped undies in her room, she stretches her arms as high as they could possibly reach, and releases a silent yawn. She takes a few shuffled steps towards her bedside table and soundlessly places the clock in its rightful position.
Sighing again, she runs a hand through her long, slightly tangled, black hair. Opening the closet door proves a harder task than it should be. Was it locked the last time she used it? She doesn't think so. Retrieving the keys from the shelf beside the closet door, she unlocks it. Weird, she doesn't remember ever in her life locking the closet. Why she even needs a lock for her closet is beyond her reasoning.
Oh well.
She opens the door and attempts to pick out her outfit for the day.
With a finger tapping her chin thoughtfully, she ponders; ' Hmm...do I wanna look bright today? Or blend in? A cardigan? Or a hoodie? Oh, so many choices to make. So little time. Jeans? Leggings? Heels? Flats?'
'Just get on with it, Saita.' The girl's movements freeze for a mere millisecond, and she finally makes the decision of going with gray leggings, her black-belted leather boots and a big black hoodie with long sleaves that she rolls up. She laughs silently to herself at the quote on her sweater.
"Don't mess with my half!" The quote stretches across her chest with a line drawn underneath it. This is a sweater that she actually fully agreed on buying, with no complaints.
She promptly dresses herself, shuts the closet doors, twists the tiny key in the keyhole and with a click she extracts it from its cage.
After brushing her teeth, taming her hair, and freshening her mouth with some blue mouth wash, she cooks and eats a simple breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, sugar toast, and a cup of OJ. She likes to keep her body healthy...
Or at least for half the time she did.
She clears her plate with her fork and sips the last of the contents in the glass, and places them into the sink, leaving them there to be cleaned when she comes back.
Brushing her teeth once again to ensure her utmost freshness, she draws on eyeliner and dusts her fair cheeks with blush before walking back to her room. She stands in front of the full-body mirror and gives herself a last once-over before spraying a little bit of Chanel No.5 perfume. Sticking a hair clip in her hair, she pulls her bangs to the side. She grabs her gray, book-filled bag and with a quick intake of air, she slings it over her right shoulder.
Checking the time on her trusty alarm clock once again, she notices that she's already running three minutes behind. She quickly strides across the room and out to the front foyer. Picking the keys off the shelf by the door, she closes, locks, and double checks the door before spinning herself around to face the elevator. Her suite is positioned quite conveniently; right in front of the elevator. There is no one that could sneak up on her without her noticing when she pays attention. She lives in a forty-two storey building on the penthouse level, so it would be pretty much impossible to use the stairs and she didn’t. Unless there is some kind of fire, highly unlikely. To make up for the lack of exercise though, she walks to school, since it is her responsibility to take care of her body. If she doesn't, no one else will.
It is a one Kilometre trip from her apartment to school, and she walks at her own pace while enjoying the spring morning air. She lifts her head up while walking and watches as the clouds slowly drift in the sky with little to no wind guiding them. To everyone, she seems like a carefree girl, but in reality she is and has always been jealous of those free clusters of white fluff above her head.
As the front gates of the Toronto University of Art & Science came into view, she checks the time on her phone that was currently dressed in a red skin.
Wait, red? The last skin she put it in was blue wasn't it?
Oh well.
The time reads 8:30. Just enough time for her to make her way to her first class, which is...
'Ugh, I need to check my schedule.' Stupid memory lost is kicking in again, and at the most inconvenient time.
Her time-table tells her that her first class is Psychological Measurement.
'Saita, forgetting your classes again?' She pauses and puts the schedule back into its folder in her bag. Yes, forgetting classes doesn't happen once or twice. Actually, forgetting in general is more than common for her.
Saita's morning classes fly by with her constantly taking notes according to what the professor says. She is a good student and wants good marks in order to have a good career in psychology. She's the type of person that actually somewhat cares about her future. The type of person to want a good future, with a (preferably hot and sexy) husband, and two adorable and obedient kids. A boy that would be responsible and a girl who would hang out with her mother. Just a normal life.
Of course, it's not likely for this to happen.
'Nope, not possible at all.' She frowns to herself.
'No! That's not true...there are no certainties in this world. My life is what I make of it!' She could picture herself raising a triumphant fist in her mind right about now.
'...Uselessly in denial.' She mentally cringes.
The bell rings, cutting through the silence in the lecture hall. The sound of pencils scrawling across paper is now replaced with the sounds of bags zipping open and closed. Saita puts away her own psychology books, purple pen, and notebook, which has a cover that is filled with little doodles she drew on when she thought the lecture was stupid. Standing up from her chair and pull-out desk, she zips her bag closed and slings it over her right shoulder.
Lunch time. The funnest time of the day, where she would be able to choose her own healthy choices. These choices consist of a ham and turkey sandwich, a bottle of apple juice, a cup of berry yogurt, and lastly, an orange. Her favorite fruit.
Saita walks towards the school cafeteria, which is fortunately only a few hallways down from her class. She walks over to the ordering counter of the school cafeteria and lists her choices in an almost overly-cheerful tone. While waiting for the food, she thought that it was a little weird that there was "oo-ing" when she walked in. Is today her birthday? She thinks about it. No... it isn't. She isn't popular or even well-known among the student body...so why? She averts her eyes towards the direction of the "oo-ing", but finds no hints of what was going on.
Oh well. Back to the topic at hand. She orders a lot of food today. Of course, she had breakfast but although she doesn't look it, she has quite an appetite. With a slim figure though, only she herself knows that she could deal with trouble herself.
"Thank you so much." She says to the lady who fills her tray with the items she ordered with a courteous smile. She scans around for a table where she could sit quietly by herself. After all, she isn't huge on socializing, especially while she is trying to stock up on energy. Also, she tends to forget people's names easily, so sitting with strangers would indeed be...strange.
After about forty seconds of standing in the cafeteria with her tray filled with food in her hands, looking a bit lost, she finally gains sight of an empty table for two. Walking to it, she glances once more at the surroundings, ensuring herself that she doesn't sit near people that may try to talk to her. After confirming this, she sets her tray down on the table and makes herself comfortable on the chair. Smiling to herself, she pulled out her hand sanitizer from her hoodie pocket and squeezed some of the clear, jelly substance into her hands.
'Ahh, the smell of strawberries' She rubs her hands together and promptly, unwraps and bites into her sandwich, which fills her mouth with the delicious taste of whatever sauce it was that they put in the sandwich. But suddenly, a shadow casts over her table. Saita turns her head, and her body slightly to analyze the source of the shadow that is apparently behind her chair.
Blond hair, hazel eyes, fit build, and currently smiling at her. Who is this guy? She doesn't remember his name but she thinks that she's seen him around campus before; he obviously looks like the popular type. Why is he here, and why does he look prepared to do something...weird?
'He looks like a flirt.'
She instantly turns her head away from the man standing before her, trying to muffle her almost audible splutter.
He speaks. "J'aime ton derrière." His seductive voice comes from behind her, where he is currently standing.
Saita reluctantly rewinds her head towards him, with an obviously confused expression.
French? She knows a little bit of French from her high school years, but her memory truly deteriorates faster than other's.
J'aime, I like. Ton, your. Derrière, behind. Behind what? She isn't behind any-... oh.
"Haha!" She laughs as though it is truly funny, but in reality, if she was animated there would be a giant sweatdrop hanging on the side of her head. Really, people who says things like this are really quite lame. Of course, she takes this as a joke.
"Oui," He says, smiling at her. His expression is a little off somehow. "Puis-je le ressens?"
What was that? Did he just say...
'May I feel it.' Saita's face turns slightly pale, as she feels the irritation and anger expressed in that translation. She tries her best in preventing her left eye from twitching, and attempts to drown the urge to scowl at him with a squinty-eyed smile. He's oblivious to her mental struggle and takes it as a good sign.
'I'm going punch this bastard in his fucking face.'
She laughed. Feigning her happiness. She sets her food back down onto the table delicately, preserving its edible condition. Suddenly standing up, her metal chair skids backwards and makes a raw scraping sound against the tiled floor of the cafeteria.
This is not one of those awkward moments when everyone suddenly stops talking after hearing the noise. No, this is the perfect setting.
She sharply spins around 180 degrees on the heels of her shoes. Her cold blue eyes pierce straight into his hazel orbs. He notices a slight change in her eyes compared to a few seconds ago, but again takes it as a "good sign". So, he opens his mouth to finish what he started.
"So-" He says with a smug look on his face, with his right hand slightly stretched out to emphasize whatever point he is about to make, but his closing speech is interrupted by a gentle hand pushing softly against his chest.
He lowers his eyes slightly to see that the girl has moved the chair out of her way, and she was now standing in front of him with her left hand making contact with his chest and her right index finger swaying from side to side in a 'shouldn't have done that' motion. Her head, originally looking down, tilts upward to lock eyes with the man once more. The man's joking expression instantly drops.
Smirking, and looking quite menacing in the man's eyes, she leans in to him, their faces coming within inches of each other. Ensuring to attract the least attention possible, she whispers...
"Sir, meet my goddamned, fucking, bloody fist."
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"Did you hear what happened in the caf?"
"...punched him!"
"She doesn't seem like the type to..."
"...usually nice!"
"I know right?"
Everywhere, the sounds of their voices fill her ears. They're talking about what she did at lunch.
No, not her. What she did.
She doesn't know what happened. She doesn't remember what happened. She lost control and her anger, as she likes to think of it as, took over. Suddenly, she was seeing red. No, at the time, she didn't take what he said offensive. She honestly thought it was quite funny, in a stupid sense. Especially the fact that he was speaking french. French! Of all languages, the most romantic one, used in such a naughty way.
Then, everything went blank. She doesn't try to remember because it'll just cause her head to hurt. In fact, she doesn't WANT to remember. She's always told that she's in denial. Of everything. Sure, this may be true, but Saita truly thinks that it's better this way. It would be great if everyone forgets things like she does, it'd save her from all this unwanted attention.
Yelling interrupts the swarmed girl's inner turmoil.
"Oh wow, Saita!" Her self-proclaimed "friend", Krystal, runs up to her with light, happy steps, her brown hair swaying about. She stops to save her "friend" from running too much and turns to face her "friend". Krystal is no doubt, here to ask her about what happened at lunch. After all, she is the campus's gossip queen.
"You're scary when you're upset aren't you?" Insert preppy laugh here.
Saita gives her an honestly confused look. "Eh...? What are you talking about?" She even tilts her head slightly to contribute to her facade.
Her friend rolls her eyes in amusement, or annoyance, she doesn't know. "Pfft, no need to cover up Saita!" She smiles and waves her hand up and down with only her wrist. "You totally punched him in the face!"
'Hehe, I punched him in the face."
'I punched André in the face...'
'I punched him in the face.'
"Cra----------------p!" Saita holds the textbook currently in her hand over her face as she exclaims in distress. She tries to melt into her textbook, hoping that her current problems would simply dissolve into the papers, exist only as small letters on a plane of white.
Thankfully, the bell rings signaling the end of the last class of the day, saving her from her embarrassment.
"Oh, Krystal," Saita smiles and pastes an empathetic look on her face. "I'd love to talk, you know. But I said that I was going to go out with some friends!" This, of course, isn't true but desperate situations call for desperate measures. By this time, she is already turning her body in the opposite direction.
"Wait! Sait-", the other girl outstretches her hand to grasp Saita's arm, trying to stop her from leaving and avoiding her billions of questions.
"Alright see ya..." A pause, as Saita racks her shallow memory for this friend's name. "...Krystal!" Is shouted enthusiastically in the general direction of her brown-haired "friend".
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Leaving school grounds without being noticed proves to be a more difficult task than she expected. Her hopes of people becoming tired of talking about her "incident" with André is thoroughly crushed. People were gossiping about her left and right, even those who barely know how she looks like can't help but be amazed. No, they aren't gossiping because she punched André, they're talking because she punched André. And so, André is proving to be more well-known than she thinks he is. With embarrassment traps littering the entire school, she slips in and out of unoccupied classes like a skillful ninja of the sorts, progressing slowly but surely towards an exit.
By the time she reaches a place where she is far enough from any students, she finds herself near the grocery store. Knowing she will not encounter anyone she knows there, Saita decides to buy her food products along the way home. After picking up the usuals and plus a bag of sour cream & onion potato chips, to please her unhealthy side, it is already 7:42 PM. The sun is setting, and what is left of its rays blanket the city, tinting the sky, and all that is in the city a tinge of orange.
Saita stands in front of the grocery store, school bag and grocery bags in her hands. She takes but a moment to bathe in the warm feeling of the setting sun, a content smile spread out on her face. She has always loved warm colors. Although fake, they have always given her sense of security.
Her walk back home is thoroughly enjoyed, until she ends up hurrying in a race against the setting sun. Someone like her shouldn't be out too late. Especially not when the sins of the night are masked by the cover of darkness. But then again, home is not the place that she always wants to be. It greets her only with depression.
Now at a much slower, and unmotivated pace, she trudges through the automatic glass doors of her apartment, greets the doorman with an acknowledging smile and nod, and waits for the elevator doors to accept her entry. Ding The plain, gray, metal doors slide open as she steps inside and pushes the button with the highest number engraved onto it; forty-two. She has been living here in this apartment for so long by herself, she can time the opening of the elevator doors down to the millisecond, and this was quite a useful skill when she's in a hurry. '1.......2...' Saita extends her left leg at the door without even a mere glance at it, and takes a second step the moment the doors open far enough for her to fit through.
In front of her suite's door, she gently rests the plastic grocery bags onto the floor, listening intently for any toppling items. She rummages through the contents of her organized school bag and pulls out a silver key. Saita unlocks the door, and leaving the key in the keyhole, she twists the knob, grasps the handles of the grocery bags once more while effortlessly pushing the door open with her left shoulder.
The atmosphere that greets her isn't the one she wishes for, it never is. The darkness of the room, with the streetlights stubbornly blocked out by the drapes, is overwhelming her with a sense of loneliness. It happens everyday. As soon as she gets home, she becomes a different person. A person made up of only their own guilt, self-hate, and sadness.
"I'm home..." She says to no one in particular. And of course, no one responds. Many times, she finds herself wishing that one day, just one day, someone will answer her.
Feeling around the cool wall encasing the door for her light switch, she flicks it on when her finger comes in contact with it. The lights assault her eyes for a second before they adjust to the brightness of her suite. Everything is as it was this morning. No changes whatsoever. At all. There are no signs of life other than her; no one is there to love her.
Trudging across the living room with heavy steps, she sets the food on the island of her kitchen which connects the two rooms.
"I'm home..." She repeats eyes downcast as she starts to unload her groceries onto the counter. She places them methodically one by one into the fridge or freezer before setting down the bag of chips on the kitchen table.
Doing homework and eating dinner has never been more than a chore to her. Doing anything in this soundless house of hers is a chore. If she had a choice, she would keep herself busy outside of home everyday. No, not home for this was a prison, a cell kept by her own demons. By the ghosts of her past, a constant reminder of who she is, what she is.
She is Saita, a human. Of course, for she does not live in a world with real magic or even miracles, as much as she wishes for them. Living in this imperfect world, however, makes her hate who she is. It makes her long to be who she'll never be. A perfect human being with a body free from limitations and a mind that functions...normally is all she wants. This isn't to say that she's not normal, she is. In her eyes at least, for she has always lived this way; since the day she was born into this world, which is seemingly created just to make her life harder.
'Saita! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get the fuck up!'
Her head snaps up and she takes a minute to get a hold of her bearings. She is in the kitchen; her mind informs her, and her hand is half in, half out of the freezer. Her hand...which is feeling quite cold. She shivers and takes her hand out, closing the door in the process. Why was it there in the first place? She can't remember.
'Oh, well.'
'Ice cream. You were getting ice cream.' She nodded as her less forgetful side of her brain kicks in. But now, after that little thinking session to herself, she doesn't feel like ice cream anymore, so she sits on the black leather couch in the living room. Its leather sticks to her bear legs like the sadness clinging to her mind. When had she changed into shorts and her sweater? She doesn't remember, but she doesn't make a big fuss about it, because it's pointless to question herself.
'Saita, you're forgetting things a lot.'
She shakes her head and tilts it back to stare at her plain white ceiling, but it was true; she is forgetting things a lot. A year ago, she didn't lose her memory as much. Maybe this was because she was slowly retreating back into herself, making herself less active in her own life. Instead of being active and passionate about living, she was choosing to feel depressed.
'Depression isn't good if you're trying to make something of your life.'
The girl brings her legs up onto the couch, curls up into a ball and leans her head back against the leather couch. The window leading to the balcony in the living room frames the city scene and allows the many colours of man-made light to shine through the glass. Each light twinkles like a little star, so insignificant by itself but contributing to a dazzling universe full of them.
'Just like humans. If only one could just turn them all off with the flick of a switch, so they don't exist.'
She shakes her head. That is wrong, for human kind is capable of kind things, occasionally great things. However, they choose to use their intelligence for selfish things. Such as rape, murder, and even nuclear bombs manufactured for no reason other than to kill themselves off. She frowns. The stupidity of humans truly amazes her, and the evident fact that the majority of Earth's human population understands and recognizes these shameful acts, yet don't bother to educate the minority that is oblivious...really pisses her off. Isn't this the exact reason for her misery?
'Exactly. That's why they should all go to hell!'
No. Because she knows that somewhere, out there in the dark, there was one person that could provide her happiness. Someone that could turn her world around again and make her once again, appreciate life.
'They won't erase the past.'
Her eyes gaze down and her eyelids droop. 'No, but they'll unchain me from these cursed memories. It's the future that matters.'
'You're naive and in denial of the world as usual, Saita. You don't have time to laze about and wait for this imaginary person.'
She slightly furrows her black eyebrows and tightens her grip around herself, as if trying to contain her little argument with...herself. But no matter what, she knows that she is right. That everything she says is always good for her.
With a never-before-seen determined look on her face, she voices in her mind;
'Shut up!'
Saita's eyes close completely for 2 seconds, and then open with a slight twitch. '...Are you talking back at me?!'
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So what do you think? Let me know! Leave one!
Author: Me and xtsukanda
Format: Novel; Chapter
Length: 5078 -Ch.1
Status: Work In Progress
Rating: T (For Now)
Warnings: This novel contains violence and gore even though there is not much in this chapter. Also contains mild language. No further warnings for now.
Next Chapter
Summary: It is a cruel world we live in, filled with dangers around every corner, rotting secrets, and filthy lies. There are those who face the facts as they are, and those who choose to protect themselves with denial. With a second glance, there are always those who try to change the facts- to rewrite truths. This woman, you can say, is all three. Accepting and denying the facts, but at the same time, hunting down a man whom she was arranged to kill. To eliminate from this world.
Chapter I: Slipping
"Claude..."
Drip
"...Renaud"
She takes a deep breath in. To calm herself of the chaos that was happening inside her; her war with herself.
In, Out, In.
Calm now, she opens her eyes to reveal shallow blue orbs. After all, there is no point in getting worked up over little things. She needs to be focused on her one goal;
Her uncle.
The center; the center of all her thoughts and emotions. Or rather...
half of them.
It has always been like this in her life; everything she owned, everything she had, she only had half of it. This included thoughts, feelings, and even the emotions inside of her.
Drip, drip, drip...
The blood drips off the knife that fits snuggly in her left hand. The same knife which helps her cut down opponents now cuts her off from her thoughts, bringing her back to the current task at hand.
She drives the knife in and drags it down with precision and experience. Oh, how much it would hurt to experience this mutilation.
As if she cares.
The stench rises up to her face, assaulting her senses, causing her eyes to narrow and her nose to wrinkle. Her hand, now becoming slick with the blood that coats the knife, slips a little from said knife.
"Hmph...this is a messier job than I had anticipated," the unsympathetic girl says, her eyes further narrowing into slits. It's as though she does not want to see the carnage any longer, but this assumption is not true.
No, it may be, for a part of her...but at the moment, this bloody mess does not even touch the edge of her discomfort zone.
The guts spill everywhere, somewhat resembling messy pasta. There is no way of telling if it is male or female any more...nor does it matter.
The pile of flesh has already been greeted by the hands of death, and the lone girl standing in the room plans to devour it, like how the horrid being she's named after would.
Satan.
Her name, quite suitable one will say. Well, for half of her at least.
"Oh, fuck." Profanities often get the better of her during times like this. The knife had just barely missed her thumb by a few millimetres. How careless of her. With her skills, nothing like that should have even gotten remotely close to happening.
Maybe she is losing it.
Maybe she needs to practice on live, moving, targets instead...
Not just a writhing piece of flesh, attempting to save its meager life, while its organs slide out oh-so easily with the guidance of the blade.
"What are you trying to do," the girl asks, seemingly talking to no one in particular. "Do you think you can flip yourself away from me?"
She takes her knife and runs it through the skin, once more. Distractedly, she wonders when the pitiful attempts will stop.
Maybe when all the organs detach? She snickers, almost triumphantly at the idea.
With this thought in mind, she gouges the organs out with her sharp, unforgiving fingers.
With the knife out of her hand, she reaches over to turn on the sink; her method of purification, and rinses her hands off. Bringing her hands to her face, she sniffs them and once again, her facial features cringe from the stench. Oh, how will she get rid of it? She doesn't want it to be branded on her hands...forever reminding her of the hands of a killer, but oh well, she was never one for denial.
No, not this half.
She sets the lifeless body in the pot along with the spices. An air of mock sadness overcomes her aristocratic features.
She mutters to herself with the slightest grin.
"Poor, poor fish."
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The yellow sunlight that shines brightly in the morning filters through the calming ocean blue curtains and fills the square room with its natural warmth. Barely any clouds are in the way of its radiance. Hormone-driven birds chirp at each other, communicating and hoping to find a mate.
Beep beep beep~
The alarm clock cries out its usual mind-splitting song and the precious 4 hour slumber of the girl nestled comfortably in her blankets is brutally disturbed. Jerking awake, she reaches a hand and promptly smashes the alarm clock to the floor.
"Oh crap!" She exclaims as her hand feels blindly on the floor for the alarm clock, which surprisingly, is still wailing. To the girl, it seems as if the blue and white clock becomes louder and louder as if it were a baby dropped accidentally by its mother. How is it that it still hadn't shut up yet? Why doesn't it realize that the scrambling girl is already awake?
The blind hand feels its way across the floor and knocks against something hard and cold. Presumably the alarm clock. Instead of gripping it though, the fast movement only proves to knock it further away from her position. With a pouted grunt, the girl succumbs to her fate and rolls out of her bed dragging the comforter with her. She stands up; blinking groggily as she searches for the blue and white screaming piece of plastic that was "Made in China".
"Ah, there you are." Seemingly talking to no one, she bends down and picks up the alarm clock, silencing it with the flick of an elegant finger against the off switch.
The now fully alert girl stands in the middle of her enclosed room, and exhales a sigh of relaxation. With that early morning crisis dealt with, she can now proceed in preparing for her day. She looks down at the previously wailing device with slightly clouded over eyes and registers the numbers displayed as the time in her mind.
'Seven thirty,' she says in her mind, as if there was someone else to hear it other than herself.
Still standing bare footed and half clothed; wearing a pink camisole and her blue & white striped undies in her room, she stretches her arms as high as they could possibly reach, and releases a silent yawn. She takes a few shuffled steps towards her bedside table and soundlessly places the clock in its rightful position.
Sighing again, she runs a hand through her long, slightly tangled, black hair. Opening the closet door proves a harder task than it should be. Was it locked the last time she used it? She doesn't think so. Retrieving the keys from the shelf beside the closet door, she unlocks it. Weird, she doesn't remember ever in her life locking the closet. Why she even needs a lock for her closet is beyond her reasoning.
Oh well.
She opens the door and attempts to pick out her outfit for the day.
With a finger tapping her chin thoughtfully, she ponders; ' Hmm...do I wanna look bright today? Or blend in? A cardigan? Or a hoodie? Oh, so many choices to make. So little time. Jeans? Leggings? Heels? Flats?'
'Just get on with it, Saita.' The girl's movements freeze for a mere millisecond, and she finally makes the decision of going with gray leggings, her black-belted leather boots and a big black hoodie with long sleaves that she rolls up. She laughs silently to herself at the quote on her sweater.
"Don't mess with my half!" The quote stretches across her chest with a line drawn underneath it. This is a sweater that she actually fully agreed on buying, with no complaints.
She promptly dresses herself, shuts the closet doors, twists the tiny key in the keyhole and with a click she extracts it from its cage.
After brushing her teeth, taming her hair, and freshening her mouth with some blue mouth wash, she cooks and eats a simple breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, sugar toast, and a cup of OJ. She likes to keep her body healthy...
Or at least for half the time she did.
She clears her plate with her fork and sips the last of the contents in the glass, and places them into the sink, leaving them there to be cleaned when she comes back.
Brushing her teeth once again to ensure her utmost freshness, she draws on eyeliner and dusts her fair cheeks with blush before walking back to her room. She stands in front of the full-body mirror and gives herself a last once-over before spraying a little bit of Chanel No.5 perfume. Sticking a hair clip in her hair, she pulls her bangs to the side. She grabs her gray, book-filled bag and with a quick intake of air, she slings it over her right shoulder.
Checking the time on her trusty alarm clock once again, she notices that she's already running three minutes behind. She quickly strides across the room and out to the front foyer. Picking the keys off the shelf by the door, she closes, locks, and double checks the door before spinning herself around to face the elevator. Her suite is positioned quite conveniently; right in front of the elevator. There is no one that could sneak up on her without her noticing when she pays attention. She lives in a forty-two storey building on the penthouse level, so it would be pretty much impossible to use the stairs and she didn’t. Unless there is some kind of fire, highly unlikely. To make up for the lack of exercise though, she walks to school, since it is her responsibility to take care of her body. If she doesn't, no one else will.
It is a one Kilometre trip from her apartment to school, and she walks at her own pace while enjoying the spring morning air. She lifts her head up while walking and watches as the clouds slowly drift in the sky with little to no wind guiding them. To everyone, she seems like a carefree girl, but in reality she is and has always been jealous of those free clusters of white fluff above her head.
As the front gates of the Toronto University of Art & Science came into view, she checks the time on her phone that was currently dressed in a red skin.
Wait, red? The last skin she put it in was blue wasn't it?
Oh well.
The time reads 8:30. Just enough time for her to make her way to her first class, which is...
'Ugh, I need to check my schedule.' Stupid memory lost is kicking in again, and at the most inconvenient time.
Her time-table tells her that her first class is Psychological Measurement.
'Saita, forgetting your classes again?' She pauses and puts the schedule back into its folder in her bag. Yes, forgetting classes doesn't happen once or twice. Actually, forgetting in general is more than common for her.
Saita's morning classes fly by with her constantly taking notes according to what the professor says. She is a good student and wants good marks in order to have a good career in psychology. She's the type of person that actually somewhat cares about her future. The type of person to want a good future, with a (preferably hot and sexy) husband, and two adorable and obedient kids. A boy that would be responsible and a girl who would hang out with her mother. Just a normal life.
Of course, it's not likely for this to happen.
'Nope, not possible at all.' She frowns to herself.
'No! That's not true...there are no certainties in this world. My life is what I make of it!' She could picture herself raising a triumphant fist in her mind right about now.
'...Uselessly in denial.' She mentally cringes.
The bell rings, cutting through the silence in the lecture hall. The sound of pencils scrawling across paper is now replaced with the sounds of bags zipping open and closed. Saita puts away her own psychology books, purple pen, and notebook, which has a cover that is filled with little doodles she drew on when she thought the lecture was stupid. Standing up from her chair and pull-out desk, she zips her bag closed and slings it over her right shoulder.
Lunch time. The funnest time of the day, where she would be able to choose her own healthy choices. These choices consist of a ham and turkey sandwich, a bottle of apple juice, a cup of berry yogurt, and lastly, an orange. Her favorite fruit.
Saita walks towards the school cafeteria, which is fortunately only a few hallways down from her class. She walks over to the ordering counter of the school cafeteria and lists her choices in an almost overly-cheerful tone. While waiting for the food, she thought that it was a little weird that there was "oo-ing" when she walked in. Is today her birthday? She thinks about it. No... it isn't. She isn't popular or even well-known among the student body...so why? She averts her eyes towards the direction of the "oo-ing", but finds no hints of what was going on.
Oh well. Back to the topic at hand. She orders a lot of food today. Of course, she had breakfast but although she doesn't look it, she has quite an appetite. With a slim figure though, only she herself knows that she could deal with trouble herself.
"Thank you so much." She says to the lady who fills her tray with the items she ordered with a courteous smile. She scans around for a table where she could sit quietly by herself. After all, she isn't huge on socializing, especially while she is trying to stock up on energy. Also, she tends to forget people's names easily, so sitting with strangers would indeed be...strange.
After about forty seconds of standing in the cafeteria with her tray filled with food in her hands, looking a bit lost, she finally gains sight of an empty table for two. Walking to it, she glances once more at the surroundings, ensuring herself that she doesn't sit near people that may try to talk to her. After confirming this, she sets her tray down on the table and makes herself comfortable on the chair. Smiling to herself, she pulled out her hand sanitizer from her hoodie pocket and squeezed some of the clear, jelly substance into her hands.
'Ahh, the smell of strawberries' She rubs her hands together and promptly, unwraps and bites into her sandwich, which fills her mouth with the delicious taste of whatever sauce it was that they put in the sandwich. But suddenly, a shadow casts over her table. Saita turns her head, and her body slightly to analyze the source of the shadow that is apparently behind her chair.
Blond hair, hazel eyes, fit build, and currently smiling at her. Who is this guy? She doesn't remember his name but she thinks that she's seen him around campus before; he obviously looks like the popular type. Why is he here, and why does he look prepared to do something...weird?
'He looks like a flirt.'
She instantly turns her head away from the man standing before her, trying to muffle her almost audible splutter.
He speaks. "J'aime ton derrière." His seductive voice comes from behind her, where he is currently standing.
Saita reluctantly rewinds her head towards him, with an obviously confused expression.
French? She knows a little bit of French from her high school years, but her memory truly deteriorates faster than other's.
J'aime, I like. Ton, your. Derrière, behind. Behind what? She isn't behind any-... oh.
"Haha!" She laughs as though it is truly funny, but in reality, if she was animated there would be a giant sweatdrop hanging on the side of her head. Really, people who says things like this are really quite lame. Of course, she takes this as a joke.
"Oui," He says, smiling at her. His expression is a little off somehow. "Puis-je le ressens?"
What was that? Did he just say...
'May I feel it.' Saita's face turns slightly pale, as she feels the irritation and anger expressed in that translation. She tries her best in preventing her left eye from twitching, and attempts to drown the urge to scowl at him with a squinty-eyed smile. He's oblivious to her mental struggle and takes it as a good sign.
'I'm going punch this bastard in his fucking face.'
She laughed. Feigning her happiness. She sets her food back down onto the table delicately, preserving its edible condition. Suddenly standing up, her metal chair skids backwards and makes a raw scraping sound against the tiled floor of the cafeteria.
This is not one of those awkward moments when everyone suddenly stops talking after hearing the noise. No, this is the perfect setting.
She sharply spins around 180 degrees on the heels of her shoes. Her cold blue eyes pierce straight into his hazel orbs. He notices a slight change in her eyes compared to a few seconds ago, but again takes it as a "good sign". So, he opens his mouth to finish what he started.
"So-" He says with a smug look on his face, with his right hand slightly stretched out to emphasize whatever point he is about to make, but his closing speech is interrupted by a gentle hand pushing softly against his chest.
He lowers his eyes slightly to see that the girl has moved the chair out of her way, and she was now standing in front of him with her left hand making contact with his chest and her right index finger swaying from side to side in a 'shouldn't have done that' motion. Her head, originally looking down, tilts upward to lock eyes with the man once more. The man's joking expression instantly drops.
Smirking, and looking quite menacing in the man's eyes, she leans in to him, their faces coming within inches of each other. Ensuring to attract the least attention possible, she whispers...
"Sir, meet my goddamned, fucking, bloody fist."
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"Did you hear what happened in the caf?"
"...punched him!"
"She doesn't seem like the type to..."
"...usually nice!"
"I know right?"
Everywhere, the sounds of their voices fill her ears. They're talking about what she did at lunch.
No, not her. What she did.
She doesn't know what happened. She doesn't remember what happened. She lost control and her anger, as she likes to think of it as, took over. Suddenly, she was seeing red. No, at the time, she didn't take what he said offensive. She honestly thought it was quite funny, in a stupid sense. Especially the fact that he was speaking french. French! Of all languages, the most romantic one, used in such a naughty way.
Then, everything went blank. She doesn't try to remember because it'll just cause her head to hurt. In fact, she doesn't WANT to remember. She's always told that she's in denial. Of everything. Sure, this may be true, but Saita truly thinks that it's better this way. It would be great if everyone forgets things like she does, it'd save her from all this unwanted attention.
Yelling interrupts the swarmed girl's inner turmoil.
"Oh wow, Saita!" Her self-proclaimed "friend", Krystal, runs up to her with light, happy steps, her brown hair swaying about. She stops to save her "friend" from running too much and turns to face her "friend". Krystal is no doubt, here to ask her about what happened at lunch. After all, she is the campus's gossip queen.
"You're scary when you're upset aren't you?" Insert preppy laugh here.
Saita gives her an honestly confused look. "Eh...? What are you talking about?" She even tilts her head slightly to contribute to her facade.
Her friend rolls her eyes in amusement, or annoyance, she doesn't know. "Pfft, no need to cover up Saita!" She smiles and waves her hand up and down with only her wrist. "You totally punched him in the face!"
'Hehe, I punched him in the face."
'I punched André in the face...'
'I punched him in the face.'
"Cra----------------p!" Saita holds the textbook currently in her hand over her face as she exclaims in distress. She tries to melt into her textbook, hoping that her current problems would simply dissolve into the papers, exist only as small letters on a plane of white.
Thankfully, the bell rings signaling the end of the last class of the day, saving her from her embarrassment.
"Oh, Krystal," Saita smiles and pastes an empathetic look on her face. "I'd love to talk, you know. But I said that I was going to go out with some friends!" This, of course, isn't true but desperate situations call for desperate measures. By this time, she is already turning her body in the opposite direction.
"Wait! Sait-", the other girl outstretches her hand to grasp Saita's arm, trying to stop her from leaving and avoiding her billions of questions.
"Alright see ya..." A pause, as Saita racks her shallow memory for this friend's name. "...Krystal!" Is shouted enthusiastically in the general direction of her brown-haired "friend".
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Leaving school grounds without being noticed proves to be a more difficult task than she expected. Her hopes of people becoming tired of talking about her "incident" with André is thoroughly crushed. People were gossiping about her left and right, even those who barely know how she looks like can't help but be amazed. No, they aren't gossiping because she punched André, they're talking because she punched André. And so, André is proving to be more well-known than she thinks he is. With embarrassment traps littering the entire school, she slips in and out of unoccupied classes like a skillful ninja of the sorts, progressing slowly but surely towards an exit.
By the time she reaches a place where she is far enough from any students, she finds herself near the grocery store. Knowing she will not encounter anyone she knows there, Saita decides to buy her food products along the way home. After picking up the usuals and plus a bag of sour cream & onion potato chips, to please her unhealthy side, it is already 7:42 PM. The sun is setting, and what is left of its rays blanket the city, tinting the sky, and all that is in the city a tinge of orange.
Saita stands in front of the grocery store, school bag and grocery bags in her hands. She takes but a moment to bathe in the warm feeling of the setting sun, a content smile spread out on her face. She has always loved warm colors. Although fake, they have always given her sense of security.
Her walk back home is thoroughly enjoyed, until she ends up hurrying in a race against the setting sun. Someone like her shouldn't be out too late. Especially not when the sins of the night are masked by the cover of darkness. But then again, home is not the place that she always wants to be. It greets her only with depression.
Now at a much slower, and unmotivated pace, she trudges through the automatic glass doors of her apartment, greets the doorman with an acknowledging smile and nod, and waits for the elevator doors to accept her entry. Ding The plain, gray, metal doors slide open as she steps inside and pushes the button with the highest number engraved onto it; forty-two. She has been living here in this apartment for so long by herself, she can time the opening of the elevator doors down to the millisecond, and this was quite a useful skill when she's in a hurry. '1.......2...' Saita extends her left leg at the door without even a mere glance at it, and takes a second step the moment the doors open far enough for her to fit through.
In front of her suite's door, she gently rests the plastic grocery bags onto the floor, listening intently for any toppling items. She rummages through the contents of her organized school bag and pulls out a silver key. Saita unlocks the door, and leaving the key in the keyhole, she twists the knob, grasps the handles of the grocery bags once more while effortlessly pushing the door open with her left shoulder.
The atmosphere that greets her isn't the one she wishes for, it never is. The darkness of the room, with the streetlights stubbornly blocked out by the drapes, is overwhelming her with a sense of loneliness. It happens everyday. As soon as she gets home, she becomes a different person. A person made up of only their own guilt, self-hate, and sadness.
"I'm home..." She says to no one in particular. And of course, no one responds. Many times, she finds herself wishing that one day, just one day, someone will answer her.
Feeling around the cool wall encasing the door for her light switch, she flicks it on when her finger comes in contact with it. The lights assault her eyes for a second before they adjust to the brightness of her suite. Everything is as it was this morning. No changes whatsoever. At all. There are no signs of life other than her; no one is there to love her.
Trudging across the living room with heavy steps, she sets the food on the island of her kitchen which connects the two rooms.
"I'm home..." She repeats eyes downcast as she starts to unload her groceries onto the counter. She places them methodically one by one into the fridge or freezer before setting down the bag of chips on the kitchen table.
Doing homework and eating dinner has never been more than a chore to her. Doing anything in this soundless house of hers is a chore. If she had a choice, she would keep herself busy outside of home everyday. No, not home for this was a prison, a cell kept by her own demons. By the ghosts of her past, a constant reminder of who she is, what she is.
She is Saita, a human. Of course, for she does not live in a world with real magic or even miracles, as much as she wishes for them. Living in this imperfect world, however, makes her hate who she is. It makes her long to be who she'll never be. A perfect human being with a body free from limitations and a mind that functions...normally is all she wants. This isn't to say that she's not normal, she is. In her eyes at least, for she has always lived this way; since the day she was born into this world, which is seemingly created just to make her life harder.
'Saita! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get the fuck up!'
Her head snaps up and she takes a minute to get a hold of her bearings. She is in the kitchen; her mind informs her, and her hand is half in, half out of the freezer. Her hand...which is feeling quite cold. She shivers and takes her hand out, closing the door in the process. Why was it there in the first place? She can't remember.
'Oh, well.'
'Ice cream. You were getting ice cream.' She nodded as her less forgetful side of her brain kicks in. But now, after that little thinking session to herself, she doesn't feel like ice cream anymore, so she sits on the black leather couch in the living room. Its leather sticks to her bear legs like the sadness clinging to her mind. When had she changed into shorts and her sweater? She doesn't remember, but she doesn't make a big fuss about it, because it's pointless to question herself.
'Saita, you're forgetting things a lot.'
She shakes her head and tilts it back to stare at her plain white ceiling, but it was true; she is forgetting things a lot. A year ago, she didn't lose her memory as much. Maybe this was because she was slowly retreating back into herself, making herself less active in her own life. Instead of being active and passionate about living, she was choosing to feel depressed.
'Depression isn't good if you're trying to make something of your life.'
The girl brings her legs up onto the couch, curls up into a ball and leans her head back against the leather couch. The window leading to the balcony in the living room frames the city scene and allows the many colours of man-made light to shine through the glass. Each light twinkles like a little star, so insignificant by itself but contributing to a dazzling universe full of them.
'Just like humans. If only one could just turn them all off with the flick of a switch, so they don't exist.'
She shakes her head. That is wrong, for human kind is capable of kind things, occasionally great things. However, they choose to use their intelligence for selfish things. Such as rape, murder, and even nuclear bombs manufactured for no reason other than to kill themselves off. She frowns. The stupidity of humans truly amazes her, and the evident fact that the majority of Earth's human population understands and recognizes these shameful acts, yet don't bother to educate the minority that is oblivious...really pisses her off. Isn't this the exact reason for her misery?
'Exactly. That's why they should all go to hell!'
No. Because she knows that somewhere, out there in the dark, there was one person that could provide her happiness. Someone that could turn her world around again and make her once again, appreciate life.
'They won't erase the past.'
Her eyes gaze down and her eyelids droop. 'No, but they'll unchain me from these cursed memories. It's the future that matters.'
'You're naive and in denial of the world as usual, Saita. You don't have time to laze about and wait for this imaginary person.'
She slightly furrows her black eyebrows and tightens her grip around herself, as if trying to contain her little argument with...herself. But no matter what, she knows that she is right. That everything she says is always good for her.
With a never-before-seen determined look on her face, she voices in her mind;
'Shut up!'
Saita's eyes close completely for 2 seconds, and then open with a slight twitch. '...Are you talking back at me?!'
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