Stupidly, her droopy, wet eyes find mine. For one minute I forget about everything that's taken place between us. Her hands find my forearms and she holds onto me for support, her frail legs weak. All I can do is remember the girl from the staircase, batting her eyelashes at me. I should've known she'd leave eventually, I couldn't think it would last forever but I did either way. Letting her go isn't an option. I don't understand why I can't. She's just mine, my girl, my Anastasia. How could Harry betray me? How could she fuck him? How? Why do I hate her so fucking much and love her at the same time?

Ana closes her eyes for a second as if deep in thought or preparing herself for the worst, I remember her and Harry. How her hands were wrapped around him like he was the most valuable thing in the world. I remember them kissing and it all comes back. The god damn reality hits me right in the face

I throw her into the tub and she cries out, her head making contact with the floor of the tub. The icy water doesn't make her healing bruises and fresh ones better, but the rubbing alcohol makes her cuts burn. She starts crying her eyes out and thrashing in the water, trying to fight my hands off her so she can get out.

I don't know how to calm her down. She's crying like crazy and I can't take it. It's like the more she cries, the more I want to hurt her. Why? Why do I like it? Why? Why? Why?

"Shut the fuck up! This is your fault, you know that? It's all your fault!" My fist easily finds her cheek, part of her lip. The soft, pure skin breaks and her lip begins to bleed.

Her first instinct is to put her hand to it, but she's surprised when the alcohol coating her hand makes the pain worse. I watch the water go from completely clear to a light pink, the few droplets of blood falling like summer rain.

"Please get me out, please. It hurts," she sobs as she tries to back up into the tub to get away from where the cold water still falls, but successfully knocks over the bottles of shampoo and the tiny glass bottle with the laced oil and alcohol.

She must have kicked it on accident, because I immediately see the pieces of glass and the pain kicks in worse, Anastasia turns into a screaming toddler within seconds. I never stop to think, maybe this is too much, maybe she's learned her lesson. I know she hasn't. Will she ever? I hope so. But who's to say that day will actually come and who's to know if she'll see that day.

I think back to the taser and I'm tempted. I have to stop her from crying and I can't just beat her until she stops, I know she won't and I need her awake. I need to pick off where we left off.

"Are you gonna shut the fuck up?" I hold her wrists and she doesn't struggle, but she won't stop crying. I know she's in pain and I couldn't care less. She deserves it.

I reach behind me near the nearby sink, reaching for the tiny white case of razors I kept there just in case. She notices and stops immediately, she just freezes. Even her hands fall heavy and I let her go, puzzled at her sudden defeat. I don't take it for granted. I open the box and take one of the shiny, silver razors out. I show it to her like I'm showcasing a diamond. Her reaction is the one I expected, one of true terror and heartbreak. It needs to be done. I have to. She can't get away from me.

"Give me your arm."

"Z-Zayn, w-why?" she asks quietly, cheeks wet from continuous tears and her lip becoming more bruised by the second. She's swaying slightly, I know she's dizzy.

"If you make it hard, it'll hurt more," I murmur as I take her hand roughly.

Anastasia still struggled despite his instructions, but it only infuriated him more. To her, it didn't even seem like he was angry anymore. He was just hurting her because he could and because he felt like it, as if he was trying to prove some obscure point. It had gone too far.

Just like it always did with Zayn.

----

The razor made contact with her arm in a flash. It was quickly enough for him to cut in one area and then the next, fast enough to make her vision blurry and for her to start to see white spots. There was no crying, just the taste of blood in her mouth and that very familiar crimson color falling into the water like a running current. Still, he knew what he was doing. He had branded the girls from the warehouse before and it had been enjoyable for him, seeing how helpless they could be was like entertainment to him.

"He's gonna find me," she whispered to herself, cold and full of doubts, her words coming out like he'sh goin' to fin me due to how fast and severe her lip was swelling.

It was a simple, 'clean' cut, a simple name, but it would be there long after it healed.

She felt it like a painless flame. Her body felt cold for a second until heat began to devour it despite the cold water.

Malik.

It was right on her hand, she hadn't even noticed. Anastasia did notice and to a point, feel the burning, but it wasn't until he forced her down into the ice water and her hand made contact with the contaminated water that she screamed. He let her out for air for just a second when he forced her back down, her spitting and bubbling the water made it worse for her, but he was too far gone. Something in him had snapped, disconnected, like he was simply watching a horror movie in which he had no part in, or perhaps a minor one, the audience. There was no way he could say he loved her, couldn't justify his heinous actions as revenge or a fit of jealousy.

And it wasn't over yet, it couldn't be as he grabbed the taser he hid deep in his coat pocket. The man hadn't even noticed that it was sticky with her blood but he didn't care about it too much. He simply forced her up on her feet, forced her to sit on the edge of the tub, and the blue flashes began to make her muscles and limbs jolt up in agony. Anastasia fell over on the floor, dropping wet, clothed, bleeding, and trying to crawl. No use. It seemed that the taser was hateful towards her as he shocked her again, immobilizing her on the ground like a wounded animal. This was the advantage he wanted, power over someone weaker than him. She couldn't cry anymore, she simply laid there wishing to die, wishing someone would pick her up and take her back home.

Zayn took advantage of her state and took his coat off, shaking off any guilt that threatened to cling onto him rightfully. He fixed himself and looked through the cabinets, looking for the drug he had purchased through a friend of his that helped him successfully enter Berlin.

It wasn't hard to make the pills a powder by crushing them with the soap holder nearby. He repeatedly bashed the pills until they were a chunky powder, unsure of which was which at this point. Zayn gathered the substance in his hand and crouched down to the girl, opening her mouth forcefully, dropping the dry powder in. It wouldn't too long to kick in at all.

By this time, he knew he had to get her to bed. He couldn't risk her miraculously regaining her strength and trying to fight back. So before he picked her up, he wrapped her hand in gauze and went about his plans, not even caring about her injuries or how quickly he had bruised her.

Zayn focused on cutting off her clothes and discarding them in the trash, some of her belongings were in their room anyway. He had made sure to bring her some stuff she'd need, at least. It seemed like a kind gesture, but he just wanted to make sure they wouldn't have to leave the house so often.

Her tattered body was not even heavy in his arms. He held her close and returned to reality, but walked down the hall and to the right like a living zombie. He simply laid her on the bed, wrapped her up, and sat next to her as if she'd regain consciousness immediately. He could wait. The overwhelming need to feel her touch was stronger than his hatred. He needed to know what had gone down with Harry even though he was sure they had slept together.

Though he had drawn his own conclusions, it seemed natural for him to still question her. Was there a point? It seemed like he believed everything she said were lies. He was the one lying to her yet it was only acceptable because it was him doing it.

Zayn had not taken the time to confess what he had tried to do with her family, apologize perhaps, even if it was too late. He had tried to find other ways to access her money through her long lost sister, who Anastasia deserved to know. She wasn't all alone in the world even if he convinced her that she was. When you've been afraid for so long the world appears so dark. She knew that if she needed help she'd find it, but when someone breaks you beyond repair, it seems like everyone else will do the same thing.

Maybe some girls are born to suffer, others are born to be bright. She didn't know what it was as she began to open her eyes as he placed her on the bed, closing them seconds after. All he heard her say before exiting the room abruptly was -

"I dreamt I was flying."