◈A D R I A N◈

I was numb.

Led only by pure fear, I kept moving forward without sparing a backward glance. I was afraid of seeing the helpless body lying motionless on the cold, hard ground. Afraid of those lifeless eyes that had myself imprinted as their last image would haunt my living hell forever.

My heavy legs, as if shackled with guilt, dragged me away from that godforsaken place. Like a bunch of scared crows, we fled the scene before you can say "Stop".

Tap tap tap.

Our footsteps were the only to break the peaceful quiet as we sped down the street to destination unknown. My eyes unwittingly searched for two persons.

Zax and Damon.

One, I wanted to find Zax and ask him what the fuck was going on because, as much as I hated to admit it, he seemed to be the only sane person around.

And two, I wanted to stay the fuck away from Damon.

Now that we were all witnesses to Damon's crime, I doubted he would bat an eye at the next swing on the skull. I really didn't want my head to be cracked open like a piñata.

My eyes darted left and right continuously as I kept a lookout for a chance to slip away. It would be less conspicuous than running away with them.

I spotted a dark clearing up ahead, the perfect escape. Feeling torn, I abandoned my wish to look for Zax since surviving remained as my top priority.

Little by little, my feet inched to the side with every step, away from the pack. Inhaling a deep breath, I held it in and sprinted off to the east.

I ran as fast as I could, not daring to stop even if my lungs were burning or my calves were cramping. All I could think of was to get away from the clusterfuck I'd managed to get myself into.

Just as I was rounding an unfamiliar corner, someone gripped my hand and yanked me into a narrow alley. The world spun before my eyes as strong hands pushed me hard against the damp wall. Before I could let out a scream, a gloved hand clasped over my mouth.

The gloved hands hinted me enough on the identity of my captor even if I couldn't see his face. The air was silent saved for my racing heart and harsh pants. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, not wanting to see the bloody bat he was holding.

Fear had me shaking like a dried maple leaf broken from its stem, carried away against its will by the wind. My shuddering breaths slowly lost control and slowly morphed to choked sobs. The fingers tightened their grip unforgivingly.

"Shh," he whispered.

My eyes shot open at his voice. It wasn't the silky, charming voice that belonged to Damon's. It was Zax's rough, broken chords.

"Mmm!" I mumbled as best as I could, my fingers trying to pry his hand away futilely.

He gripped even harder and glared at me, his index finger pressed to his lips as a sign of silence. The loud, rhythmic clack of the boots sounded from the main street cleared my confusion.

Damon was going after me.

I laid my hands over Zax's and pressed against it in an attempt to prevent myself from making any reckless sound that would give away our hideout.

The footsteps were growing closer and like a demonic entity, the shadow bled over the ground. Unable to tear my gaze away from the growing shadow, I let out a tiny whimper when the reddish hue glinted off the metal bat.

Zax quietly pulled us deeper into the alley, hoping the darkness would wrap us in its protective cloak. We both held our breaths when the boots stopped right at the end of the alley.

I looked up to see Zax keeping his eyes trained on the boots. Since my eyes had gotten used to the darkness, his features became clearer. He still had his mask over his lower face. Strands of wet hair stuck to his forehead and I could feel him straining to keep his breathing even.

Believe it or not, he looked as afraid as I was.

The moment stretched for a long time. Not a single muscle dared to move, not when those pair of dark boots remained at the other end. It was getting unbearably stuffy and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.

Clenching my jaw, I steeled myself and closed my eyes to focus. It was as if God had heard our prayers, the footsteps resumed and slowly faded into the background.

Zax relaxed his grip only after he made sure Demon had left, leaving me gasping for air like a beached whale. My legs gave out and I slid down to the ground, my hand pressed against my chest as I panted.

"What's going on? Why is he hunting me now?!" I whispered urgently, grasping at my last thread of sanity.

"You left the pack. He's not going to let an eyewitness wander off to the cops, would he?" Zax snapped impatiently.

Blood left me cold as his words sunk in.

"So what now? He's gonna kill me?! With that bat?! Is my head gonna explode like a cracked piñata raining candies down on children--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Zax slapped his hand over my mouth again when I babbled hysterically.

My eyes darted to the street outside, afraid Damon would be standing right there smiling at us. Zax gripped my cheeks to turn my attention back on him.

"Look, just calm down and go home. Damon didn't know where your home was, right?" he asked. I shook my head. He let out a breath and continued, "Good. Just leave and pretend none of this happened. Don't you ever dare to go to the cops, you hear me? Like you've hoped for, you're one of us now. If we're going to hell, you're coming with us."

I winced at the sting of his words, a reminder of my own stupidity. Zax pulled his hand away after I nodded dumbly.

He grabbed on my shoulders and steered me to the streets. Giving me a slight push, he said, "Now run."

✴

Slamming the bedroom door shut, I yanked away the mask and freed my hands off the confining gloves. My sweaty hands then gripped the hem of my black shirt and pulled it over my head. My pants soon joined the discarded mound after my left foot stepped away from the pant leg.

I paced in my room, cladded only in my briefs as I tried to organize my thoughts. Running my hands through my hair nervously, I chewed on my trembling nails while I continued my pacing.

I heard the front door opened and closed, letting me know that mom was out for work and wouldn't be back until late midnight. Good, I thought to myself. She wouldn't be there to question me incessantly when I start a fire to burn those clothes.

But first, I needed a shower. I could still feel the ghost of the man's hand lingering on my ankle. Shuddering, I ran to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. The burning water was comforting with the warmth slowly seeping into my chilled bones.

Grabbing the sliver of soap, I ran it over my skin and scrubbed them raw, wanting to rid all filth and all guilt. The tingling sensation from the tiny pearls of blood forming on broken skin felt like an expiation.

My lower back throbbed from the heated water, the skin still vulnerable and sensitive. It was like I was doused in liquid nitrogen all over again. The hot water was useless against the chilling trepidation within me.

I still held the proof of my ties with the pack on my lower back. No matter how hard I scrubbed and scratched, that ink ran deep in my skin.

No, I need to get rid of it, I blanched at the realization.

I must get rid of it.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze. Crazy ideas circled my head like vultures surrounding fresh meat.

I should skin myself, I thought carelessly and made way to the kitchen to grab a knife. With trembling hands, I angled my wrist against my back and flinched when the cold metal touched my skin.

I took a few shuddering breaths to calm my nerves and to muster up some courage. Minutes ticked by, yet I still stood in the kitchen with shaking hands grasping the handle of the knife, my lower back still unharmed.

My shaking got uncontrollable and the knife hit the floor with a clang. Frustration hit me over and I doubled over on the floor, sobbing like a pathetic loser. Grabbing my knees closer to my chest, my sobs turned to anguish cries.

I had never felt so helpless in my life. Not even when mother locked me up in the cupboard. I've really hit rock bottom here and when there's no way down, the only way was to crawl back up. Wiping away my tears, my clouded vision found a pair of tongs hanging off the dish rack.

Desperation pushed me over as I scrambled off the floor and rushed to retrieve the utensil before my rationality kicks in. Or rather my cowardice.

I dropped the tongs on the gas stove and twisted the knob to let the gas light up into a ring of fire. I paced around the kitchen to block all thoughts and focus on the goal, not willing to slow down for cold feet.

When the metal started to glow like burning embers, that was when I sucked in a deep breath and went for it. Holding the metal without caring the burning pain on my palms, I twisted my arm behind my body and pressed the burning metal against my lower back, on top of the detestable tattoo.

My eyes squeezed shut but was unable to stop tears from escaping down my cheeks as the excruciating pain ate through my bones. Sensing my swaying determination, my feet retreated until I was backed up against the wall.

The pain was growing unbearable but the fear of being sent to correctional institution was overwhelming. I wouldn't survive a day there.

I bit on my arm hard and pushed against the wall even harder. I was the one who signed my soul off to a demon. I should bear all consequences and have my sins imprinted on my skin like a branding iron.

And just let it sizzle like blistering bacon.

✈

Author's note

First of all, I'll like to apologize for missing an update. I made an announcement last Sunday to explained about that. I owe an apology to my readers who missed the announcement.

I was feeling burned out the entire week. Nothing went well and I was feeling my lowest. I didn't want to write my story with that kind of negativity.

Putting that aside, I really want to thank all of you for your support. Yes, we hit 6k reads and you guys are the best! Some of you are very vocal with your comments, votes and adding my book to your reading list while others are silent readers. That doesn't matter at all because I LOVE YOU THE SAME!

{Song: Bandito by Twenty One Pilots}