LAYLAH
When I rose from my nap, I found Mikhail returned to his customary disposition_tousled hair, cunning eyes, and dressed in all black. He was engrossed in some book, his eye brows furrowed with concentration. He hadn't seem to have taken any notice of my awareness.

His profile was flawless. Perhaps he would've been enjoying a more eminent life if he had pursued a career in modelling instead of liquidating people. I stayed still, like my life depended on it. I noticed how his hand frequently reached up to his neck, scratching it. How he readjusted his turtleneck every few seconds_why was he wearing it in the first place if it was that uncomfortable?

"Like what you see?" He spoke out of the blue, his gaze still fixed on the book. My heart jumped inside my throat. There's no way he's human. I sat myself up, aware that my cover was blown. He snapped his book shut eventfully and walked over to me with a cocky expression_like he had caught me doing something that could later be held against me.

"You know, you don't have to peak at me like a pubescent boy trying to catch a glimpse of his teacher's cleavage," he smirked, rolling off the tape off my lips, "you can look at me all you want sweetheart, I don't mind." My face grew so warm, I feared he would feel it's heat on his skin.

"I wasn't looking at you. I was amusing myself with your habit of scratching your neck, makes you look like a monkey," I tried to fake an expression as cool and steady as my voice. I was successful in wiping away that conceited smile that had been resting on his lips a few moments ago with my improvised jab.

"I'll go get breakfast for us," he replied fixing me a sour look.
He returned a couple minutes later with crepes, sausages and scrambled eggs. I ran my gaze over the cutlery_just a fork and butter knife. They would not suffice. He untied me like he always did. When I asked him to undo my ankles so I could stretch my legs, he obliged. It was apparent that I had coaxed him into believing that I was a feckless, wimpy teenager who would continue to be subservient to him for as long as he wished. He would soon learn that underestimating me wasn't his wisest call.

"I don't feel like having eggs today.  Can I have some fruits instead with my crepes? I can slice them myself so you don't have to bother yourself with cutting them for me. I'm sorry but I feel terribly thirsty after all the seafood I had last night," I whined as he cut through a sausage.

" Would you like anything else with that, your Highness? Perhaps I can start you with a parfait?" He dropped his cutlery on the plate with a loud clatter and sighed exaggeratedly. "Nope, just fruits and something to cut them with," I gave him a syrupy smile as I watched him leave.

I made my way towards the door circumspectly, but stumbled back as I heard his footsteps escalate. Were the fruits outside the door or something for him to be back so fast? He barged in and scanned the room for any hint of verboten activity that may haven taken place in his absence. He had definitely sensed I was up to something_I needed to work faster. Perhaps he hadn't totally chalked off the possibility of my mutiny. His face softened when he saw me on the floor, exactly where I was supposed to be, unfickle as ever.

He set an assortment of fruits in front of me that included apples, bananas, strawberries and blueberries and kiwis accompanied by a small knife with a jagged edge. "Thank you," I nodded closing my hand around the knife. I had hoped for something far more bigger and lethal but I couldn't have expected much in the first place_ it was meant to cut through soft fruits, not tough flesh.

I cut myself some apple slices, folding them in a crepe. I looked up_his hands and mouth appeared busy in his meal but his eyes were glued to the movement of my hands and the knife. I needed a distraction. I loathed myself for what I was about to do next.

I picked up a strawberry, sliding it between my lips, puckering my lips around it, making sure I spilled some juice down my mouth. I swiped a thumb across my lip. It would appear to anyone as a clumsy mishap on my part but every single movement was intentional and purposeful. And it was fulfilling it purpose very well. Mikhail's gaze had trailed up to my mouth now.

I picked up another strawberry, biting through it just as carelessly. Juice trickled down my lips and his eyes followed. Before I could bring my fingers up to wipe it, I was being forced to look up, my chin nestled between his fingers.

"Have you forgotten how to eat all of a sudden? Or is there something you want from me, sweetheart ?" He whispered against my ear, leaving a wake of shudders down my my spine. "Maybe," I gasped for air, "maybe I do want something from you."
I felt the hilt of the knife dig in my palm as I squeezed it. He was so close_ I could feel the tips of his hair brush against my forehead and watch his pupils dilating.
His mouth split into a victorious smirk.

I brought my left hand to cup his face, sealing the tension between us so there was no way for him to escape from this. "If you want it that bad, then very well," he murmured and I tried my best to conceal any hint of vexation that may have crept on my face at his patronising comment.  His lids tipped over his eyes as he inched closer. I parted my lips, lulling him into my trap of affection.

I could not bear losing my first kiss to him, even if it meant sabotaging my plan to a certain degree. I drove the knife straight up, with no particular target in mind. I just wanted it to hurt.

For a moment I felt like I cut through nothing but air. That I had missed my one chance at freedom. But then something warm and wet oozed over my fingers. Mikhail was on floor wheezing and searching all over his stomach for something.

The knife slid from my hand as I stared at the lines in my hand turning into scarlet streams. I knew he would bleed...but I didn't know he would bleed this much from such a small knife. My heart pounded in my ears and head and I felt like I was stuck somewhere in the middle of a nightmare and waking up. My breath picked up an erratic pace even though he was the one who got stabbed.

The carpet was turning red under Mikhail as he crawled towards me.
"Luna, you fucking-"
I didn't tarry by to hear the rest of it, as I clambered towards the door, throwing it wide open. I scoured my surroundings frantically_A bedroom to my right and I was apparently standing in a surprisingly normal looking living room and adjoined kitchen_and there was a grey door, bigger than the rest. That must be the exit. I darted towards it but something caught my braid. I should've gotten that pixie haircut I wanted three months ago.

Mikhail yanked me back towards him from my hair. I howled in pain as the impact tugged at scalp mercilessly. I reached my arms out, grabbing his shirt as he hurled me towards the wall.
The shriek of fabric ripping echoed in the room. I looked up and gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth.

Mikhail stood in the doorway, head hung low so I could no longer read him or his next move. He stood bare chested save for the fabric that clung on to his arms while my hands held onto the remainder of his shirt. Except for the fact that his chest wasn't bare_it was covered in faded scars that ran down all the way to his abdomen. His neck was discoloured with ligature marks that were far more permanent for an accident's doing. I tried not to look at his bloodied hand that was pressed against the wound I had just added to his collection of scars.

"Who-who did this to you?" I winced, pressing against the wall like doing so would swallow me whole and I would no longer have to confront this situation.
"You want to go so bad don't you?" He mumbled.
"What?"
"YOU WANT TO GO HUH? FINE, THEN LEAVE," he yelled, storming towards me all of a sudden, "but before you do, just listen to what I have to say. Listen to why I do, the things I do."

He closed the distance between us, his free hand closed over my shoulder. I wanted to tell him to call an ambulance_he had lost too much blood_ but I didn't dare to interrupt him when I saw the crazed look in his eyes.

"Those people I exterminate, they aren't who you think they are. They aren't your average sweet, God fearing, nursing home residents. They. Are. Fucking. Monsters," he spat, his fingers digging into my shoulder blade. His eyes had widened, exposing his tender,bloodshot scleras. He was on the verge of tears. I couldn't tell if they were there because of the agony of the gash I had inflicted on him or because of him reminiscing a harrowing section of his life. Both reasonings felt equally terrible at this point.

"Do you see all of this?" he let go of me, turning around to show me vines of purple and pink, etched into the expanse of his back, mimicking the ones on his front. "They, they did this to me," he said running a hand over his chest.

"And not just me," he panted, losing his balance for a second. I leaned forward to catch him but he waved me away, "There were other children. And do you know what we all of had in common? There was no one out there looking for us."  His pants, though black_glistened red as they soaked his incessant bleeding.

"Some of us were orphans, some of us sold by our own parents. I made it out of there but the rest weren't fortunate enough to. They-" his voice cracked under the weight of his words_they were so heavy and excruciating that they were breaking me too.
"I-I'm sorry, I-"

"You probably don't believe me. And you don't have to either. I know none of this makes what I did to you, right and it never will. The front door is unlocked. You're free to leave," he waved towards the living room, propping himself against the wall as he guiding himself out. His breaths were laboured and his body trembled with each step. It was like watching a paper doll battle a derecho.

When he was gone, I sunk to my knees, giving my face in my hands. The coppery scent of blood on my hand made me sick but I preferred that over having to look at my surroundings. I did not want to look at the carpet that now glistened with blood it could no longer absorb_my sin that could no longer be concealed in its tufts. I did not want to look at the smudged, scarlet hand prints on the wall that indicated Mikhail's struggle out of the room. I didn't want to be reminded that between us both_I had been the one to shed the other's blood first.

Despite the fact that Mikhail hadn't assaulted me in any way_I still wanted to hurt him and escape as soon as possible. But Mikhail, who had lost so much at his abusers' hands_was it not fair for him to want that too? And...he was a child when he went through all that. I shuddered just thinking about whatever they must've done to him...for his body to carry such scars all the way to adulthood.

I wanted to believe he had someone who had held him and loved him and offered to heal his scars when he escaped from that abhorrent place.
I don't have a family. Not any that I know of.
Perhaps not.

That's why he had set himself on such a dark and lonely path.
Some of us were orphans, some of us sold by our own parents.
I could only pray that it wasn't the latter in his case.
I felt a warm and wet sensation on my hands again. Blood...? No, tears. Tears for Mikhail. Tears for my captor. Tears for a killer.