Slash and slash and slash.

And hit and hit and hit.

Her sixth stimulation of the day. Hundreds of fake guards who she has already killed, purely to let all her anger out.

Anger towards who she thought was her best friend, for hurting her. Anger towards Jorge for letting it happen. At herself for letting it happen. At everyone and anything in the world.

"Siren, it's time for dinner."

With a loud grunt, she shoots another guard. "No siento."

I don't feel like it.

"Siren," Jorge warns. "Either talk to me or listen."

"I am talking to you."

"Talk to me about why you're acting this way."

"No."

He said that if she's tell anyone, he'd do it again. And that he would also hurt whoever she would tell.

"Then get out of the room and please come eat dinner," Jorge requests.

"Vete a la mierda."

Go to hell.

"Okay, then no dinner at all for you today," he responds before he walks off, leaving her alone.

☯︎︎

He did it again. It felt like it lasted hours long this time. And the next day, he did it again. And again, and again, and again. And he acted as if it was as normal as the talks they used to have every evenings for years.

Jorge drags her into her room with some force today, anger that had been forming for days finally taking over. Siren kicks and hits him, but he's too strong and eventually, the door slams shut and she is all alone.

"Calm down and maybe then we'll talk."

"Hey!" Her fists bang against the door. Hot tears stream down her face from both anger and betrayal, not to mention how messy her hair and body look. "Just listen!"

"I will only listen when you stop crying and hitting. Three of my men hurt by you! You've been acting strange the whole week! I don't like all this misbehavior, Siren."

"But you have to believe me." She sobs. "They were hurting me too! They touched me!"

A long silence on the other side. "How?"

"He was holding my arm as we walked!" Another angry slam on the door.

"Siren, Hija..." Jorge sighs. "Holding someone's arm is no reason to break the whole building down. Did you tell them you didn't like it?"

Her mouth opens, then closes after a wince came out of it.

"Did you tell them you didn't like it?"

"...no." She admits. "I didn't, but-."

"Then next time, you do." And he walks away.

"Wait!" Siren presses her whole body against the door. "Jorge, please! You... believe me, I- Jorge!"

But he is gone.

Siren stops resisting and sits down on the cold floor, her back sliding against the door.

"But last time I told him I didn't like it, he didn't stop either," she whispers, then grunted in anger.

☯︎︎

A few days later, and a few horrific nights later, she enters the small living room they have upstairs. Brenda is already brushing her teeth and she's supposed to follow Amery to her bedroom right now, but instead, she sneaked to where she knew Jorge would be.

And indeed. He's sitting on the couch with a glass on his hand. The bottom of it is filled with some kind of brownish liquid.

"I'm ready to talk," she announces, shaking.

He looks up. Motions at the chair in front of him. "Go on."

Her eyes make their way to the radio. It's blasting Jorge's favorite song through the room.

I go out walkin' after midnight, the woman sings, out in the moonlight, just like we used to do.

"Can you turn that off?" She asks.

He lowers the volume.

"Off," she commands.

Jorge casts a stern look at her.

"Please," she adds.

With a final sigh, he turns the old radio off, then turns to the little girl. "What is it, Hija?"

She takes a nervous breath. Amery doesn't have to know she's telling Jorge this. He won't hurt his leader either way. She can trust Jorge. It's the last person she trusts, even while their relationship isn't even that good.

Her relationship with Amery was the best, and guess how that ended.

But Jorge really, really won't hurt her. She's so sure of it that it almost scares her. She shouldn't keep trusting people.

Then there's footsteps on the stairs. The girl flinches in her seat, backing away as much as she can.

"Hi, Jorge. Have you seen S— oh, there she is." Amery gifts her a big smile. "It's bedtime."

"I'm talking to Jorge," she replies shakily. "I need to finish this conversation."

Amery leans against the wall. Crosses his arms. Jorge turns back to Siren. "Spill, Hija."

Amery doesn't understand Spanish, does he?

"El tiene que irse," she says.

He has to go.

Jorge looks from Amery to Siren. "Amery, leave us alone for a minute, would you?"

With a nod, he closes the door.

"No. You don't understand. He can still hear us. He needs to go away," she whispers. "Downstairs or something."

"Siren, please. Just hurry. I'm working on a system with my favorite song. I can play it and when it finishes, the whole building will—"

"I don't care," she snaps. "I need to say this. He needs to go."

"Amery!" Jorge barks. "Go check up on Brenda or someth—"

"No!" A shriek yelp escapes from Siren. "No. He can't check up on Brenda. Please."

"I don't have time for this," Jorge says. "For the love of God, just say it."

"He—" she begins stammer. "He... he—" What did he do? He said it's normal. How does she explain this? Will Jorge also tell her it's normal and then laugh at her for being so weak?

"He?" Jorge raises an eyebrow.

She lowers her head, attempting to think of a way to explain how uncomfortable he made him. In the background, Jorge begins humming the stupid song as he waits.

"Stop. Be silent," she snaps.

"I don't like the way you're talking to me," he replies calmly. With his hand, he reaches for the radio again. The song starts.

Siren clenches her jaw. "I told you to turn that off."

"And I told you to not talk to me in this way. I'm your—"

"My what? My father?" She jumps up. "You never even listen!" Tears are welling in her eyes. She's angry. And hurt. And everything at once. "My real father cared more than you, and that says a whole lot!"

Now Jorge gets off the couch, too. She feels slightly intimidated by him, his large body towering over her like that. It reminds her of the terrible nights.

But she doesn't back up. "Tell Amery to leave, turn the song off, sit back down, and listen."

"I'll listen when you're less cheeky," he says. "Which is not today. Come back tomorrow and try again. This is not how I have raised you."

"Jorge, turn the song off, tell Amery to—"

"Siren, go to your bed. Ahora! No lo diré otra vez!"

Now! I'm not telling you again!

"Te odio!" She yells.

I hate you!

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she repeats, over and over until her words break into sobs. She kicks his stupid radio off the table. Stomps on it until the song's disc jumps out. And then she jumps on that, too, tears running down her face.

"Siren!" He pulls her off his stuff. "You really wanna get in my hair? Go to your freaking bed!"

"Don't touch me!" She pushes herself away from him. Picks the disc up and throws it as his face. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you—"

"I'll handle it," a familiar voice says. "Come, Ren."

"No," she sobs. And suddenly, she clinging to Jorge. "Don't let h—" But it's too late.