letting go of [p][e][r][f][e][c][t] {cato}
Feb 9, 2014 9:16:40 GMT -5
Post by Meghan on Feb 9, 2014 9:16:40 GMT -5
Milo Birch
It was easy for the young girl to make excuses to get out of the most trifle occasions. Milo had several of these reasons up her sleeve, always prepared for the moment when she felt the urge to use them. There was the age old classic, "I'm too tired, Mom, really." and the tried and true, "I have a lot of homework. I can't tonight." She had a reason to get out of most everything people tried to force her to do. People would then ask her the reasons for her reasons, but she would never answer beyond that. They were supposed to take her excuses at face value, nothing more. Lengthy explanations were beneath her precious time. Instead, she would bat large eyes until the intruder felt intimidated enough to leave her alone to her own business. There was no denying the fact that, when she wanted to be, Milo Birch was quite charming and deceptive. People would do anything to remain on her good side.
As much as she longed for a reason to whip out some sorry excuse to mask the fear that was creeping into the depths of her skin, Milo knew that tonight was not the time for such a petty charade. Her target would never, could never fall for something so silly. Not if he was theboyman was who he said he was. A killer, a murderer, a master of the night and the controller of death. Tonight's circumstances were not her usual family dinner party or trite occasion with the so called friends she surrounded herself with for the sake of appearances. There was no way Milo could just tell the person she was meeting, "I apologize, I am feeling exhausted. Any chance we could reschedule for another night?"
This was an evening long in the making, and she had anticipated it through bloody lips and insistent pacing across the wooden floors of her bedroom. She could not escape this fate now, even if she wanted to. He knew she was coming, her words had carved themselves into his mystery eyes as she declared her defiance in the cafeteria. If she backed out now, she would be forced to face the shame and humiliation of giving up. He would call her a coward, and rightly so, for that was what she would become if she acted on the doubts carving into her chest. Could she really do this? Could she really take another life?
Jeers prickled through the night in quick staccato strokes. Memories of the times when her worth was forgotten in place of only her name. Birch, Birch, Birch. Beatrice Birch. Cassius Birch. Failures, failures, failures. All of them, including herself? They had died so easily. Fallen so quickly. Even the two lives Bea had claimed were not enough to make up for the humiliation her family had faced. It made her flush rogue just thinking about it, and her strides widened as she strode towards the shadowy house with determination. Milo Birch was not a failure. Milo Birch was not weak. Milo Birch would prove herself to everyone if it was the last thing she ever did. She would make the Blackmores know her name, respect her name. She could not handle rejection by yet another influential family.
Yes, she told herself as she crept up the stately lawn in a more unsuspecting part of town, tonight was going to change everything.
Around boney shoulders she wore her dead cousin's leather jacket, black and frayed and resting slightly above leggings so tight they clung to her ballerina legs like a shield, flexible enough to move with her every demand, but still concealing her scarred, snowy flesh. It's not like Beatrice needed any of her old things. She was stone-cold dead and unseeing. Head unattached from her body, forever masked in her shame and rotting flesh. Gone. Murdered. Dead.
Milo could feel no shame in stealing the little possessions left behind. Beatrice had never been one for things, preferring the company of her brother and the feel of her guitar above all else. Milo hadn't touched the damn thing. It was the last precious token her buried cousin had left, and besides, it carried too much sentimentality. Too many memories of happier times, when their family did not feel the need to prove themselves to the district because there was nobody looking. Only Milo and her determination to be the best. Everyone else wanted to win, sure, but they could never surpass her talent, her skill. Now everyone wanted to win, and thought they could, too. Everyone wanted to prove they were different.
They were wrong. They were all wrong. None of them were different. They all fell into the same damn charade their decomposing tribute cousins had become victim to. Only Milo was different, and tonight she was going to prove this difference to the entire world.
Besides, the stupid jacket wasn't even Beatrice's. The girl had stolen it from her idiot brother Cassius years before. A comfort of sorts. Now it was Milo's, and she would do damn well what she wanted with it.
No, Milo could feel little remorse as she drew the old thing closer to her goose-bump arms and skeletal form. Lips, stained blood-red, made her look too old for her young age. Intimidation was the name of the game tonight. Her pout was framed with cold, calculating green eyes and a carefully constructed bun. She had dressed to impress, even if the one she intended to impress, if she could use that word for what she planned to do, wouldn't be around long enough to really consider lips or hair.
The door towered above her head. It seemed to conceal secrets and half-truths. For one, panicky second Milo felt absolutely dwarfed by its leering form. Her bones shook and her heart raced as she raised a tentative fist to the frigid wood. Would it be wise to knock? She lifted a dainty hand, and let it hover above the door, unsure whether she dare let the castle know its new princess had arrived. Before she could bring it down, however, something got the better of her. Instead she let her fingers drift to the large metal doorknob.
Logan Blackmore was expecting her. They had agreed upon this time nearly a week ago. She was important, by god she was important. Probably the most valuable visitor he had had in a long time, so certainly he was waiting somewhere near the entrance. He must be. You didn't just let Milo Birch wait and get away with it. It wouldn't hurt to just let herself in, would it? Besides, she rather not wake the entire family with her demand to be greeted.
Her nerves caught deep within her throat and she choked on the fear that had been bubbling up inside her. There had been rumors about this house. Things so horrible that even she dared not to think about it. But certainly it was just gossip, harmless slander perhaps. None of those things could be true, surely never true. Reassured by the lies whispered to herself, she twisted the ice-cold doorknob until she heard the telltale click of the released handle. Cautiously she pushed forward, wincing as the door released a loud creak as it revealed what appeared to be a large, empty hallway. Like a ghost biding its time, she slid sideways through the doorway and took in the dark hall.
Shadows and darkness caressed every surface. It felt practically abandoned, every door close and every lamp unlit. Immediately she felt unwelcome and out of place. So unlike the comforting fire and pristine facade of her own home. Though odd in its own ways, still lively and motivating. Comforting. Unlike this dark dungeon, so silent she could hear her own breath.
The older boy did not appear to be waiting for her. Did he not value her time? Did he not see this moment as precious? Life-changing? Could he not even be smart enough to give her the respect she deserved? Crimson blood played at the edge of her cheeks as she feel the mortified rage of the moment consume her. She fought to hide this blunt emotion, afraid of what it would reveal to the world around her. Yet the pain still thumped in the veins of her neck and through the edges of her knuckles. The bastard did not even have the decency to wait for her on the most important night of her life. How dare he.
Angrily, she slammed the door closed, hoping to alert him of her obvious presence. Maybe now he would grace her with his. Even if it was just to keep the promises he had made.
The discomfort was still sniffing at her senses as she crossed the threshold to peer at the nearest wall in feigned interest. Gold pictures hung on the wall, framing smiling photos of the many Blackmore children and cousins. Most of them handsome or beautiful. Perfect, it seemed. Or perhaps they disguised themselves well. Except for one individual, unabashedly evil and incredibly hard on the eyes. She stared at the portrait of the obese boy she knew ironically as "Tuff." He had shown up to training before, an overly confident smile plastered over white, unusual teeth. It had only been natural at the time to scoff at his heavyset form and laugh at his reasons for being there. What did a boy who looked the way he did have reason to be in a training center? He would never be a career if she had anything to say about it.
Boredom encased her and she crept towards the image, curious of its significance. She shot a hand out to feel the name engraved into the gold frame and whispered, "Tuff Blackmore... a freak if I ever saw one."
Undecided about the portraits, she rotated away from the wall, hoping to discover some other intimate detail about her new 'friend's' life. Without warning, a rough hand grabbed her lips and pulled her flush against a warm body. Engulfed by the width of the intruder and the sudden smell of rotting fish, her eyes widened to ten times their normal size.
"Like the picture, sweetheart?" A gruff voice growled into her ear in a stroke of hot breath, forcing a shudder down her spine. Her hands flew up to grab his, trying to pull his away, but he merely chuckled and batted them down to her side. "Sorry it is not as attractive as little Logan's. I guess I was looking pretty freaky that day, hmm?"
So it was Tuff Blackmore who had gotten ahold of her. He must had heard the loathing in her voice as she stared at his portrait and passed comments maybe she should not have passed. Milo did not regret the words, she just regretted that she was stupid enough to say something so obvious in the idiot's house. There was more than a risk of being overheard here, especially since she had broken in without much apology. She squealed as she tried to free herself, but he only pulled her closer, the rings on his fingers pushing deep into her already bruised lips.
"Hey, you can have some comfort, my darling. I promise you one thing, if I look that freaky in photos then certainly I must be that freaky in bed. A feat I'm sure you'll be begging for me to demonstrate once I am through with you, stranger." She practically whimpered as he tightened his grip around her and pushed thick lips against the edge of her ear. What the hell did he think he was going to do with her?
She pulled his hand away from her lips long enough to give him one last insult, "I would never sleep with such a barbarous whale. If you think you're capable of getting with... with me then you've gotten another thing coming." What kind of girl did he think she was? He would never win this. She couldn't allow it. She was stronger than that. Stronger than him.
Tuff only chuckled again, and squeezed her lips harder. "Very funny, little girl. But I'm afraid that's not how it works around here... what Tuff wants, Tuff gets." His remaining hand slid to her waist and he pulled her even closer, digging into her tiny form with his ballooned one. Her heart rose to her chest as he pushed her against a wall and started tugging at the zipper of her jacket unapologetically. "I suppose you were hoping to do this with the little freak, Logan, tonight, eh? Can't say that I blame you. Good looking fellow he is... I am sure you are in love already. Too bad you're stuck with me, and there's nothing you can do about it." He dropped his hand from his mouth to grab both of hers above her head. "I'm going to ruin you for him, Milo Birch. More like bitch. You're such a little slut, you know that, right?"
"You are one fowl creature." She whispered, her voice all but gone. Who was she kidding? She was too young to really escape this. Tuff was too strong for her, even if he looked like the human version of Flubber. She was weak. Imperfect. She deserved this... this abuse. This punishment. If Milo Birch wasn't strong enough to fight off one fat kid, she deserved to be treated like shit.
"Lucky me that you are a beautiful one then." Tuff sneered, his lips mere centimeters from her own. The fish smell grew more pungent with every passing second. "I can ruin your innocence with my fowlness, Milo. Then I'll show you what it really means to suffer. I will show you what it means to scream."
The unimaginable happened next. Tuff Blackmore kissed Milo Birch, rubber lips and all. And she felt like she was going to die. She wanted to die. She had never even kissed a boy before, and now here was the grand moment, ruined by some creep in an empty hallway.
Where the fuck was Logan, anyway? Was this chance encounter with his older brother his doing? God, she was going to kill him the next time she saw him. If only he would appear, if only she could escape this.
God, make it stop.
Word Count: 2385
