"…Wanna go home together?" she asked as timidly.

I was about to reply 'Boy, that escalated quickly,' but I was too fazed by her sudden change in character, in being, to tease her. As abruptly as she morphed, she walked out; I followed her as I accepted her invitation. Her silence echoed awfully well in the hollow corridors drenched in Helios' blood. I went after her while listening to our deafening footsteps. By the time we reached the school's gate, I'd finally accustomed a little bit to that other side of her, which I only saw a glimpse of anyway.

"By the way, where do you live?"

"Around ———— street," she replied.

"Ok… I live at the total opposite but it's fine, I guess," I simply commented.

Silence decidedly prevailed over her character. I wondered why she suddenly wanted to go home together, our discussion earlier maybe? It must've been it. Fortunately living in a town next to the sea, the evening waves violently beating the golden sand served as a substitute to our muteness, and carried on its bloodshed as bringing sand to its own depth for a while. Though I could feel Kim's urge for a chat and I couldn't bring myself to utter something. Her shadow was swaying a few feet before me on the dry concrete as she walked under a dying star's radiance.

"I had something in mind," she blurted out.

"Huh, is it related to what we said this morning?" I tried to quicken my pace to reach her.

"Kinda. Y'know when you tried to define beauty…"

"I think you replied with something like 'I can't even remember the last time I was happy'…"

She stopped walking; compulsively, I felt like stopping too. She didn't turn at me but simply stayed in that state for enough time to be called a while.

"You fine?" I asked as getting closer.

"Do you think we're friends?" she asked back, still not facing me and veiling her face with her back.

"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, if I can call you Kim that means we're kinda close—and friends, y'know. And I really appreciate when you give me answers, but there's not much for me to do to show my gratitude." I stumbled on my words before another change of heart.

"Can I tell you something then?" I was just before her when she murmured it.

"That's what friends are for, I think," of course, I had no proper friend.

At last, she turned at me while our faces were almost colliding. Her face was livelier; her lips were very slightly tightened, something I noticed only because of our closeness. She sat on the rim between concrete and beach sand before facing that infinite-looking line that is the horizon. The crimson sun gleamed in her eyes and on her glasses. I sat next to her and she kept quiet for a while. I waited for her confession.

"When you talked to me about feeling happy, I didn't understand either. It's been so long since the last time I was 'happy'" she gestured air quotes very frailly. "Here's what I wanna tell you—I hate home. I think I could burn it down with all the people in it if I ever snapped—and it could happen anytime. Let's see," she said in a very low tone. The sun's glow vanished from the chasm of her eyes. "My step-father. He rapes me at least twice in a week, and he doesn't miss a chance to beat me or my mother."

She pulled up her cardigan to show her back; no light escaped the dark bruises on her soft skin. I blushed a little bit as seeing a part of her bra, but I blushed more as realizing of how rude it was of me while she was dead serious. There was a big scar diagonally running her right side; she instinctively tried to hide it.

"…That's a gift my real father left me before killing himself. He was nuts, a drug addict. That shit trashed his mind. One day, he just snapped and almost killed my mother and me. Oh, and my mother, that good for nothing. She hears it when I'm moaning out of disgust while that other asshole puts his dick in my pussy. And y'know what, she does nothing, like always, and then she still beats me after being beaten by the asshole, 'cause I fucked with him, she said. 'Fuckin' slut, y'like it when he plunges his dick in your young and nice ass, don't ya?' that's what she always says and she waits for a 'yes' from me before stopping. I think my father made her nuts too; she just knows how to hide it."

I didn't know how to reply. She crossed her arms and tried somehow to warm herself up. I wanted to touch her; she seemed so fragile I was scared of doing so. I reached her hand. It was warm despite the cold of her eyes.

"I'm very sorry," was the only thing I managed to say.

"HOW can you be sorry?" she replied.

"I dunno. If there was a god up there, guess I'm very sorry on his behalf," I stumbled on my words.

"There NO god up there, or else we wouldn't be down here. NO nice—all-powerful—god, that's for sure."

"Then I'm sorry because I don't know what to reply."

"Tell me you listened—tell me you understood," her voice quivered.

"I understand," I told her.

"And do you really think that beauty can save me, now?"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"I still believe so. I'll show you for sure."

She stood up very suddenly and started walking again without sparing me a glance. I followed her while the sun erased for good. Her being only seemed so delicate to me; her self was a living oxymoron opposing the flimsiness of her body and the rigidity of her will. For the rest of our small journey, it was as though she was walking alone. I could only follow her from behind like some impotent ghost. Soon enough, we were before her evils' house; it was very normal, very mundane, who would've guessed the atrocities that lay inside. And in the hearth of these atrocities, there lay a girl no stronger than a lily.

I watched her from the lawn; even I didn't want to get close to that place. She rang the bell, and a fair-haired woman, her mother supposedly, opened. Her mother seemed very nice; she indeed knew how to hide her folly. I backed off a little bit when the latter grabbed Kim's hand. She didn't look afraid though, she just sighed. Her mother slammed in a similarly well-hid violence the door. For some reason, I just stayed by the lawn, staring at the damn house; I felt like puking some nasty things. After ten minutes or so, I gathered all my might and strolled around the house; I could hear a big thump against the walls.

It repeated itself for some time, then I listened to someone sobbing; that too continued for a while. I heard her screams then, and another woman shouting senseless stuff. It was very dissonant. I didn't know why I kept listening anyway, but her strident cries for help seemed like whispers that bewitched me. I wanted to puke again. In the background of her cries, there was that dry thud. Actually, it might've been louder than her cries. But I cared more for the latter. It continued until a crescent moon showed. I peered at the abysses of the night, back leaned on the backdoor of that indifferent house, while her sobs were gently muting. She had said 'yes'.

I went home as though nothing happened.

The night was darker than I'd remembered; the dim lights felt like distant stars perched in the infinite chasm of space. I could barely see my hands. My footsteps were as distant; everything became distant for some reason. As though I'd closed my eyes and fell into a nightmare, only to be an outsider watching. I stopped dead in the dead of the streets. Then, I felt puking again; the feeling disappeared as rapidly as it came. I felt frantic. I walked again as frantically. Soon enough, I was before my own house. The light scattering from the windows made me feel like puking again, and then frantic.

When I got in, they were dining in the kitchen, like the day before; he was shouting about goddamn shits, and she was killing herself with smoke. They didn't notice me while I stood by the doorframe, staring at them. They didn't notice me. I went for a beer can in the fridge. He yelled something. I went up the stairs while he carried on rambling loudly. I closed my door. He knocked on the door like trying to smash it down. It sounded like polyrhythm beats. He knocked and yelled, knocked and yelled, knocked and yelled… He got fed up and went down again, resuming his dinner.

I sank down the beer in the dark. My eyes were locked on the mocking moon, as though she was mad laughing at me. I heard the screams again. Worse, I heard her sobs. It bounced back and forth inside my brain. I was awfully awake when I saw it was around 11. Everything was somber, somber than the streets, somber than their hearts.

I felt frantic again.

I went down to the living room. Next to the TV, well-exposed behind its display case, there was a shotgun. He bought it for hunting and hunting off robbers. I stood before it for a while. It was the only thing my eyes could see in the dark. Suddenly breaking the night's muteness, I took it. I went to the kitchen, that's where the cartridges were. They were at the bottom of a drawer, in their box. I pushed in three shells in the magazine. I loaded it and went up the stairs.

I went into their chamber; they were soundly sleeping. I could hear him snoring while she was wearing a night mask. I took his car's key and put it in my pocket. There was a safe under their bed; I took it out, entered the code, and took all that was in there. I put it in a plastic bag lying around in their room.

Then, I aimed from above his head, his sleepy head. I shot.

She screamed but said nothing, uttered nothing. She crept into a corner of the room. I aimed at her. She was quiet as usual. I backed the gun down and took the plastic bag. I went back to my room, she stayed in her corner. I rapidly took some clothes, curled them in a ball into my bag, went down, took the other cartridges in the kitchen, and got out. Under the dim lights, my tee-shirt shone crimson. I started the car engine and headed over to her place.

I drove frantically with the shotgun next to me, and the plastic bag in the back seat. I drove and drove for what seemed like an infinite time. The streets were void. No one around. No 'them'.

I was standing by her lawn again. I went for the backdoor. Closed. I forced it open. Loudly. It was dark inside, I was in their kitchen. A light sparkled in the living room. The man got down the stairs. He stopped dead when I cocked the gun at him. He raised his rapist's hands, his rapist's hands trembled in fear. I shot as soon as I loaded it. His rapist's guts scattered across the living room; the grayish carpet blended with crimson. His rapist's body stopped moving.

The hypocrite wacko was standing in the middle of the stairs, watching the dead rapist in horror. I raised the gun. She screamed and started moving her hypocrite wacko's feet. I shot as soon as I loaded it. The magazine was empty. Her hypocrite wacko's body collapsed down the stairs like some thrown ragdoll. She left a crimson trail on its wood.

I shot three times in total.

Then, Kim was standing by the top of the stairs, awfully awake. She was staring at me in her dark purple pajamas, in her usual silence. Her eyes seemed brighter. Her eyes were filled with neither fear, nor disdain, nor disgust, nor contempt, nor happiness, nor joy. Just livelier. But she was apathetic as always.

"You killed them?" her cold tone resonated in the whole house.

"Let's get outta here. Take some clothes, whatever you need. I'll be waiting in the car outside."

I went back to the car and sat in there. My tee-shirt still shone crimson. I put on another one. Soon enough, smoke veiled the stars. She'd snapped. The house flashed and exhaled awfully bright blazes in the obscurity. A deadly heat drenched the surrounding. Her shadow swayed before this hellish scenery.

She came with a pile of French poetry and a shoulder bag, accompanied by a strong scent of fuel and burn. She went in and put her luggage in the back seat. She stopped a little while seeing the plastic bag through which green reflected. She put on her seatbelt. I'd forgotten to put on mine.

"What's the plan now that you've killed two psychos?" she asked without looking at me.

"Three. Plus my father—I don't know."

"There should be a rundown house by ———— hill. The one giving on the beach. You know the place?"

"Yeah, the one where a whole family was murdered. Only a killer like me would go there. You fine with that?"

"Let's go," she finally said.

I started the engine and drove. That was a famous house, the devil's house like they called it. Even if it was two hours from our town, it was notorious because of these murders. Two hours driving along the coast, and we'd be there. I guessed it would be around 5 a.m. or so when we'd got there. She slept in the cradle of the blank night as I handled the steering wheel. Her sleeping face mirrored more and more accurately in her window as the sun slaughtered the shadows again. I didn't care watching a clock.