His Ruin, His possession

Chapter 1

Celyn

“Sit with him. Eat with him. Laugh with him. Become friends with him. Make him fall so deep he forgets how to breathe without you. Then crush him. Slowly. Completely.”

That was my daily prayer. My poison. The only thing that kept me sane since I found out who murdered my father. Vengeance was not just a goal, it was my therapy, stitching together the pieces of a girl who watched her world burn ten years ago.

Today’s date, March 24, makes it exactly 10 years since my life turned upside down.

“f*****g bastard,” I cussed as I ducked, evading a punch from my giant-like opponent and landing one of my own.

The blood in my ears roared louder than the crowd. The lights above the ring burned my eyes, casting shadows on his face. That is, if it could still be called a face after the last hook I landed. My knuckles throbbed beneath the wraps, split old wounds I never let heal.

My opponent staggered back, spitting blood, but I didn’t wait for the ref. This wasn’t a place for rules.

This was the Underground pit. A place where the hands of the law couldn't reach. A place where I could deal with my demons.

“We have a winner!” the ref announced as my opponent struggled to stand until the countdown was over. My right arm was raised as I smiled sardonically. I had come out as the winner twice in a row.

If only this was enough to bring down my father’s killers. But I knew more than anyone that it would take more than that. The cash was thick in my hand, enough for groceries, maybe some meds for Mom’s headaches and to meet up with paying the debt collectors for the week. A debt I didn't owe. A debt that we had no idea how my father owed such an amount.

I pulled my hoodie over my head as I left the pit. By the time I got home, my hands had gone numb from the cold, or maybe the fight. Probably both. I shoved the door open quietly, trying not to wake her.

But she was already there. Sitting in the half-dark of our rundown living room, bathrobe loose, cigarette between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me.

“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped, in her hoarse tired voice.

I didn’t get a word out before her palm cracked across my cheek. Not hard enough to knock me off balance; she didn’t have that kind of strength anymore, but hard enough to remind me she was still angry at me. For everything. For simply existing. For being the cause of my father’s death.

“I’m sorry, Ma. Got held up.”

Held up by a man twice my size who wanted to rearrange my face with his fists. She just glared at me. Her eyes looked glassy. Not from tears, those ran out years ago.

“You’re going to end up like him,” she muttered, more to herself than me. “Dead. Just like your father.”

I didn’t answer. There was no right answer to that.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the cash, and placed it gently on the table beside her ashtray. “It’s enough to last us the week,” I said quietly. Then I turned and walked to my room. I shut the door behind me and rested against it, breathing slowly through the dull pain spreading through my ribs.

The memory slowly assailed my thoughts. How he had been shot down without being given a chance to explain, by unknown gunmen. Their reason had been that my father had breached a loan contract and they had to kill him. But I knew it was a lie. My father was a very contented man who lived within his means and he denied ever taking a loan. I believed him, but they didn’t.

They broke his ribs. Crushed his hand. Shot him in the stomach. He hadn’t survived it. He died a week later in his hospital bed. But not before he gave me something. A key.

“Hide it,” he had whispered with the last of his strength. “If they know you have this, they’ll come for you too.”

It had taken me years to open it up and be able to finally reopen my wounds and trauma. And now all i wanted was vengeance even if it means selling myself to the devil.

By morning, the pain from the fight was a dull throb. I ignored it like I always did.

The university gates buzzed with noise and excitement. It was too bright for my liking. Students hurried around with coffees in hand, earbuds plugged in. It all looked so normal. So painfully average. And I hated that I had to blend into it.

I passed the main hall and offered a nod to a few familiar faces. Girls I sat beside in class. Boys who tried to flirt. To them, I was just Celyn, quiet, sarcastic, sometimes unpredictable, but mostly invisible.

“Hey, Celyn!” Naomi, the girl from my Ethics class, waved with her usual over-the-top grin. She had bright eyes and zero understanding of personal boundaries.

I forced a smile. “Morning.”

“God, you look exhausted,” she said, frowning as she fell into step beside me. “Are you pulling all-nighters again?” well it could be called an all-nighter just not for reading.

“Yeah,” I said simply, adjusting the strap of my backpack. “Group project stress.”

She laughed like it was some inside joke. “Ugh, tell me about it. Hey, don’t forget we’ve got Dr. Keller’s class in twenty, okay?”

“I won’t.” I responded curtly.

She walked off toward the café, chattering with a guy I didn’t recognize. As I watched her go, my smile dropped.

No one here knew who I really was. No one knew that the girl with the tired eyes and healing bruises had a kill list hidden in her dorm room drawer. No one knew that the reason I kept my head down wasn’t shyness. It was because he was here. The son of the man who signed my father’s death order, and my revenge plan.