Chapter Two: LIFE AS THE SEXY SLAYER
3247 Words
Fifteen years later, on that same date.
Lucy, now Xenia Blackthrone, dreads leaving her bed. Warm sheets surround her, yet she feels cold inside. In her head, she sees her mother's tears again. She sees her father’s blood spill.
This same nightmare has woken Xenia up for the past fifteen years. The more she tries not to see it, the more it fixes on her soul.
Back then, as soon as she regained consciousness, The Don looked down on her and said,
"I am Dominic Blackthrone and I am your new dad."
She was given a new name, Xenia Blackthrone. Whenever she answered to "Lucy," she was tortured and battered. It did not matter if it was an accident or reflex. They punished her until the name Lucy tasted like blood.
So over time, she learned to own her identity as Xenia Blackthrone, the Slayer, the Don's daughter, or rather, his lap dog. She learned to erase the fantasy her parents allowed her to have as a child. The fantasy of crushing on boys. The fantasy of being married at twenty-two to the love of her life. Because every single boy she had liked since she became Xenia Blackthrone had been killed.
"Stupid girl," she muttered, cursing herself in her sleep. Safety and pride. The only two words that kept her from hating herself completely. She touched her chest as she did every morning, reaching for the last good gift she had ever gotten. Oh, what she would have given to have her necklace with her. Hell, what she would have given to have her parents back with her, even for a minute. Even if that minute cost her life.
Nico.
Her best friend. The only boy she thought about every day. While on her killing sprees, she searched and searched. She came so close to being arrested by the police so many times because she kept looking for Nico. She had checked alleyways, bus stations, churches, and clubs. She watched faces in crowds until her eyes hurt. But nothing. She found nothing tangible. What would he be like now? Would he hate her? Wouldrecognisenize her?
"Are you dead too, Nico?" she asks out loud. She waits a second, hoping he answers somehow.
Knock. Knock.
It's a rhythm she recognizes in her sleep. She leaps out of bed. Looks at the mirror, her skin tan from all the training under the sun, her body toned from all the workouts and diets. This body deserves love but all it has gotten is war. She sighs. The last time she made a wish the exact opposite happened. No use wishing for a lover now. She crosses the room, and handles the knife she keeps taped beneath the bedside table.
She twists the handle.
Gladys, her matron for the past ten years, stands there, the only sight for sore eyes in this place.
"Happy birthday to you, my dear Lucy," Gladys whispers, the "Lucy" so low even she barely hears it.
Xenia's mouth tightens at first as she looks around with fear for Gladys.
"Be careful, Gladys. Let today not be the day you lose your head."
Gladys steps into her room. Xenia pulls her inside and quickly locks the door.
"Don't worry, Xenia," Gladys says, and her lips curve with a tired smile. "I am an old cougar after all. Any day now."
"Don't say that." Xenia's voice comes out sharper than she meant.
Gladys opens her arms, and Xenia steps into the hug. Gladys smells like soap and steamed cloth. Gladys' warm hug reminds her of her mother's, and Xenia's throat tightens. She tries to feel something, but her eyes stay dry, stubborn, cruel. On a day like this, won't the tears finally come?
"This may sound selfish," Gladys murmurs into her hair, "but I've been so happy by your presence here. Since my daughter died, you have been my comfort in this hellhole."
Xenia pulls back just enough to look at her. She lets a small smile show.
"Now, now, Gladys. Don't go all mushy mushy on the Slayer."
Gladys' hand snaps up, fingers pressing to Xenia's lips firmly.
"Shhh. I've warned you to stop calling yourself that." Gladys looks at the door, then back at her. "Others may call you that, but don't do that to yourself. Don't punish yourself that way."
Gladys is the only one outside the Don to shush her and still inhale the next breath.
Every time Xenia has come back soaked in someone else's blood, while others have hailed her and celebrated her skills, Gladys has run a hot bath and soaked her in it, silently cleaning her and drying her off—no questions, no praise, no disgust, and no judgment. After which, she has sat with Xenia in silence until she sleeps off. Gladys has never known, but that singular act has kept Xenia sane after all her killing sprees. Maybe it is selfish, and she does not deserve it, but she has always needed it.
Xenia focuses on Gladys.
"So what have you got me for my birthday?"
Gladys' eyebrows lift, and she breathes out a soft laugh.
"Close your eyes."
"You know I can't." Xenia states the fact. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees blood. Even sleeping is a chore.
"Forgive me, my dear girl." Gladys sighs, "you can turn around instead."
Xenia hesitates, then turns around quickly. She feels a cold steel settle around her neck. Her hand goes up on instinct, her fingers feeling a chain. She looks down. A chain with a simple pendant rests against her skin.
Xenia shifts her long crimson hair in place and turns to Gladys. She stares at the necklace in disbelief.
"Wow, Gladys." Her voice cracks on the name. "How were you able to do this?"
"From the monies you've been giving me." Gladys' mouth twists in pride. "I thought if I saved up and got you this, it can be a temporary replacement for the necklace you lost."
"Oh, Gladys." She swallows, "I really wish I could cry right now." Years of torture had taken away her tears.
"Don't worry." Gladys' voice softens. "One day you will cry again to your heart's content."
A knock on the door.
Xenia ignores it. She goes to the mirror, leans closer, checking how the chain looks against her skin.
Another knock.
Marcel's smug voice comes through. "Xenia, I hope you're indecent because I'm coming in."
"I do not want to see anyone, Marcel." She speaks without raising her voice. "Not today."
"If you don't want to see anyone today," he continues, "you might as well get ready to see your maker."
Xenia slowly rolls her eyes. "Boys. I have heard worse threats before breakfast."
Gladys moves to the door and unlocks it. The door is flung open so hard it hits Gl in the face.
Gladys staggbackwards, hand flying to her nose.
Xenia resists the urge to rush to her side. It is a weakness to care, and she must show no sign of it. She keeps her posture loose, arms at her sides, even as her fingers curl into a ball.
"Get up, dirty maid." Marcel walks in like he owns the room, an annoying grin plastered beneath the ghastly scar across his face. His eyes are cold with excitement, like he is testing how far he is allowed to go.
Marcel looks at her balled fists, then smiles wider.
"Oh." He tilts his head, pretending to be amused. "A soft spot for the maid? I'm sure my father will love this."
Marcel is the illegitimate son of the Don, who licks his father's boots just to be accepted and regarded. The Don has always ignored him, as if Marcel were a problem he had already solved. So far, the Don has treated Marcel as a nuisance, shutting him up at the slightest whim of unnecessary interference. A bulk of the difficult tasks meant for the heir of the Blackthrone family has been taken from him and given to her, making Marcel furious and jealous to no end.
Xenia would be sorry for him if he weren't such a blatant fool.
She bursts out laughing, then straightens and steps closer.
"You are a clueless clown, Marcel." Her laugh fades into a cold smile. "A ball-less mutt. A wannabe with no class. Do with the maid whatever you want, but first tell me the effrontery with which you barge into my room."
Marcel's nostrils flare. He moves so close that she can feel his breath on her skin.
"This is my house."
Xenia chuckles lightly.
"We would see about that." Her eyes flick down to his belt, then back up, slowly. "What do you want?"
Marcel holds the parcel up to her face, daring her not to take it.
"A dress for the Slayer," he says, the nickname like it is a jest. "Father says you must wear this."
Xenia stares at the parcel, not taking it.
"I am not interested. Return it."
Marcel laughs. He drops the parcel on the ground, letting it land at her feet like trash.
"See you later, Slayer." He backs away with a smirk.
Xenia waits until his steps have completely receded, then, without missing a beat, moves fast across the room. She locks the door and runs to Gladys' side.
Gladys is standing, stubbornly upright, blood running from her nose. Her forehead is swelling.
Xenia cups Gladys' face gently.
"Ouch, Gladys." Her voice softens despite herself. "I am so sorry. This looks bad. It's all my fault."
Gladys waves her off.
"Don't worry, Gladys." Her voice sounds determined. "Revenge is on its way."
Today would be the last time she obeyed The Don's orders.
Chapter Two: LIFE AS THE SEXY SLAYER
Fifteen years later, on that same date.
Lucy, now Xenia Blackthrone, dreads leaving her bed. Warm sheets surround her, yet she feels cold inside. In her head, she sees her mother's tears again. She sees her father’s blood spill.
This same nightmare has woken Xenia up for the past fifteen years. The more she tries not to see it, the more it fixes on her soul.
Back then, as soon as she regained consciousness, The Don looked down on her and said,
"I am Dominic Blackthrone and I am your new dad."
She was given a new name, Xenia Blackthrone. Whenever she answered to "Lucy," she was tortured and battered. It did not matter if it was an accident or reflex. They punished her until the name Lucy tasted like blood.
So over time, she learned to own her identity as Xenia Blackthrone, the Slayer, the Don's daughter, or rather, his lap dog. She learned to erase the fantasy her parents allowed her to have as a child. The fantasy of crushing on boys. The fantasy of being married at twenty-two to the love of her life. Because every single boy she had liked since she became Xenia Blackthrone had been killed.
"Stupid girl," she muttered, cursing herself in her sleep. Safety and pride. The only two words that kept her from hating herself completely. She touched her chest as she did every morning, reaching for the last good gift she had ever gotten. Oh, what she would have given to have her necklace with her. Hell, what she would have given to have her parents back with her, even for a minute. Even if that minute cost her life.
Nico.
Her best friend. The only boy she thought about every day. While on her killing sprees, she searched and searched. She came so close to being arrested by the police so many times because she kept looking for Nico. She had checked alleyways, bus stations, churches, and clubs. She watched faces in crowds until her eyes hurt. But nothing. She found nothing tangible. What would he be like now? Would he hate her? Wouldrecognisenize her?
"Are you dead too, Nico?" she asks out loud. She waits a second, hoping he answers somehow.
Knock. Knock.
It's a rhythm she recognizes in her sleep. She leaps out of bed. Looks at the mirror, her skin tan from all the training under the sun, her body toned from all the workouts and diets. This body deserves love but all it has gotten is war. She sighs. The last time she made a wish the exact opposite happened. No use wishing for a lover now. She crosses the room, and handles the knife she keeps taped beneath the bedside table.
She twists the handle.
Gladys, her matron for the past ten years, stands there, the only sight for sore eyes in this place.
"Happy birthday to you, my dear Lucy," Gladys whispers, the "Lucy" so low even she barely hears it.
Xenia's mouth tightens at first as she looks around with fear for Gladys.
"Be careful, Gladys. Let today not be the day you lose your head."
Gladys steps into her room. Xenia pulls her inside and quickly locks the door.
"Don't worry, Xenia," Gladys says, and her lips curve with a tired smile. "I am an old cougar after all. Any day now."
"Don't say that." Xenia's voice comes out sharper than she meant.
Gladys opens her arms, and Xenia steps into the hug. Gladys smells like soap and steamed cloth. Gladys' warm hug reminds her of her mother's, and Xenia's throat tightens. She tries to feel something, but her eyes stay dry, stubborn, cruel. On a day like this, won't the tears finally come?
"This may sound selfish," Gladys murmurs into her hair, "but I've been so happy by your presence here. Since my daughter died, you have been my comfort in this hellhole."
Xenia pulls back just enough to look at her. She lets a small smile show.
"Now, now, Gladys. Don't go all mushy mushy on the Slayer."
Gladys' hand snaps up, fingers pressing to Xenia's lips firmly.
"Shhh. I've warned you to stop calling yourself that." Gladys looks at the door, then back at her. "Others may call you that, but don't do that to yourself. Don't punish yourself that way."
Gladys is the only one outside the Don to shush her and still inhale the next breath.
Every time Xenia has come back soaked in someone else's blood, while others have hailed her and celebrated her skills, Gladys has run a hot bath and soaked her in it, silently cleaning her and drying her off—no questions, no praise, no disgust, and no judgment. After which, she has sat with Xenia in silence until she sleeps off. Gladys has never known, but that singular act has kept Xenia sane after all her killing sprees. Maybe it is selfish, and she does not deserve it, but she has always needed it.
Xenia focuses on Gladys.
"So what have you got me for my birthday?"
Gladys' eyebrows lift, and she breathes out a soft laugh.
"Close your eyes."
"You know I can't." Xenia states the fact. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees blood. Even sleeping is a chore.
"Forgive me, my dear girl." Gladys sighs, "you can turn around instead."
Xenia hesitates, then turns around quickly. She feels a cold steel settle around her neck. Her hand goes up on instinct, her fingers feeling a chain. She looks down. A chain with a simple pendant rests against her skin.
Xenia shifts her long crimson hair in place and turns to Gladys. She stares at the necklace in disbelief.
"Wow, Gladys." Her voice cracks on the name. "How were you able to do this?"
"From the monies you've been giving me." Gladys' mouth twists in pride. "I thought if I saved up and got you this, it can be a temporary replacement for the necklace you lost."
"Oh, Gladys." She swallows, "I really wish I could cry right now." Years of torture had taken away her tears.
"Don't worry." Gladys' voice softens. "One day you will cry again to your heart's content."
A knock on the door.
Xenia ignores it. She goes to the mirror, leans closer, checking how the chain looks against her skin.
Another knock.
Marcel's smug voice comes through. "Xenia, I hope you're indecent because I'm coming in."
"I do not want to see anyone, Marcel." She speaks without raising her voice. "Not today."
"If you don't want to see anyone today," he continues, "you might as well get ready to see your maker."
Xenia slowly rolls her eyes. "Boys. I have heard worse threats before breakfast."
Gladys moves to the door and unlocks it. The door is flung open so hard it hits Gl in the face.
Gladys staggbackwards, hand flying to her nose.
Xenia resists the urge to rush to her side. It is a weakness to care, and she must show no sign of it. She keeps her posture loose, arms at her sides, even as her fingers curl into a ball.
"Get up, dirty maid." Marcel walks in like he owns the room, an annoying grin plastered beneath the ghastly scar across his face. His eyes are cold with excitement, like he is testing how far he is allowed to go.
Marcel looks at her balled fists, then smiles wider.
"Oh." He tilts his head, pretending to be amused. "A soft spot for the maid? I'm sure my father will love this."
Marcel is the illegitimate son of the Don, who licks his father's boots just to be accepted and regarded. The Don has always ignored him, as if Marcel were a problem he had already solved. So far, the Don has treated Marcel as a nuisance, shutting him up at the slightest whim of unnecessary interference. A bulk of the difficult tasks meant for the heir of the Blackthrone family has been taken from him and given to her, making Marcel furious and jealous to no end.
Xenia would be sorry for him if he weren't such a blatant fool.
She bursts out laughing, then straightens and steps closer.
"You are a clueless clown, Marcel." Her laugh fades into a cold smile. "A ball-less mutt. A wannabe with no class. Do with the maid whatever you want, but first tell me the effrontery with which you barge into my room."
Marcel's nostrils flare. He moves so close that she can feel his breath on her skin.
"This is my house."
Xenia chuckles lightly.
"We would see about that." Her eyes flick down to his belt, then back up, slowly. "What do you want?"
Marcel holds the parcel up to her face, daring her not to take it.
"A dress for the Slayer," he says, the nickname like it is a jest. "Father says you must wear this."
Xenia stares at the parcel, not taking it.
"I am not interested. Return it."
Marcel laughs. He drops the parcel on the ground, letting it land at her feet like trash.
"See you later, Slayer." He backs away with a smirk.
Xenia waits until his steps have completely receded, then, without missing a beat, moves fast across the room. She locks the door and runs to Gladys' side.
Gladys is standing, stubbornly upright, blood running from her nose. Her forehead is swelling.
Xenia cups Gladys' face gently.
"Ouch, Gladys." Her voice softens despite herself. "I am so sorry. This looks bad. It's all my fault."
Gladys waves her off.
"Don't worry, Gladys." Her voice sounds determined. "Revenge is on its way."
Today would be the last time she obeyed The Don's orders.
- Writer
