Terror (Part 1 of the Valeska Series)

Sensations

✮ a c c a l i a  POV✮

Sunlight streams in through the open curtains, pulling me from my sleep. It's warm, laying here beside Jerome, and I don't want to move an inch today. I feel as though today is going to be a long one with no fun, and that's something I want to avoid. Beside me, Jerome rolls over to face me, green eyes glimmering tiredly at me, a sheen of sleep still dusting the vivacious colour of his iris'. His hand reaches up and he trails his fingers down my arm, rising and falling with each scar and burn and dint they cross on their path.

I close my eyes and fight the urge to shy away from the ginger's touch, my flesh trembling under the rough skin of his fingers. His touch vanishes just before my wrist and I open my eyes, only to meet his worried evergreen eyes. He sits up and keeps his worried gaze on me, the grey sheet slipping down to reveal his battered body. My eyes flicker over the scars decorating his pale flesh and my fingers itch to run over them; to feel the horror he has been through in his eighteen years of life.

A small smile grows on his face at the twitch of my fingers. "It's okay, Cali."

Sitting up, I hold the sheet to my bare chest with one hand and allow my right to brush over the dips and rises in his skin. Thankfully, they're all healed and a couple of months old. I've always had a strange fascination with the decorations on his body, and I have a feeling that it's because I have studied the map that is my own scarred and torn body from beginning to end more times than I can count; studied my story from the moment I stepped foot into the orphanage until the day I met Jerome and Jeremiah almost a decade ago.

However, that's only the worst of the scars. The smaller scars that mar my body are self-inflicted, and they run deep, mixed in with the marks inflicted by my tormentors for almost half my life. As my fingers brush over a particularly demented looking scar, Jerome flinches under my hand. I instantly revert back into the abused child I once was, gripping the sheet tighter and moving further away from the sudden movement. At my actions, the green-eyed boy tenses and his deep eyes stare at me with further worry.

"Accalia." The use of my full name drags me from my 'episode' as I've come to call them ever since I returned to that orphanage. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

I nod, licking my dry lips and then biting the inside of my cheek. "I know, ginger. It's just that, ever since I went back to that orphanage..."

"PTSD." His green eyes darken and his hand fists the grey sheet. "I know what that's like. They never fully go away, and that's one thing that will never change."

"Am I even more f****d up to you?" I ask in a small voice, his burning green eyes turning to stare at me, but I don't look at him. Instead, I look at the bed. "Before you knew what I had been through, did I seem as broken then as I do now?"

In the blink of an eye, his hand darts out and grabs my wrist before pulling me over to him, his arms encircling my middle and holding me flush against him in a tight hug. Warmth radiates from his being and soaks into me, making me relax in his hold and close my eyes as I melt into the hug. Contentment flows through me, but it's broken by my blonde, murderess adoptive mother walking into the room, slamming the doors open without regard for either the walls or the privacy of myself and Jerome.

Her blue eyes glimmer with amusement as she takes in our position and the clothes littering the floor, and then they meet my blue-green eyes. They seem to be saying "I told you so", and that causes me to deadpan at her, all traces of emotion fleeing my face and a huff of irritation leaving my lips. Jerome rolls his eyes and releases me, standing up and walking over to his wardrobe. At that, Barbara's eyes widen and dart to me with a wink before she skips out of the room.

"You flashed my adoptive mother," I laugh, sitting up on the bed and watching Jerome as he tugs on a pair of jeans over his underwear. "What are you going to do next? Strip in front of my mother and father, or James Gordon?"

Jerome looks over at me, mischief glimmering in his eyes. "How about the whole of Gotham?"

Snickering, I stand and walk over to the wardrobe, ignoring the feeling I get from his lustful green eyes flickering over my broken body. Pulling on a pair of underwear and hooking up my bra, I am about to slip on a shirt when someone walks into the room. A startled cry leaves them and I instantly turn around, meeting the horrified brown eyes of my mother. One hand is clapped over her mouth, and the other is over her heart. Beside me, Jerome sighs, and I swallow harshly.

"Mum." My voice comes out almost broken, and I watch as tears fill her eyes. "I'm alright. I promise."

My mother shakes her head. "No. We did this to you; we sent you away and this happened. We could have prevented this from happening if only we'd fought harder."

Jerome walks over to my distraught mother and places a hand on her shoulder. "Tabitha, Accalia is the strongest person I know. If she weren't strong, she would have caved years ago and she would not be here today."

A phantom stinging pain erupts in my chest at his words. He and I both know that I have caved once or twice, but he never knew why until a few weeks ago.

"She's not ready to tell you what has happened to her, even if she says she is. I've known her since we were six and seven, and I can read her like a book. Although, I have to admit, I didn't know any of what happened to her until a few weeks ago."

My mother looks at him with tear and horror filled eyes.

"Trust me when I say that you want time to prepare yourself for her past; her life in the orphanage."

✮✮✮

Sitting with my knees pressed against my chest in front of the window in an empty room, I find myself falling into the spiral of my memories. The ones that decide to visit are the ones from when Jerome was incarcerated in Arkham Asylum; the ones that hold the secret to my future. The proposition I was given swirls in my mind and I find myself biting my lip, the book I was reading completely forgotten as I assess the possible outcomes of accepting the deal.

During those weeks, I was visited by Carmine Falcone and Victor Zsasz several times. Apparently, Falcone had heard about the murder of the intruder in Barbara's apartment, and the murder of Lila Valeska. He knew I'd played a hand in both acts. Falcone offered me a place by his side; a place in the ranks of his assassins; a place beside Victor Zsasz himself. Zsasz gave me a twisted smile and explained that he'd witnessed my encounter with the intruder, instantly taking a liking to me and wanting to train me as an assassin.

"What are you thinking about, little terror?" Jerome asks, sauntering over to me and dropping into another chair. "You look so far away today."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Is it your mother?"

I shake my head. "It's something I haven't told anyone, because I haven't decided yet."

"Ooh. Interesting. Care to tell little old me?"

"Falcone came to me while you were in Arkham, and he offered me a job." Jerome's eyes shine with curiosity and I find the next lot of words spilling out of my mouth without hesitation. "He wants me to become an assassin with Zsasz, and I think I'm going to take him up on his offer."

He lets out a psychotic laugh, making my eyes flicker to him. His evergreen eyes are bright with glee and his body is trembling almost uncontrollably. I find a strange sensation tingle in my body - as though my skin is tightening. Ever since I first heard about Zsasz and his work, I have wanted to become an assassin and work side-by-side with him. Now that I know who my parents are, I know why I am the way I am, and why I want the things I want.