Thread: Scaremonger (Mr Quixotic & Lait)

Azairah hoped to God he wasn't talking to her. Looking left and right, it was obvious that she was the only one on the street. Hands in the pockets of her coat obviously minding her own god damn business. Ignore him. That was the only choice she had as she picked up her pace. If she could have shot herself in the foot for not keeping track of time, she would. Stupid her should have known she was quite clearly prone to situations of these kind. But no she just had to clear up those files. Her hands clenched into fists as her heels hit the concrete street in hurry. Ignore him, ignore him. Zai wasn't anyone's honey, nor anyone's bitch, she just wanted to go home and get there quickly without any problems. Her hands shuffled around her pocket for her keys, placing her finger through the key loop to get the pocket knife unhooked and wrapped her fingers around the cold metal. By all means did Azairah not want to use the damn thing. But there was NO way in hell she would let what happened just two months ago happen again. If a woman was oh so weak and fragile then there had to be other ways for her to defend herself and never once had the thought of actually, maybe killing someone cross her mind. Listening carefully, she suddenly heard him pick up his pace in return, practically sprinting over to her in what sounded like, three big, sloppy strides. Before she could even turn around he grabbed her arm and whipped her around. There wasn't even any time to reply before that all too familiar stinging sensation waved across her cheek. For just a split second, awe struck her as hard as the strike to her face had. There was no feeling sorry for what was happening to her, again . Just like her attacker, just pure, blind rage repleting her. Two rage filled people don't make a right. Just one of them fucked up and it wouldn't be Azairah. Her reaction was to twist and turn her body, to get his hand from under her skirt as quickly as possible even if it resulted in her breaking his arm. She refused to have her clothing ripped. She refused to have this sick, obviously wasted fucker to have her too. Two months sober and she'd keep it that way. With her free hand and all of her strength, all of the built up frustrations she had pent inside the little body of hers, landed a blow to his face, returning the favor. What does it- she said between clawing at his face. -Take for you piece of shits to not touch me. Azairah D'Amici refused to lose. She refused to let another one in. She refused and she refused with all her god damn might. What is so hard to fucking understand!? HUH? I'm NOT your bitch. I'm NOT your honey and I'm NOT you're fucking WHORE. As her bag fell from her shoulder and off onto the ground, she continued to twist herself around, fighting him off as best as she could. The art of push and shove. You will win. You will not be victim again. You will not be the loser again. Kill him. Kill him. KILL HIM. Like Cole did. With her eyes welling up with tears, tear of anger, tears that finally confirmed that she'd lost all hope in the male species, Azairah pressed the small lever of the key chain in her pocket, letting the blade burst from its hidden spot between the bottle opener and nail filer and with as much force as she could attempted to pulled her wrist from his grasp. There was no way in hell she would let him has his way. The adrenaline coursed through her. Every part of her being telling her not to let him in, not to let him touch her any further than he already had. It was like Cole all over again to where it felt like it was Cole facing her. Those angry eyes piercing the very depths of her soul with his rage. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be in situations like these anymore. Was it a test to see if she was capable? If it was it was fucked up. Her throat tightened, squeezing her thighs as hard as she could to prevent her attacker from continuing any further. It's was still the same. No matter how many videos on defending yourself from rape or assault she watched prior to the incident with Cole... there was nothing like living in the moment. Every dreading second that ached on telling her she was going to get raped again. Useless, worthless, let him have it. It would be the only way for him to let her go, let her get away without any problems. No. she said under her breath. All that was her being REFUSED to go down without a fight. Wriggling her arm as much as she could to free it from her pocket, given the chance the man before her had slipped and loosened his grip for that slight moment, Zai was able to pull it from her pocket. In that moment, with all the might she had left through the tears and the anger and the frustration, drove the small pocket knife through his chest. She wasn't sure if he was going to feel it right away considering his mouth reeked of alcohol. That didn't matter, she pushed and she pushed as far as the blade would. There was no more than a second before the man dropped his hand and turned his attention to the silver, glistening handle of the blade that was lodged between his chest. You fucking... he gasped. Zai watched as he took a couple staggered steps back, hands trembling to the sight of the knife. Did she care? No not at all. Because it meant she wasn't going to be raped. She stood there, chest heaving as a terrible, terrible satisfaction swept over her. The fact that this man in minutes was going to die. Not because of being stabbed but because Azairah became amused with the situation. With the fact that it the attacker in pain and not her. Finally. Just as he looked up at her, she raised her hand and struck him across his face just once more. It stung as good as it felt. And there he went, dazed, wobbled steps back again before it took him a minute to regain whatever it was he had. Her hand burned and pulsed profusely like her cheek as her free hand returned to pulling her skirt back down to its original state. Any normal woman probably would have taken the moment to call the police and take it as a chance to run. Like hell she would. Not with the kick she was gaining out of physically being able to hurt. In fact she smiled, smiled with the tears still filling her eyes. Azairah was tired of being abused, tired of being told she was weak and helpless, tired of looking like a fool, tired of hearing the same ol' shit. She advanced towards the man on a rampage of slurred swears. No mercy, right? she asked the other. Half smiling she watched as the other screamed in agony while attempting to pull the knife from his chest. No, no, no! she said quickly. Don't pull it out. You need to feel it! The minute he managed to pull it through the muscle and skin it'd pierced, Azairah without hesitation lunged herself forward, little delicate hands wrapping around her attackers knifed hand forcing him to stab himself. Don't you want to feel my pain?! I think I owe you that much! Zai pushed him with the rest of the strength she had left, watching as the both of them tumbled to the pavement. Her hands against his retracted the blood covered knife from his chest again. Screams and grunts echoed through the alleyway as Zai pushed herself up to straddle him. This was it. This was what she needed. This undying satisfaction. She peeled his hands from around the blade before slapping him again. Shut up, shut up, shut up... Give it to the slut... Wreck the bitch... Hurt him, she said through gritted teeth as her hand rose and fell against the attackers chest. Puncture after puncture, blood- the blood.. it was everywhere. Her hands, her thighs, her skirt, coat. But it just felt so good being able to watch him in pain... Dying. Her heart raced- pumped violently through her chest as her motions never stopped, dragging the blade down, slicing as much as she could with how small it was. There was that too familiar face... His face, Cole's stupid face. Always haunting her, forcing her to relive the moment. Immediately switching gears, she moved up, letting the blade slice and tear through his face. Erase. Erase. Erase. Disappear. Fuck off. Fuck off, Cole. You pig. You fucker. You fucking coward. You fucking LIAR. More than anything did Azairah want to stop feeling like how she did. Regret, pain... Just pure, unfiltered pain day in and day out and she was so sick of it. Sniffling and wiping her eyes with the top of her wrist not dirtied by her victims ' blood. She exhaled deeply, dropping her shoulders as finally her victim became limp under her. The knife fell from her hands, clinking as she looked up towards the dark sky. It finally felt over... It was like ecstasy engulfing her body as she sat there straddled over her victim. The soothing sensation of winning, coming out victorious. Her eyes closed, momentarily smiling as she soaked it in. But it wasn't Cole. Her eyes shot open and her head down instantly realizing it wasn't Cole. It wasn't Cole. She raised her hands to her mouth, covering her mouth in shock. Her hands weren't the normal caramel colored hands they were before. There came a deep gasp realizing what had actually happened. Chest heaving, body trembling, What am I going to do. The sheriff immediately flash before her eyes. The satisfaction they would get knowing Azairah, alleged rape victim had murdered someone...? No. She couldn't allow them to have that. No. No... No, no, no. Fuck. Pulling herself up, it took a moment of her pacing back and forth to realize she was fucked. Absolutely fucked. Sick to her stomach, Zai had to rationally think about it. How do they do it in the movies..? she whispered to herself. Genuinely in frenzied, she looked left and right because for the amount of buildings there had to be a gutter with water pouring from it. The body. The body needed to be disposed of. Shit. she hissed, nearly crying again. Put the body behind the dumpster, cover it with trash bags. No, that was too obvious. What about when they came to pick it up? Impatiently tapping her foot that's just what would have to happen. What choice did she have? There was only so much she could do considering her size. Lifting the male from the floor, placing her hands under his arms she dragged him little by little pushing and praying there weren't any rodents the trash bins and bags to the side. Zai was too tired for work like that. It was his fault... His fucking fault she was put in a situation like this. Breathe... It'll be okay. If you're going down, you're not going down without a fight... she said reassuring herself. Body in place, bags in place, trash can in place, she grabbed her bag and picket knife up from off the pavement and left like nothing had ever happened. Zai wiped her face, and her hands as much as she could with the wipes in her pocket before she was finally able to exit the alley. That was what she wanted from the start. To leave. To not be in the presence of anyone. what was so god damn hard? And now she had to kill someone to get them to leave her alone. Obviously spooked, she didn't bother trying to take the train across town to her suburban home. Instead, she walked two and a half hours across town, paralyzed in shock, reliving the fact that she had killed someone. It couldn't have been true, she'd occasionally say to herself. There was no way she could have done anything so uncivilized to anyone. But the blood under her nails and on her clothes said otherwise.