Lucian’s Reign

by Mason, V. F.

  A small opening inside the wall, where his big form won’t fit and he won’t be able to hurt me, leads to an abandoned basement.

  Or more importantly take away the food I dared to steal from his store. I haven’t had anything in a week, and nothing could have stopped me from resisting the temptation.

  Pain won’t kill me. I’ve experienced it so much through the years, I can attest to this. But hunger will.

  Or so all the other homeless people on the street say when they are not busy shushing me away or beating me.

  “Stop, you little asshole!” he screams again as the harsh wind hits me on the face, billowing my torn coat back and exposing my bare chest to the cold weather breaking goose bumps on my flesh, which only urges me to add a bit more speed.

  My dry throat begs for some water, but I couldn’t find any or snatch it in the store before the manager noticed me, so I had to run with what I got.

  I will have to gather some snow in a bowl and let it melt again. The only perks winters have, you never have to look far for liquid.

  I almost reach the small opening, ready to crawl inside when a strong hand grabs me by the neck, wrapping tightly around me before spinning me around to face an angry man, his face red from the chase and he shouts, “You little fuck!” He pushes his arm back and delivers a blow to my cheek, slapping me so hard my head snaps to the side and my skin instantly burns. “You think you can steal from me, huh?” A punch this time harder, and my ear starts to ring.

  I still the whimper threatening to escape when he throws me, my back connecting with the ground and sending waves of pain through my body. “Little piece of shit.” He kicks me several times in the stomach. I curl into a ball and cover my face with both arms, knowing from previous encounters that the most important thing is to protect my head.

  Otherwise, I might become dizzy, and then I’d be lying motionless on the cold ground, catching some sickness or something else.

  Medicine is almost impossible to find in the trash, and other people won’t share it, so I have to be very careful.

  Breathing through my nose, I imagine the sweetest scent of orchids and roses associated with summer, my favorite season, as the weather is so warm I never have to escape it or try to find clothes to hide from it.

  The vision lets me concentrate on something else other than the violent hits the man keeps giving me, and I grit my teeth, withstanding it all.

  “Little asshole. Your mother didn’t teach you not to steal?”

  Kick. Kick. Kick.

  I never met my mother. The only memories I can recall include living on the streets, so whoever she is, she didn’t stick around for long to teach me anything.

  “Little fucks like you shouldn’t have even been born.”

  Kick. Kick. Kick.

  “Never come back to my shop again.”

  Kick. Kick. Kick.

  Saliva mixed with blood gathers in my mouth, my gag reflex pushing through to the surface, ready to spill out when he finally steps back, stopping his assault.

  He rips the bread from my clutches, tugging it harshly because I still grip it hard, and then he shakes it in the air. “This is what you wanted, huh? Well then.” He drops it and then steps his dirty shoes all over it, crunching it in front of me as tears form in my eyes, and everything inside me weeps at the sight of food being so carelessly destroyed while my stomach flips inside me.

  The man must have never been hungry in his whole life, or he wouldn’t have behaved like this with the bread.

  “Here.” He twists his foot on it one last time. “Try eating this, you piece of shit.” With that, he spins around and walks back toward his shop while I spit on the ground, wipe my mouth, and wince before getting up, groaning in pain.

  Waiting a little bit until he disappears from my vision and hopefully won’t be coming back to deliver more blows, I remove my coat and kneel around the crumbs, picking them up placing them on the coat, as many as I can get… even the dirty ones.

  Once they are tucked inside, I move slowly to the opening before slipping inside, detesting the pain traveling through my body so much it seems it’s everywhere, adding to the previous bruises acquired after a certain band on the streets noticed how I snuck a potato from them.

  They beat me up, shoved the potato in my mouth, and then made me eat it raw as they kicked me hard in the stomach, enjoying their actions.

  I withstood it though.

  Because no matter what, I need to survive.

  Survive until I can beat them.

  One day, I don’t know how I will do it, but I will become so strong… so strong no one will hurt me again.

  And I’ll destroy every single person who has ever hurt me, because I’ve memorized their faces in my brain.

  “Javier?” a voice calls, pulling me from my thoughts, and I crawl quicker, reaching the place and hop down from the opening. “Is it you?”

  “Yes,” I reply, mustering a smile for Andreas who lies on the cardboard in the right corner, his washed-out jacket thrown over him as he probably tried to sleep after his unsuccessful hunt for food.

  We take turns; every week belongs to someone else so we can rest from our trips that entails violence one way or the other.

  Even when you search for food in trash cans, which proves to be more challenging in winter, it all depends on the location and who claims the territory.

  They all tend to gather in groups, and somehow none of them accepted us, finding us a liability.

  We met several months ago and decided to stick together to help each other out and have company because it gets lonely.

  Andreas sits up, pressing his back to the wall and grimaces as he notices blood dripping down my chin. “Does it hurt?” Fear crosses his face, and he wraps his jacket tighter around him.

  We are both very skinny to the point of our bones sticking out in various places, but Andreas seems somehow weaker compared to me. He doesn’t have good enough stamina to run fast, and he scares easily, never taking risks in order to get us food. Not to mention his health—he has a cough or fever every week or so, which once again makes him unable to hunt.

  “It’s okay,” I reassure him, grinning wider even though it hurts my mouth, and then come closer, putting my coat between us and dropping to the cardboard next to him. “This is all we got, but it should keep us going for one more day. I’ll check the trash bins a few blocks away. We always find some spoiled food there.” The trash cans are located near the restaurants, so they are full of uneaten food. I hesitate to go around there after last time when a waiter spotted me. Although he never said a thing, I didn’t want to take unnecessary risks.

  Andreas glances at the smeared-in-dirt breadcrumbs, puts a few on his palm, and eats them up while I do the same.

  Instantly my stomach does a sucking motion inside me, welcoming the food it has been denied for so long. “It should be my turn to go,” Andreas says, finishing his crumbs.

  I shake my head, taking a few more crumbs before putting the rest in a small box we have and storing it for later.

  I throw my coat over my shoulders, shifting closer to Andreas so we can share some warmth. “You need to rest. Besides, it’s far away, and you’ll have to run a lot. You know you can’t do it.”

  He scrunches his nose, clearly hating my statement, but it’s the truth. If the streets have taught me anything, it’s that only the strongest one survives, and all things need to be carefully thought out.

  Strategy is the word for it, I think.

  “You probably wonder why you even have a friend like me.” My brows furrow at this, and I glance at him, noticing something in his eyes that I can’t name. “I bring more trouble to you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues to talk. “You have to share food with me. You’d be better on your own.”

  Despite everything, a laugh erupts from my throat, and I hiss at the sudden pain zipping through me. “Nonsense. You’re my best friend. My only friend,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder, and
hopefully he hears the truth ringing in my statement.

  He’s stayed by my side compared to everyone else in this world, tended to my wounds and even told me interesting stories to momentarily make me happy.

  True friends show you exceptional loyalty no matter what, and this is what Andreas has given me, so I’ll cherish this bond for the rest of our lives.

  He might be weaker, but his strength lies in his desire to live no matter what.

  We will achieve a lot if only we can survive until we can beat them.

  “You are my only friend too, Javier.” He waits a bit before licking his lips and exhaling heavily. “I don’t think you should go tomorrow.”

  “We won’t survive on crumbs for long, amigo.” Maybe he has another fever?

  I place the back of my hand on his forehead, but he slaps it away. “I heard something yesterday.”

  Adjusting the coat better on me, I extend my legs, wiggling my toes to warm them up a little before grabbing the nearby blanket, our most treasured possession.

  We found it in here and have used it ever since after we return from the hunt, only together because it’s big and fluffy, keeping us warm for a long time.

  Placing it over us both, I say, “What?”

  “Dylan mentioned a man who gives away food to kids like us.”

  My hackles rise at that bastard’s name on his lips, and familiar rage sinks into my veins.

  Dylan belongs to a group of boys who hang out in the rich part of the town, always having food and good things since these people apparently throw away even unused shit. Due to the fact he and his three friends are bulky and muscled, probably eating all that food pays off, they scare away anyone else from that territory. Plus they are fourteen, so trying to fight them always proves to be a lost cause.

  “Where did you see him?” Although we’ve met him once, it was a very memorable encounter.

  His goons held us up by our feet, swinging us from side to side so all the food we managed to find that day dropped on the ground, and they showed us with their fists that we better never breathe in their vicinity again.

  Ever since, I’ve avoided them like the plague because although I hate him, he has power right now.

  And who holds the power sets the rules; that’s why someday I will have it too.

  So all these fuckers can choke on their damned rules when I make them pay one by one.

  I rein in the darkness creeping into me, calling my name, and urging me to explore the weird needs slamming into me more frequently lately.

  Especially when someone harms me over and over again… and some weapon like a rock or knife lies beside me, almost whispering to me to wrap my palm around it and hurt the enemy so much their blood will spill for everyone to see.

  As if a permanent madness chases me, longing to sink into me and never let go, giving me freedom to explore my desires.

  Such thoughts scare me most days, and I always block them away, storing them in the back of my mind, and promise to never ever think about them longer than a minute.

  Because I think if I allow myself that… I might engage in things that have hideous and deadly consequences.

  “They were strolling through the main street when I tried finding water, but don’t worry. They didn’t see me. But their voices were so loud, it was hard not to listen to their conversation.” Andreas’s explanation snaps me back to the present, and I welcome the reprieve from the gory images playing in my head. “Anyway. This man lives in a fancy neighborhood on the outskirts. All he wants is to talk to kids. After that, they leave with their bags full of groceries. One of the boys even got chocolate.” Pleasure flashes in his face, and his voice becomes dreamy. His sigh billows his bangs up. “He asked Dylan to spread the information around, and for it, he gives him money.” A beat passes. “I think we should go there.”

  Uneasiness rushes through me, alerting me to the danger lurking right around the corner, and the instinct that’s saved me so many times so far almost screams that this story has more layers than it seems.

  A man who easily gives away food.

  Why?

  In all my life, I’ve never encountered nice men or women. They either walk away quickly, forbidding their kids to come near us or punish us for just wanting to eat.

  Yet this man apparently doesn’t mind it? Talk to kids?

  Why does a grown-up need to talk to kids anyway?

  Plus the whole Dylan connection.

  I open my mouth to refuse, but then my stomach growls loudly, accompanied by the same sounds emitting from Andreas’s, and he winces a little when he cradles his arm—the one the guys twisted the last time.

  My bruised body weeps just at the idea of facing another beating or going hungry for weeks, feeding only on crumbs if we’re lucky.

  We have no food here, winter just started, and our prospects become less than stellar with each hunt.

  Would it be so bad to go check that place out?

  A bag of groceries would last us months. Months!

  We might sit here the whole winter and not have to face the cold, harsh reality where everyone hates our guts and screams at us that we are just a stain on this society and our mothers should have known better before birthing us.

  Survive.

  Survive until I can beat them.

  But how can I beat them if I die of hunger?

  So I nod and say, “Okay,” which immediately brings a smile to Andreas’s face, and he rests his head on my shoulder, content to stay like that as we both think about the future.

  Destiny.

  One word I always heard about but never understood what it meant until one of the guys standing by the fire explained it to me.

  It’s when certain events are predetermined for you, and no matter what you do, it will happen.

  You might cry, resist, scream, but the outcome will be the same.

  Because it was written before we were even born.

  Destiny has been cruel to me from the minute I took my first breath, for it denied me my parents and any human rights.

  Life certainly couldn’t get worse.

  Or so I thought anyway.

  Until I ended up in a nightmare in which my hunger, coldness, and pain paled in comparison.

  La vida es cruel.

  Life is cruel.

  And destiny showed me how much.

  Esmeralda

  Hot water cascades over me as I stand under the shower spray, scrubbing my skin until it aches, wishing to wash away all Lucian’s touches that still send revulsion through me.

  Thousands of thoughts swirl in my mind, one more depressing than the next, while my future looks grimmer by the second chained to a monster who hunts at night and sinks his claws in any face who inspires the darkness in him.

  I might not know much, but judging by the news, serial killers have a type, a signature style so to speak, and never divert from it, which the photos still lying on the floor prove.

  All the victims are men, so that’s who he hunts. Maybe they remind him of his father and his addiction? The psycho in him awakens to kill them so they won’t do other harmful stuff?

  His scars come to my mind, and my sponge falls on the tile as I wash away the soap and turn the water off.

  They speak about abuse and pain he must have experienced in the past. Could it be possible that Ricardo and Harold were so blinded by their love and devotion toward the Cortez family that they failed to see the hideous crimes happening right under their nose?

  Is this why they support him now?

  The guilt eats them alive so they pretend he’s normal, because otherwise they would have to face the truth that is too painful to withstand?

  Grabbing a towel and drying myself off, I let the water drip on the floor from my hair before putting on a fluffy new robe. Just the idea of wearing anything that has his scent makes me sick.

  I quickly rush to the room, pushing the chair closer to the desk and flip one of the books open, scanning through the table of contents
, hoping to find something on the subject that might help me escape this madness.

  Knowledge is power, and I need all the power in the world in order to win this twisted game of his.

  He hasn’t displayed a short temper so far, which means he controls whatever it is that urges him to kill and doesn’t need to attack everyone.

  This gives me an advantage, to think about a strategy to find a way before this wedding. Even if I pretend to go through with it, surely there will be people in the church he doesn’t know, right?

  Or even the courthouse.

  The evidence still lies inside my dress, so to believe my truth will be easier.

  The more I think about it, the more the idea about the whole marriage seems appealing to me because it would allow me to leave his mansion, and a hunter is helpless outside his territory.

  Focusing back on the book, I’m about to read how to study a serial killer’s character through his victims and weapons when the lock twists and Harold enters, holding a silver tray.

  Closing the book, I press it to my chest while warily watching him, and he smiles at me. But under my cold stare, his smile vanishes.

  Clearing his throat, he speaks up. “Lucian wanted to make sure your feet do not hurt.” I glance at my bruised feet that have several scrapes and blisters from all the running. They pinched in the shower, but the pain barely amounted to anything compared to the inferno burning in my soul and shattered heart. “I brought ointment and bandages. A pain pill too.” He lifts them up one by one from the tray as if trying to reassure me he doesn’t have a hidden weapon there.

  He comes closer, and I press my feet to the floor despite the ache, sliding the chair slightly back and regret fills his eyes when he places the tray on the desk. “There are also socks you can put on so they will heal better.” He clenches his fists, and I stay silent. “The wedding dresses should arrive soon. We didn’t know what you might like so we ordered around ten. Hopefully one of them will be to your liking.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me at the last sentence and a chuckle slips past my lips, stilling him while his brows furrow, creating a deep wrinkle between them. “Because a wedding dress is my main priority right now?”