I didn't expect my actions to be acknowledged. They weren't exactly conspicuous—or so I had thought. Because of that idiotic assumption, I never sought forgiveness for what I did. I could never find the need. Had I been aware of what I was pulling myself into, I would have never done such a masochistic thing.
I had a throbbing headache, and the stench was increasing the disaster unveiling around me. My hands were shaking, longing for something to grasp, just to hold on to. I rubbed my temple, defeated, leaning up against the wall, rubbing my back against the cool brick. It was dark, so dark I couldn't see my hand right in front of my face.

The sound of footsteps dangled in my ears. I dropped my hand and steadily I became calm. My hands weren't shaking as much, my breaths weren't sharp and razor like. Had I not known what I was about to meet, I would have welcomed this sudden feeling. Had I not known that my death was just minutes away.

His delicate, manipulative hum rang in my ears. I clamped my hands to my head to block it out, failing as the humming becoming louder and louder. A stifled chuckle was heard in the distance, and then he was right beside me, laughing at my lack of power.

"Tell me," he commanded lightly, humor sprinkled on his tone. His cool hand clenched my chin and jerked me toward the direction he was.

I swallowed back the sob that could never emit.

"Tell me how it began."

I couldn't fight back. I couldn't disobey. I wasn't fighting for just my existence. I obliged to his dictation. Tears vanished from my eyes and I took a deep breath, swallowing back the blood.