"Girl you're such a masochist and I ask why
And you reply...
I like the thrill
Nothing's gonna make me feel this real..."
~ Echoes of Silence, The Weeknd

*****

There's a sense of satisfaction you feel when you realize one of your biggest problems had been dealt with. I'd felt it before, after stabbing Chris.

This was different. This was real. At first, I felt relieved. I'd stared at his body slumped back in the chair, a bullet hole in his forehead, eyes open, mouth agape...I stared at him, making sure it was final. It was, of course.

Chris was dead. For real this time.

"Stop fucking crying." Something heavy hit my chest and then fell to the floor with a thud. I looked down and stared at the bag on my feet. My eyesight blurred. Oh. I was crying. I didn't know why, and I didn't have the energy to wipe away the tears.

"You killed him." My voice was raspy, from the screaming or from my just being tired, I don't know. My chest hurt. So did my arms, and legs, and head. Every part of me ached.

"Seems you failed to do so the first time," Niccolò muttered, taking off his jacket and shoving it in the duffel bag on the bed. "You need to shower and change, you're a fucking mess."

"You..." I trailed off. I suppose thank you was what any other person might have said. But...fuck, I didn't feel grateful at all. I looked back at Chris. You'll always be my Cherry. His words sent chills down my spine. Always. It always comes down to always, doesn't it? "He wasn't yours to kill."

"Wolves don't stake claim on their prey, Neila. They get hungry, they eat. Doesn't matter who saw it first." He didn't even glance at me. "Take the clothes out the bag and shower."

"I was supposed to kill him."

He looked at me, eyes narrowed. Irritation. "You tried that once. You failed. He's dead. Go fucking shower."

I did.

Fail, I mean. I tried killing Chris. I thought I had. But he didn't die. No, he spent months in a coma and then spent months searching for me.

I looked back at Chris. Walked over to him. Touched him. He was still warm. I slapped him. Hard. His head rolled to the side. Something deep inside me curled. Still, I didn't feel satisfied. I slapped him again. And again. My fingers twitched. I raised my hand, ready to do it again.

"Neila."

I paused. Lowered my hand. I cupped his chin and leaned forward. Niccolò watched me carefully, his eyes narrowed.

"You're nothing now." I whispered into his ear.

Of course, he didn't hear me. Of course, there was no response. Ding-dong, the dick was dead. I sank to the floor in front of the chair and pulled my knees to my chest. There Chris was. I rested my chin on my knees and stared. He didn't look so big and bad now. Didn't seem so scary. And yet my heard was still slamming in my chest, as if at any moment he could sit up, look me in the eyes and say his favorite line.

"You're still my Cherry."

A sudden wave of nausea washed over me and I turned, emptying my stomach's contents on the floor.

I knew it. It didn't matter. Chris could be alive or in a coma or dead and no matter what, he will always have that little bit of control. He will always haunt me.

And I was broken.

I fucking loved him at some point. Chris fucked me up in ways I couldn't describe, and I was stupid enough to fall for him. Even if I didn't love him now, there was still a part of me that will always be tied to him.

I suddenly felt cold. It was like the temperature dropped to below freezing. And then, I didn't. Warmth enveloped me and it took me a moment to realize it was Niccolò, picking me up into his arms. He smelled like cigarettes and blood, though that could be because Chris' blood stained his clothing. He didn't seem to notice or care. He was use to having other people's blood on him.

I stared numbly at the side of his face as he carried me to the bathroom. There were specks of blood on his cheek. He put me in the tub and turned me around so my back was facing him. My bra was off in seconds.

Ice. The spray of the shower hit me like ice and I stumbled away from it, ready to jump back out.

"Stay in," he muttered, adjusting the dial until the water was hot. "Shower. Call me when you're finished."

He left without another word, closing the door behind him. Numbly, I turned to face the shower head, my head hung low. Blood mixed with the water as it went down the drain. The water was scalding hot, but I welcomed the pain. It was all I had left.

*****

"Lucas should be here in a second." Niccolò stopped pacing and looked at me. "He'll deal with the mess."

He was referring to Chris.

And Alfred.

I stared blankly at him, giving no reply. He didn't mind, or if he did, he didnt voice it. There was a knock on the door and Niccoló answered it. On the other side stood Lucas. He greeted his boss and stepped inside, his eyes finding mine.

"She alright?"

"No. She is not." Niccolò murmured. I wasn't sure if I was meant to hear it, but I did. I didn't say anything, mostly because it was true. I was not alright.

Lucas breathed in deeply but didn't reply, instead turning to look at Chris. "How do you want me to do this?"

Niccolò shook his head. "I don't care. I need to get her home."

I didn't have a home. I had nothing. I was nothing.

Chris was dead, and I was still nothing.