Vera's eyes widened and her heart leapt into her throat, that single thought piercing her more than any had so far. All those curses, insults, last words she had heard and ignored came flooding back, as if a dam had broken. One echoed above the rest, one word, the worst.
Murderer!
The wife of a man whose throat she had cut, her second kill.
Murderer!
Parents.
Murderer!
Children.
Murderer!
Family, friends, passers-by.
Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!
All these words, words that she had long ago tuned out, swept under the rug of her mind, rushed back.
Degenerate!
Killer!
Animal!
Scum!
Vera's thin frame trembled as she struggled within herself, struggled to hold herself together and bury it, bury these thoughts, memories, bury them deep inside her mind and keep them there.
The smallest of sounds escaped her lips and her head bowed, beaten, cowed, defeated. Shaking, she closed her eyes and wished for everything to go away.
It didn't.
A rustle of cloth and warmth encircled her and she pushed towards it, seeking it out, searching for the comfort, to escape the hate, the hurt, the torture she had gone through.
She pushed into it, feeling the strength of the arms that surrounded her and relishing in it, feeling the comforting pressure around her...and the tickle of hair on her cheek.
No!
Vera flung herself backwards, away from the warmth, away from the comfort, away from the safety she didn't deserve. She crouched in the middle of the room, alone, her knives held in front of her to protect her from that unknown. Vera backed away, away, away from it all; away from the confusion and uncertainty that came with truth.
She turned her face away from the girl, kneeling, clutching two halves of a blood-soaked towel to her, and heard a slight cry of pain. Her head twitched, shook with the effort of not looking back.
No. She couldn't turn around, couldn't back away, couldn't escape the life she had lived.
Couldn't stop the death.
But what if I can?
The thought was absurd, ludicrous, even laughable. But as her head turned back around to look at her victim one last time, for the first time in seven long years, had a rebellious thought.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Two words echoed in her head, two words that she hadn't thought since before that night, that night in the alley where she had made her first kill. The one and only time that she had killed in self-defense. The night where this life had begun.
I'm sorry.
A drop of blood welled at the nape of the speaker's neck, glistening, and dripped its way down her torso.
I'm sorry.
The words bounced around her skull, rattling her mind and scattering what little thoughts she had managed to come up with.
I'm sorry.
Over and over and over again these two words rebounded around and around, pushing her head apart, until they finally managed to burst free.
"I'm sorry."
It was whispered, so softly that it was almost inaudible.
"I'm sorry."
Louder.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm SORRY!"
Vera's voice rose with each word, almost shouting the last as she dropped to the floor again, shaking, shaking, shaking, as her voice fell again.
"I'm sorry."
She rose to her feet.
"I'm sorry."
She staggered over to the balcony.
"I'm sorry."
She glanced one last time at the one who had revealed the truth to her. The one who had set her free, but at the same time had damned her. She laid her hand on the rail.
"I'm sorry."
She fell.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
