His Sour Lemon #2.1

Part 32: The Truth The Eel's Tail Sung

(A | N: I know I'm awful for making you all wait so long. Here's another chapter, thank you all for being so patient, I hope you enjoy it and please leave comments, I make it my mission to not only read but try to respond to each one. Your voices are heard! I swear!)

CHAPTER 32: The Truth The Eel's Tail Sung

April 4th, 2033.
Outskirts of New York City, America.
Fitzgerald Institute for Troubled Youth.

If I could make a deal with god...I would have. As a child, to end the fear of waking to more chains, to more whippings and the smell of blood in the frost-biting air...I would have. They say there is an afterlife. An afterlife of what? Less pain? Four walls of white nothing. Of a bright silence that spoke volumes in vibrancy alone. I imagined the sound of melodic violin, a place I hide in the back of my mind. A corner that I could name for safety, for security...for beauty.

For beauty.

I didn't know true beauty.

I don't know if anyone truly does.

Sampson says there is beauty in the blood of those he's killed...because they deserved it.

Some do.

But I've seen a lifetime of those who never deserved death in the strum of their own blood. Tapping it and lining it with their fingers in the sharp and sound of a sad violin.

For beauty.

*******

August 1st, 2042.
London, United Kingdom.
Advanced Business Engagements Academy (Private Business
Institution), Sylvan Lakeshore.

A sin stood stoic in the shadows.

A saint stands soundlessly on the podium.

We are neither sinners or saints, heroes or villains.

We will always know the taste of neglect, the sting of dirt thrown at our teeth and the rust sting our skin on our metal shackles. We know the sound of a heartbeat slowing before the sound of silence and the ghost that drifts from the dead body that's forever grained behind our eyes. That vile emptiness is in the dead centre of Sampson's. I recognise it like a physical reflection.

He stares me down maliciously, Talon steps from behind me, "Not dead yet, huh?" He scoffs, dropping his bags on the side of this dark mansion that I find I somehow still resembled hell with from time to time. It is the bare reason why walking into these halls is the last thing I wanted. When I see a certain head of hair peaking out, I still. Edison steps out first, looking lean and suffered, but brighter. I tense as I see Christian, burly arms stiffened at his sides. He stares me down. I don't even tilt my head higher just to look superior. Atlas, Merritt, and Knox step out from the shadows, barefoot and use to the cold while the maids close the door behind me. Iris looks uncomfortable while Lyndon studies the atmosphere, Erik folds his arms in his common nerves.

Sampson stares through me, "What? Nothing to say, Edmund. Or should I call you boss too since you won over me all those years ago and left the rest of us to rot?" He snarks, crooked teeth escaping like the sight of sharp fangs. I step forward slowly, matching his mass, his height, but never his bullshit attitude.

"Don't speak of me regarding betrayal. We both know why you were left behind." My voice darker than Hell itself. I knew it like the back of my hand. His hand ripped out to slam against my throat in a choking hold, I was quicker. Much quicker. Holding a silencer against his temple with my other a hand gripping his thin wrist.