Own Me

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A.N. I know some of you hate him, some of you love him - but he won't be around much longer. So let me ask, since Take Me, have I made him likeable at all? Have I made him human? He's my favourite character, my Isaac, so let me know! Now to the chapter.

"Trust is like a mirror, you can fix it if it's broken, but you can still see the crack in that mother fucker's reflection."

-Lady Gaga

♔ Chapter Twenty-Seven ♔

It all happened so fast.

The night was blurry, looking back. I could only see the blood, now, in my head. So much blood. Splattered everywhere, and Isaac. My heart was racing, I remembered that, too. Racing faster than ever before. The door swung open, and there he was, lying there, dead.

I remembered meeting Jill Doorsdale in town, earlier that day. I'd left my flat feeling numb all over, playing and wringing my fingers on the way there. Each footstep I took almost didn't feel real. None of it felt real. The wind hitting my face, blowing sullenly through my hair. The sky was pulling in dank, grey clouds. It'd probably rain later. But I didn't care.

I was meeting her in one of those tasteful tea-rooms, near the centre of Penzance. When I'd arrived, she was sitting in the corner of the room, at an old white wooden table, stirring her tea in front of her. When I'd arrived, she smiled, and stood up to greet me.

"You ordering anything?" she asked, pointing at the menu. I shook my head. "The tea here is shit anyway." It freaked me out a little inside, seeing how calm she was with this. In under an hour, we'd have broken at least two or three laws. In under an hour, we'd be breaking into someone's house, tying them up, hurting them, killing them, and Jill Doorsdale was sitting there sipping her tea like absolutely everything was fine. Maybe to her, this all did seem absolutely fine, but to me, I knew it was wrong, and what was worse, I wanted to do it anyway.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her.

"Invigorated," she smiled, taking a sip of her tea. Her mouth rolled and twisted at the taste. "This tastes like piss. I'll just pay the bill and we'll be off. My car is parked just down the road."

"I still can't believe we're doing this." I let out a low breath of air as I said it, calming myself, preparing myself for what we had to do.

"Me too!" she gasped. "I can't wait. Seeing that bastard again, I just, ugh. I can't wait to stick a knife in him. I want to see his face. I want to see his blood, pouring out. I want to touch it. Revenge, my darling. It'll be empowering, I can already feel the excitement running through my veins, in my fingertips. Can't you feel it?"

"I don't know. No, I mean, I'm not sure... we should do this."

"Don't pull out now, Darby!" she insisted, lowering her voice. "It's like taking some hot lad home, shoving your dick up his arse, then just as he starts having a mint time, you say, 'Oh, no, sorry. I'm not sure we should be doing this.' You're already doing it. Your cock is already up his arse, my darling. So you better start fucking."

"What a colourful metaphor."

"Thank you. Now, stop whining about being unsure, because whether you come with me or not, Bruce Attenborough dies tonight."

The rest of it was the same. Blurry. The car ride there, I'd sat in the passenger seat and watched her the whole time. She was smiling, and maybe she should be. She had a right to smile, didn't she? Even after she'd lost her only child, she had a right to smile. But the smile was twisted, and fucked up, because she was mangled in her own head, trapped thinking of only revenge. In my mind, maybe she did deserve her revenge. If anyone did, it was her. And if anyone deserved to be murdered, it had to be someone like him.