Tied

One.

Chapter One
Scream

     It all began the night of Halloween.
     What a cliché - but then again, they were all about clichés. They thrived on it. It made them what they were. It made them angels.
     Angels of death.

     It started on Halloween night: I was dressed as a baby doll. This would become an idea of irony and humor later on, seeing as where I am now. But back then, it had seemed to be the only think that combined sexy, creepy, and innocent in a way I could agree with. My hair had been messily put up into two pigtails tied with ribbons that made little bows. Lipstick gave my lips a small, delicate heart shape, along with rosy blushed cheeks and long, thick fake eyelashes. I had bought circle lenses specifically for tonight, which made my eyes wide and big and innocent. I wore a pretty, overly frilly pink dress and a white apron that only covered below the waist, white tights, matching frilly socks, and low pumps that were black and shiny with a bow.
     Overall, I looked like a Lolita dream. The only think that offset the illusion were the delicately painted cracks in my "China glass" face and the blood splattered all over my apron. Not to mention the teddy I carried around with the handle of a large kitchen knife sticking out of its head.
     I guess my attire was too alluring for some of the guys at the frat party I had so dutifully attended that night. It was utter hell. I lost count of the number of hands I had to smack away from my skirt, or how many perverted comments I had to ignore. I made a game of it, really. It was called What Would It Take For My Boyfriend - the only reason I was there - To Punch A Guy Over Me. It was sick and I loved to play it; it was the only thing that made it all bearable.
     And why wasn't my knight in shining armor protecting me from all the monsters? It was because he was more of my knight in freshly pressed polo shirt and khakis, complete with loafers. He was the king of frat parties, and was too piss baby drunk to notice his distressed girlfriend of three years.
     That's right. I've been dating this clown since high school.
     Anyways, I was sitting on this dingy couch in the middle of the living room, completely sober. I wasn't dumb enough to drink at this party, or even have anything other than a tightly capped water bottle in my hand. I had already had one terrible experience with disabling drugs, and I did not wish for another one. On my left was this brute-looking fella - all muscle, no brain. He was first string on the football team. On my left, a know-it-all asshole that tried to whoo me with a million useless facts about insects. I pretended to be mildly interested for a good while, but then I allowed myself to be distracted by The Brute's self-centered list of achievements ("Of course, my team was there to help, but even they know they wouldn't be anywhere without me," followed by a flex of biceps.). Soon I was bored out of my wits by both of them, so I took The Brute's fondling hand off my knee and The Brain's arm from around my shoulder and I told them squarely, "Look, idiots. I know it seems like he likes to share, but Ashton King - you know, the guy who's throwing the party?- is my boyfriend. And sharing is the last thing he likes to do. So kindly piss off."
     I was then smugly informed of my boyfriend's transgression.
     I didn't fume. I didn't scream. I didn't march up the stairs and into the bedroom and screech until my lungs exploded. I didn't even cry. I just calmly walked upstairs and knocked on the door lightly. I opened it without waiting for a "come in" and watched the sheets stop tumbling at the sound of a newcomer. Ash looked at me with a drooped smile while Moira Teagarden, someone I thought myself to be fairly close to, looked at me with a shame unmatched by any human being alive.
     "Hi, honey," Ash greeted me lazily. His eyes were hazed and glazed over to such an extreme I had a fleeting moment of fear for his health. Fleeting would be the key word.
     "Hey, babe," I replied with sarcasm and wryness. I shot Moira a grin, and she shrunk down lower than I thought possible. I could be quite terrifying at times.
     Ash pushed his dusty blonde hair from his sweaty face and smiled wider. Under different circumstances, I would've found it attractive - charming, even. But all I could see was his body over Moira's petite frame. The looks on their faces. An image of me stabbing them both briefly flashed through my mind.
     "Do you care to join us?" he asked suavely. I raised an eyebrow at him. His mellow smile slowly melted into confusion, then a bit of panic. "C'mon, baby. Don't be mad. She's not nearly as good a' lay as you!" Moira turned red, probably with embarrassment more than anger, but I knew her shy personality wouldn't let her lash out or even defend her honor. It was something I always thought of as worthy of my protection, but now I could only see it as weakness.
     "I'm honestly just tired, Ash. It's always the same thing with you. You get drunk, you get high, you sleep with a girl then sleep it off and suddenly you're crawling back to me for forgiveness. How long are we going to keep doing this?" I asked him tiredly. My up-do was starting to hurt, so I reached up to start taking it down.
     "Forever, if that's what it takes to fix us! I love you baby!" I understood that that's what he said but his words slurred together too much for anyone who wasn't an expert at this to hear. What once used to give me butterflies and hope now made me sick with disgust, and tired. So tired.
     "Apparently not enough. I mean it, this time. We're done, Ashton." I would've left it at that if I hadn't turned to leave and saw the rows of white powder on the dresser and a curled dollar bill still recovering from being rolled up. "Are you fucking serious?" I yelled. He knew I could deal with weed, but this was too far. Way too far. And by the sheer panic on his face, he knew it even in his messed up state.
     "That's not what it looks like-" I slammed the door on his excuses and made my way out of the frat house.
     He ran after me, of course. It was standard. I expected it. In fact, I would've been insulted if he hadn't. I heard him stumbling across the lawn, desperately calling my name. When I heard his face hit the pavement, I couldn't bite back the smile that spread across my face.
     I strut down the street looking good as hell, the clicks of my pumps hitting the pavement drowning out my ex-boyfriend's wails.