Guns and Cigarettes [Levi/Rivaille x OC]

Chapter 3: The Blessed Bloodline Pt.2

"Stop-"

The words stumbled out of my mouth bumpily.

Stone-hard knuckles smashed against the apple of my cheek, the fingers of fresh scar-leaving agony swarming across my face like smooth silky velvet, only much more painful. The view of the entire gold lace vintage room toppled onto its side like pudding as the wooden chair I was slumped over had lost its poise on the ground.

"Stop? Are you begging me?"

Jesus Christ, were you, Hazel?

The patheticity is getting to you.

Is that even a word? Well, it is now.

The cold smooth marble tiles bedded my bruised face as my dazed orbs glanced back up at them. The squeakiness of dress shoes strolling across the marble tiles pierced my ear drums. And that smell of familiar gunpowder.

Oh, this place again.

The light dimmed as his shadow hunched over my lifeless figure, and my collar tightened in his violent shaking grip. Those orbs which I had somewhat forgotten the sight of glowered down hatefully, deep fury bubbling within.

"Haven't I always taught you not to plead? Get up and face me, you lil' shit. Adlers don't fucking beg."

"Boss, maybe that was a bit too much. Look, she's bleeding."

"Don't you teach me how to discipline my own child, Robert." Those slick pupils, identical to the shade of my own, shifted back down again, stewing me.

"One little friendly trip to England to meet my old client, and you think it'd be nice to skip school and not come home, huh?"

Protesting was in my blood, but the verses were on their temporary wimp-off, leaving me as silent as another decaying forgotten book.

"You dumb little fuck. Do you know how many numbers we had to go through to finally trace yours down? And to lose you the next minute?! I send you to school for a reason, Hazel, and you obey me. How life is wasted on teenagers these days. You're fifteen, alright? Grow up!"

He really was mad. Papa barely swore in front of me... or maybe that was just because I hardly ever saw him.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Man, I don't even know anymore.

Low short gasps of air were heaved through my slightly parted lips as he roughly hurled me back up into a sitting position, and a weak wince slipped out as I caught a quick time frame of the outline of his fist swooping over, expecting another agonizing tide to wash over my face.

"Clemens, listen to me. This isn't how you handle things within the family."

"Fucking hell, this spoilt brat needs to be taught pro-"

"And you wonder why people fear you more than they respect you."

I held my breath, waiting for papa to finally snap and send a golden bullet soaring out for Robert's skull. Nobody in the family dare spoke to papa with such tongue, except if you were officially confirmed to be utterly retarded with a last death wish. They were only asking for bleach to be tipped down their scared-shitless throats, or any other gruesome way to send you as a friendly pizza delivery to Death's door.

No shit taken.

But instead, no bullets were sent out flying.

No holes to be dug to dump another dead body.

The counsellor's valid tone cut papa off, leaving his fist hanging mid-air as it was on its headway of breaking my nose. Papa's eyes widen in astonishment for a split second before his scowl hustled in arrogantly, eating away his sudden attentive expression. He finally frowned at the ground, huffing at the marble in complete defeat. His thin paper-coloured lips parted but all the words had already wandered off and frolicking with silence.