Young Writers Society

“Shh, shh.” The vile hoodlum wiped the tears from Cleo’s face and pressed a kiss on her forehead. Her lips were chapped and rough, the skin poking into Cleo’s. “Don’t struggle darling. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

“I’ll never, ever, give into you.” Cleo spat into her face, specks of saliva sitting on her pointed chin. “Not as long as there’s a sun somewhere in the universe, and a moon here to guide me when the sun falls asleep.”

The woman stepped back, and closed her eyes, as if to put out a fire, squeeze it shut, cut off its oxygen. Her fists clenched too, as tight as her eyes. Her knuckles were white. Cleo turned away, as well as she could, and stared out the tiny space between each of the 4 bars on the window. It was almost dark outside, and the snow on the ground was brown and messy. For a second Cleo thought the blood would still be there, from when Lara was beaten. She was brought back to the room, the moment, when the clatter of shackles on her ankles rummaged across the floor, as she moved her feet.

There was nothing left in Cleo’s eyes. Sans hate, sans love, sans everything.

Morano hadn’t wanted this. Of course, she wanted Cleo to stop fighting. Cleo wasn’t even a part of their family; an outsider with meddling tendencies was never any good to a thousand year old family. She wanted her broken, despondent for a moment, but to have Cleo staring blankly at the walls of a rock cellar, terrified of her own power, of her own voice, wasn’t what she wanted.

“Darling, you’re beautiful.” Morano said, the way Claus had before he died in her arms all those years ago. “You don’t need to be scared with me I promise you that. Anything you could try to do to hurt me, I could stop. You can’t hurt me, you’re safe with me. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried. You wouldn’t because maybe you realize I’m just like you.”

Cleo turned back to her for a moment. That absence of light in her was familiar to Morano.

“I love her,” Cleo whispered, as tears fell.

“Ha,” Morano chuckled. “You hurt her. You let them beat her. You could’ve killed her. Do you really think she is ever going to want you back?”

Cleo felt around the floor for something, anything. She grasp the legs of her stool and flung into the air faster than Morano could speak. She thrust the chair towards Morano, only to be met with a sudden stop.

“Thats,” Morano began, clenched teeth, angry voice. “Enough.”

Cleo kept pushing, kept trying to overcome the stop.

“I said, that’s enough,” the villain caught hold of Cleo’s wrists, physically pushing the weapon aside. It fell to the floor. Morano drew Cleo in close; she was shaking and crying with screams. The embrace was one that would’ve been comforting, had the shackles not provided a restraint. “There, there. Easy now, you’ve been hurt enough for one day.”

There was such power in the way Morano could make someone who loathed her, melt away into her hands. Become vulnerable once again.

Cleo kept struggling, but eventually her limbs felt the weight of effort, and she slipped out of the villains arms and onto the floor. She was a ball of incoherent screams, those of someone being eaten alive, and spasming body parts. Morano bent down and touched her arm. Cleo turned her head.

“Shh,” Morano sounded almost empathetic. It’s enough. You’ve done all you can do. You’ve fought so bravely, but just this once, listen to me. There is absolutely no shame in surrendering, and living another day. And I can help you do that. I can keep you alive, safe, happy even. I can keep Lara alive, safe, happy. You just have to trust me. You can do that right?”

Cleo choked on the flem in her throat. She looked back at the ceiling, remembering the way lara used to watch the stars at night, the clouds in the day. She remembered the picnics, and the time they fell into the lake, kissing on the dock at midnight. She remembered the wonder, the love, the passion, and the cold water. It was almost enough to make her smile.

Morano slid her hand onto Cleos’, intertwining their fingers. The smile was gone, and Cleo looked back over at her captor.

“I can make you okay,” Morano said smiling softly. “Trust me. It will save her. Trust me.”

“Ok,” Cleo said, surprising herself. Those weren’t her words. They weren’t Lara’s either. “I trust you.”

Morano tightened her grip on Cleo’s hand. Cleo wiped her cheek with the free hand and sat up, moving her legs, and making a clinking sound, to her chest.

“I have a few rules, my darling.” Morano said, putting her hand under Cleo’s head, and turning it. Cleo had the brightest blue eyes, but they seemed a bit too grey for Morano’s liking. “You stay by me. You don’t ever leave, even when you are on your own you are mine, my trophy, my property, my lover.”

“Ok.”

“You will follow my every order, answer my every beckon and call. I don’t care what is asked of you, you do it.”

“I understand.”

“And,” Morano said looking back and forth between the two eyes. “Nobody touches you other than me, do you understand, Clementine?”

Cleo looked at the villain with her mouth slightly fallen. She saw the way death touched her brown eyes. She was scared. She hated this, this feeling of being protected, when everything was all wrong and there was nothing safe about this little game at all. Morano was not kind. Only possesive.

“Yes,” Cleo said. Defeat. She wanted to cry again.

“Good,” Morano said. “Very good.”