Page 2 of Ruin

The hooded figure jumps, head attempting to turn, I slam the heel of my palm into the side of their jaw, smashing them with my full body into the metal container. An almighty crash sounds, echoing in the damp open space as I crush them to the doors. A man, I realise, as I press myself into them, bony shoulder blades digging into my chest. I inhale their scent, tobacco, sweat, sniff hard, and then whip them around to face me, slamming them into the doors as I widen my stance, tearing back the hood hiding them in shadow.

Wide brown eyes, sickly pale skin,fear. I inhale it deeper, my eyes blurring with the loss of focus.

Fear, fear, fear.

Like a chant it drills through my head.

Why so scared, little bird?

Fingers curling into the sweat-soaked hoodie, I tear the man forward, slamming him back into the metal, it groans and creaks with a whine as I do. And thenshesteps up beside me. The ghost-like touch of her shaking fingertips, razing over my bare spine. A nerve-damaged hand, white scars snake like vines over her long fingers, twisting over the back of her hand, up her wrist, inner forearm. I picture them perfectly inside my head.

Know her so well.

Mine.

“Who are you?” her voice, Kyla-Rose, cousin, the other half of me,soulmate,whispers over my shoulder to our trespasser, breath warm on the side of my neck.

My palm is flat to the stranger’s sternum, I have never seen him before. He quakes beneath my hand. Vibrating my fingers.So scared.Warmth flutters in my chest.

I do nothing. Holding him still. My head cocks, tongue licking quickly over my top lip. Eyes flaring wide for just a moment and then I scent one ofthem.Herlovers. Knocking the stranger once more into the corrugated steel at his back, I take a step back, separating myself.

Have to.

Survival.

I continue to unnerve the stranger my cousin questions, her boy Kacey at her side. Big, broad, muscular, gold hair, gold eyes, fighter. I think of fists. Of blood. Of screams. Teeth hitting the mat. Blood splatter, spray, spit.

I blink.

I’m not listening. Don’t care about reasons. Trespassers mean death. At my hands. Blood. Bones. Break them.

Such a violent little bird.

Eli’s hand plants on my shoulder, eyes that mirror my own stare back at me, glistening emeralds in the dark.

“You good, bro?” I nod, silently, glancing left as the sound of footsteps disappearing finally hits my ears. “They’re taking them back to the house.” A statement, fingers tightening on my shoulder.I want to cut them off.“Warehouse holding?” I nod again, and he finally releases me, stepping back and following.

I stare at the unlocked doors, chain and padlock still looped through them. I step forward, pulling one end of them, the metal slithering as they slip free, coiling as the links hit the ground makes my insides knot. I can hear them now, the clanking, the memory echoing, metallic taste on my tongue. I swallow, curl my tattooed fingers around the handle of the door and wrench it open.

The smell makes me cough, splutter almost, and memories assault me one by one as they tear through my mind. Everything goes black. My knees hit the floor.Hisblue eyes sparkle in my head and I choke up bile. Spitting blindly as my fingers curl into wet tarmac. I grit my teeth so hard they squeak. Eyes wide open, I see nothing. Hear nothing. Sirens bolt through my skull, panic floods my chest, my lungs seize and I rip my nails as I scrape them into the ground.

Then I feel her.

Light.

Warmth.

Her body curling over my back. I tremble. The smell hits again, lesser than before. I’m ready for it this time. Shit. Piss. Blood. Rot. I wrinkle my nose. Blink.

“Off.”

She slides away, tentative steps taking her back. No one else is around when I look.

“Nobody saw,” Kyla-Rose’s big grey eyes stare up into mine, scar licking up her face into her hairline. “No one else came back with me.” I nod, swallowing. Then I turn back to the half open door. “Charl,” she whispers against the bare skin of my back, tattoos of us inked into my skin, skeletal swallows, roses, eyeballs, thorns. “Smells like decay,” she mutters, and I know without looking back that she’s wincing.

“Smells like your son’s nappies, Lala,” I rasp, a curl to my lips as she swats at my back, he’s almost five now, he’s not in them anymore, but I do enjoy getting under her skin.

“Funny.”

---