I found myself confined to my room on his command, but my determination remained unyielding. I'm pretty certain he's aware of my stubborn nature—Marcel, of all people, should understand it best.
I enjoyed the freedom of youth, revelling in being unpredictable and quirky, much like a wild horse in the open. Moving quietly, I skillfully turned the golden lock of my door, allowing me to open it without making a sound. Marcel's voice reached me, instructing, "Shut it; Sandra is upstairs." Another voice, distinct from Marcel's, retorted, "Bring her down then; I'd love to meet the person you're so infatuated with, calling her a slut."
The mention of my name caught my attention, and the sound of it nearly justified my inclination to disobey Marcel's orders. I traced my fingers along the painted wall, the dark shadows providing cover as the night outside left the various windows devoid of light.
In my hands, I clutched one side of a grey t-shirt that was oversized and marked with profane words in Caps "DIRTY BITCH!". It clung to me as I stealthily moved, motivated by the desire to challenge the restrictions imposed upon me.
The vast bannister that looked over the living room—I crept to it. Slinking down the wall and peeking through the cracks in the wood beams, I made sure I wasn't seen through the thick spaces between the bars.
My breath held in my throat as I bit my lip.
My eyes were trying to squint just enough to see what was happening. But seeing it would only do half the justice because I could hear every word of the downstairs conversation as it echoed around the tall ceilings.
"You fucked up, Peters." An unfamiliar voice as he used my last name, a voice that sounded almost inhuman. It was deep and masculine, and it sounded like he carried himself in high regard. "Again." The voice yelled..
"I didn't have a fucking choice," Marcel growled. He stood in front of someone—I couldn't see who. "I would do it again, though."
My body froze as a laugh carried through the room—a wicked laugh. An evil, indescribable monstrous laugh. The kind that would haunt a child's nightmares. Hell, it will haunt mine.
I saw a glint of a shiny object, and then the odd voice of the stoic man spoke again. "You won't get a chance to do it again." The man deadpanned. I was confused for just a second, but the confusion melted into something a lot more sinister now.
Then I watched as a bullet flew into Marcel's forehead, his body hitting the ground with a thump that made me scream. Blood was collecting in a puddle beside him.
I watched as all the people's heads snapped at me. My body is sliding down one of the vertical poles of the railing. I was scared shitless, with tears sliding down my cheek.
My eyes fixed on the dead body on my floor—my brother's dead body on the floor.
"Grab her." I heard the man say, and seconds later, arms wrapped around me and threw me down the stairs. My back and arms hit the pointed steps as I eventually landed flat on the bottom of the staircase. My body groans like fire as I fall on my back.
my eyes meeting a man who stood towering above me as he thought himself a god as I lay under him, like he thought I was his subject or one of his projects.