9. Can't Change The Past

Rema admits to the attraction she feels towards Frey, but that only pushes him away. Frey then makes a big mistake and ends up in a whole heap of trouble.

"Can't Change The Past"
This chapter contains murder, attempted rape, non-detailed rape, physical, mental, and sexual abuse, and adult themes such as sexual encounters, mentions of strip clubs and dancers, and other crap like that.
 

-Rema-

I was only about two blocks away from the club, trying to walk home when one of my regulars started following me. Stumbling drunk to keep up, he was rambling nonsense.

"Hey.." He finally spit out, "What about another dance?"

"I'm off now, Bill.  I'll be back in on Saturday. See me then." I tell him.  He isn't a dangerous guy, at least not that I've noticed.  He just has a serious drinking issue and gets too touchy.

"But I'm your favorite, right?" He slurs, his voice whiny like a spoiled child.

"You have to wait until Saturday like everybody else." He sounds like a child, so I talk to him like one.

He grabs my arm, pulling me into an ally. He rambles about how pretty I am, the smell of booze thick on his hot breath.  I shove him away and he's right back on me, trying to undo the buttons on my jacket.

"Bill, you don't want to do this. Knock it off and go home!" I yell, kneeing him in the gut.

He cusses, then sloppily punches me.  He tries again for the buttons of my jacket, getting angry and tearing it open when he can't. 

I struggle and try to get him off me, his strong grip keeps me from reaching my knife.  I figure I have to wait until he gets my coat off to try for it, if I can't get through to him.

"Bill! I told you to f*****g stop!" I kick at him again, only making him rougher. "Bill, Get-"

My voice is cut off by his grunt of pain.  I see the end of a dagger sticking through his stomach.  Blood drips from his lips, his eyes wide in horror and shock.  They helplessly stare at me while I look behind him.

To my surprise, Frey's holding the dagger.  He yanks it out of Bill, violently spraying blood onto the ground. He shoves the guy down, and just starts stabbing him like a crazed animal in the chest, stomach and face.  Crimson splattering on the ground, walls, and Frey's clothes and face.

All I can do is stare in shock and awe.  I didn't even notice Frey following, and that fact kind of scared me.

"That's enough, stop." I call out, finding my voice.  He doesn't even seem to hear me. "He's dead, Frey. Knock it off."

He breathes heavily, his hands dropping to his side and he straightens his back, but doesn't turn to me.  This odd feeling hangs in the air.  The feeling of death and dread.

"You didn't have to do that," I tell him, "He was harmless. I could have handled it."

"You sure seemed to be handling it very well." His demeanor changed back to his normal self, that strange energy floating off.  He stood up and wiped side of his face with his sleeve, leaving a big streak of red in its wake.

"I was trying to get through to him, I was going to grab my knife if I had to. You didn't have to just kill him..."

He holds no remorse whatsoever. No form of regret, or shame, or guilt. Nothing. He's just a bottomless black hole.

"Well, too late then." He mumbles, starting to walk back out of the ally after he drags the body to a dumpster.

"Frey, are you stupid? You have blood on your face, can't just walk out to the street like that." I grab his arm and pull him to face me, grabbing a make-up wipe out of my purse and wiping the blood off his scarred face. Ragged cuts from what look like knives or maybe even glass, and a large part of the left side of his face looks like it was burned pretty badly.  His left eye, now that I look at it, is completely glazed over.

"Are you blind in your left eye?" I ask him suddenly.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. He dumped boiling water on my head one day, and I lost sight in that eye." How can he say something like that so casually? "What you just noticed that now?"

"Yeah, I uh... Never saw that side of your face much 'cause of your hair."  At first I thought his hair was just unkept and long hanging in his face because he was homeless, but now I wonder if he had it like that to hide his face.

He pushes my hands away. "You can stop touching me now. Come on."

I follow him home, grabbing my phone to call Zekk.  I tell him where the body is, and he says he'll take care of it.  Shorter with me than he usually is before he hangs up the phone.

I sigh and light a smoke as Frey comes out of the bathroom, showered and wearing clean clothes.

"Thank you." I tell him.

He tilts his head to the side, "For what?"

"For helping me."

He smirks again.  That crooked smirk I've grown rather fond of. "Sure." He mumbles, "Why do you work as a stripper anyway?"

I narrow my eyes, "Exotic Dancer." I correct him.

"Don't sugarcoat it, You're a stripper." He almost teases.

"I can't find any other job.  It isn't like I wanted to be a stripper. Not exactly every little girl's dream." I tell him, "What about you?  You obviously never worked a day in your life and have been homeless for how long?  Why didn't you go out and get a job and an apartment?"

"I have no ID, No birth certificate, I don't even know my own actual name, and I barely know basic math because I never had a day of schooling in my life.  Who the f**k would hire me?" He laughs as if its a joke, but I find it rather depressing.  At that rate, he'd never get a job or have a normal life, he'd be homeless probably until the day he dies.

"You really have no idea who you are?"

"Nope. Not a clue." He says, "He took all I was from me and crushed it and turned me into this."

"That's... So awful.  Good thing he's dead." I try to smile, but it fades when I see the dark look come over his face.

"He isn't dead. Didn't I tell you I couldn't bring myself to kill him?"

Now I remember him saying that, and I feel bad for not remembering before I spoke.  I must have hit a nerve.

"I'd like to go back and kill him one day... Still bothers me he's out there. I used to constantly look over my shoulder thinking he was gonna find me." He shakes his head, laughing in a tone that sounds like glass stuck in his lungs.

"Why didn't you? Kill him when you left that is?" I murdered my husband without a second thought. I can't say I regret it. I loved the man too.  What would keep him from killing someone who brought him nothing but sorrow and agony his whole life?

"I don't know really... Just couldn't do it.  I could have if I wanted to. I should have. But I couldn't bring myself to do it for some reason..." He shrugs, eying my smoke in my hand. "Could I... Have one of those?"

I hand him the pack, "Sure.  If I knew you smoked I would have given you some."

He smiles again and thanks me.

"Frey?" I ask shyly. "Have you ever been with a woman?"

The cig almost falls from his mouth and he stares at me with wide eyes. "What? No.  Who the f**k would sleep with me? I'm not into raping my victims."

"I would sleep with you." I tell him bluntly.

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "Look, Rema. You're sweet and attractive and all that, but I got nothing to offer you.  I'm not capable of any sort of relationship, I don't even know what love is, and the only time I had sex I got fucked up the a*s.  I'm pretty sure you don't want something like me."

I feel my heart break. "I don't care about any of that Frey.  I think you have good in you... I like you, and I'd like to show you what love is.  I could help you. We could live a normal life. Together."

"You can't fix me, Rema. I'm always going to be this way, It's all I've ever been." he says quietly, "I'm sorry Rema, but it just wouldn't be a good idea... I'm just... I'd just be bad for you."

"Stop it, Frey. None of that's true. You could change and be normal just like I can."

He shakes his head. "Rema, no offense, but you just started killing a few years ago because of some a*****e that beat you up.  You have hope to stop because you probably had a pretty normal life before that b*****d and could go back to that if you really tried.  Me... I grew up in a basement, raised by an insane, sadistic m**********r who made me murder people since I was ten and beat the living f**k out of me for showing any kind of emotion. I'm not something that can be fixed or changed.  I don't have anything but what he created. I don't even know who I am."

"But you could become anything you want! Anyone you want! You don't have to live like that anymore!" I cried.  My heart ached, feeling both rejection and pain for him.

"Rema, accept it. I have nothing to give you.  I'd bring you nothing but pain." He stands up suddenly, "I shouldn't be here. I'm just gonna go."

I stand up quickly, grabbing his arms. "Don't just run away, wait!"

"Rema, I told you! I got nothing to give you!" He growls, shoving me away.

I'm right back on him, pushing him back against the door to keep him from opening it.  Without thinking, I press my lips to his. I try to get a reaction, nipping and sucking on his bottom lip, but he only tenses up.

"Rema, please don't do this." He groans into my mouth, his hands weakly pulling to get free from mine.

I don't listen to him, releasing his wrists and starting to slip my hand under his shirt and up his back in an attempt to relax him.  I can feel the scars massed over the skin on my fingertips. I try to be comforting, but it only seems to make him struggle against me more.

"Rema, I told you to f*****g stop!" He shoves me hard, landing me on my a*s on the floor. "F**k, you don't just grab me and start forcing yourself on me! S**t!" his hands curl into fists, and for a second I think he's going to hit me but he just turns around and walks out, slamming the door behind him.


Tears fall now and I put my face in my hands. What was I thinking? Why the hell did I do that?  I just made the whole situation ten times worse?  The only experiences he ever had were against his will and I just nearly forced myself on him.  What the hell is wrong with me?


-Frey-

The trip takes two days of hitch hiking and trying to remember landmarks until I'm finally standing in front of the old, beaten down wooden house.  It looks the same as it did when I left.  Chipping white paint, the porch about to cave in, the front window broken.  It looks as though eight years didn't go by at all...

I grip the knife tightly in my hand, walking up to the door and pushing it open.  The inside is the same too.  It even smells the same.  It's still a mess of boxes, trash, and random odds and ends.  It smells like rotting wood, spoiled food, and a mix of smoke and whiskey.

He's sitting where he always sat, that worn brown leather chair, staring at the old black and white tv from who knows how long ago.  He looks at me when I come in, but seems to show no surprise. "Finally came back, eh? I outta beat you to a f*****g pulp for that s**t you pulled, you little b***h."

I raise my arm, pointing the knife at him.  My eyes narrow as I slowly walk towards him, knuckles turning white. "You won't f*****g touch me again."

He raises his eyebrows, then laughs that sickening laugh.  He pushes himself up out of the chair and stands, "What, are you planning to kill me?" He steps closer, causing me to back up out of instinct. 

I narrow my eyes, willing myself to stand my place. I stare at him in question, knife shaking in my hand out of anger. "You can't control me anymore."

"Yeah, you were always a stubborn little brat." He chuckles, shaking his head. He pats his chest, then puts his hands out to the side in a passive manner. "Go on. Free shot, kid."

What the hell does he think he's doing?  I look at him in shock and confusion.  Is it a trick? Is he f*****g with me?  No... He's f*****g mocking me.  The realization makes my blood boil, just wanting to stab the knife into his chest over and over. Cut that smug look of his face.

'why don't you?'
Good question.

He keeps moving forward, his smirk growing with each step.

"I know what you're doing, b*****d." I hiss at him.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You're trying to confuse me.  Make me nervous." I grind my teeth together, trying to will the courage back.  He's right f*****g there! Why can't I just finish him?

"You were always a paranoid one."

"Stop talking like you know me!" I scream, the anger boiling over the pot. I can't control the rage anymore, but for some reason, I still can't make myself move forward.

"I do know you.  I probably know you more than you even know yourself." He inches closer, causing me to step back and point the knife toward his throat. "You just walked out after trying to kill me, then come back years later?  What took you so long? Did you really think you could survive out there?  Live a normal life?  Honestly, I surprised you're not dead in a ditch somewhere." He chuckles again, "Although, I can't say I'm not happy to see you. It's been too long, and I have missed your annoying face."

"Shut your f*****g mouth!"

He's right there! Just f*****g kill him! What are you waiting for?

"You can't make it out there on your own.  That's why you can't kill me.  You need me and you know that. I'm the only person you've ever had and the only person who'd care about a sick f**k like you.  You didn't come here to kill me, admit it."

My jaw drops, my voice unable to find the words to reply.  My whole body relaxes and the rage is replaced with confusion and emptiness.  Was he right?  Is that why I couldn't kill him in the first place? Why I can't kill him now?  I need him.  He's right. I can't survive out there. I have nothing and no way to build a life. The only person I even thought about getting close to was Rema, and she's almost as crazy as I am. I have nothing to offer her either.

The knife drops from my hand and in an instant, he grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me up close to his face. "Now you're going to learn how leaving and coming back was the biggest mistake of your life, you f*****g brat!"

He throws me into a wall before I can even react. My head smacks against it hard and then I hit the floor, feeling him begin to relentless kick me.  All I can do is curl up and try to protect my face and stomach before his steeltoed boot breaks my ribs. 

He cusses at me the whole time, mostly incoherent insults and name calling.  I regain my frame of mind and try to kick out his legs.  He only winces, then presses his boot down on my ankle before stomping on my leg.  Pain shoots up it from the nearly healed wound there.  I let out a string of curses and insults of my own.

He only laughs and shakes his head at my outburst, reaching down to grab my chin roughly and force me to face him. "You've grown up. I'll give you that.  You act more like a actual man than the whiny brat you were when you left.  I wonder how long it'll take until you turn into that crying little b***h again."

I spit blood in his face, smirking when he roils and gives me a chance to kick out his shins and knock him to his knees.   I swing my leg again, connecting with the side of his head hard enough to split the skin open.  I punch him in the bleeding wound again for good measure.

I start quickly crawling across the floor for my knife. Only fingertips away before a hand grabs the back of my shirt and tosses me violently into the bookshelf, bring the whole thing down on me. My body screams in pain, feeling a chuck of wood stick into my upper arm.  I try to shake the fog from my head, but he's back on me again.

He throws the shelf out of the way and grabs my hair, bashing me face first on the table and holding me there. Bright red neon lights flash in my head when he tears the shirt off my back and starts working on my belt.  I struggle in a frenzy, kicking and cursing and pounding on the table.  The struggling is quickly slowed when he grabs a half empty beer bottle off the table and begins beating me over the head with it.

It smashes on the forth hit, then he stabs the broken glass into my shoulder blade; forcing a scream of pain out of my lungs. I feel my jeans drop to my ankles and hear him say in a smug voice, "You know what comes next."

Author's Note

A/N: Poor Frey. =( See, I told you it'd get worse.
So, yes, "the man" (who is seriously what Frey's kidnapper is referred to during this entire book, he has no name. Or at least, Frey doesn't know his name) is a really sadistic motherfucker, who's going to torture the fuck out of our demented little serial killer here. (oh noes!)
Frey did go back to kill him, but he's easily controlled by this guy and tricked. Dammit Frey, all you had to do was kill the fucker! You had one fucking job!
No, but seriously, I'm not trying to make a joke out of any of this. I have a dark, bitter sense of humor in this A/N. Because I'm trying to act lightly about this, but in all honestly, I'm a victim of sexual assault and physical abuse as well, and this is kind of my twisted way of expressing it. Now, I wasn't kept in a basement and turned into a serial killer, but these are kind of symbolic things for me.

For a warning, the next couple chapters are going to be hard to read, prepare for relentless torture coming up. Sorry, Frey.
But hey, at least he brutally murdered the drunk that tried to rape Rema. So he can stop rape! Just not for himself!
Oh, I'm laughing with tears of trauma and bitterness in my eyes right now. Haha emoticon Waaaah! I suck.

Review, read more chapters, etc. Just don't get mad that there's shit like violence and rape in this. It's a serial killer story about two murderers who were abused, what do you expect?