Beautiful Agony

"The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls..."
-Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter One

The room is cold. The air is silenced, with the only sound of my breathing being heard. The lighting in here is dim, except for one flickering light strand that is giving me a headache. My hands are bound by silver handcuffs and I rub my sweaty palms on my faded, worn out jeans. My hair is a tangled mess that covers part of my face, my mouth is dry and my eyes feel heavy. The smell of the now dried blood on my clothes and hair makes me want to gag. The endless pounding in my head continues to increase with every passing second. I let out a shaky breath and place my handcuffed hands on the grey metal table. I rub my wrists together and a clanking sound comes. I tap the metal handcuffs on the table and listen to the clanks of metal hitting each other.

Clank.

Clank.

Why am I here? What have I done wrong?

Clank.

I haven't done anything wrong. Or maybe I have.

Clank.

Why can't I go back to the way things were before?

Clank.

How did I get into this mess?

Clank.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

Clank.

It's all his fault.

Clank.

He did this to me.

Clank.

Now I have to pay for what he did.

Clank.

I wish I had never met him.

The door to this interrogation room opens and in comes two male officers.

"Ms. Carter," the young and tall, brown haired man with blue eyes greets.

I stay silent, not wanting to say anything to them.

"I'm Detective Johnson and this is my partner Detective Riley," the brown haired man says and points to the sandy blonde haired man next to him.

"So, do you know why you're here Ms. Carter?" Detective Johnson says and leans back against the wall with his arms crossed.

I say nothing and my eyes turn to the dull metal table. Of course I know why I'm here.

"What happened out there tonight Ms. Carter?" Detective Johnson asks me.

"Don't say anything. Don't say anything," I repeat over and over in my head.

I know what happened tonight. I know everything, even the things that I wish I didn't know.

"Ms. Carter, can you tell me what happened out there tonight?" Johnson asks me again.

"Why were you there?" Detective Riley chimes in.

I was there because I was trying to save the man that I love from making the biggest mistake of his life. I was there because I didn't want him to do something that he was going to regret. I was there because I was scared, for him and myself. I was there trying to save the one humane thing that he had left—sanity, but that was stripped away with every damn step that he took towards that man.

My mouth stays closed and I stare at anything but the two detectives staring right at me, just waiting for an indication of anything that would give away all of the information that I hold inside my head.

"Okay I'm losing my patience here," Detective Johnson laughs bitterly, clearly exasperated by my lack of response. He walks over to the table where I'm sitting. He places his palms on the table and leans over me. "You know something," he states, "Why aren't you saying anything? You were there at the scene you know something, probably everything that's happened these past few months."

He's dead on. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that though.

"Just tell me one thing," he says, "where is he Ms. Carter?"

I don't know.

He smacks his hand on the table and a loud bangs sounds and echoes throughout the small room, startling me and making me jump. "Ariana!" he bellows and his teeth clench, "where is he?"

"I don't know," I finally whisper, looking him right in the eyes.

My response takes him aback and his eyes widen for a second. My eyes gets blurry and a wet drop falls down my cheek. The sound of gun shots echo in my ears.

"I don't know," I whisper again and shake my head.

I don't know where he is. In fact, I don't want to know either. All I know is that he's long gone now and he's not coming back.

~*~

Eight Months Earlier

I wasn't always like this: Mute. I was happy. I was loved. I had a loving family who made me feel safe and protected. Then one day, everything changed and I was all alone. I was constantly filled with fear and after what happened, I stopped talking. I became silent and no one understood why. Still to this day, nobody understands and they never will. They look at me differently, like I'm some freak alien that crashed landed here on Earth and doesn't know her hands from her feet. They walk on broken glass around me and treat me like I'm some hopeless handicapped person. People never take the time to see what's right in front of them. Because if they did, then they would understand why I am this way. But they don't. And now, this one, small word defines me and paves the broken, tattered road that is called my life.

My life has never been easy. In fact, it's been hell. It all started the second after I was born. When I was taking my first breath of fresh air, my parents were instantly sending me away and signing away their rights to me. They saw me for a split second and then they had had enough and signed me away like I was some kind of paycheck. They abandoned me. My own flesh and blood didn't want me and gave me away the first chance they got. I never got to see what they looked like. I never got to meet them and see if we share any similar features. I still have no idea what they look like or how they are as people. All they are is an empty space in my mind and a distorted body with a shadow for a face. I could've searched for them if I wanted to. I could've found them and finally be able to put pictures in that blank space, but I don't have any desire to find out who they are. They abandoned me, left me to fend for myself. Frankly, they don't deserve to know me. Why should I meet someone who didn't even want me? They could have a family and be much better off without me. Or they could be searching for me right now and trying to find out who I am. Or they could be dead. There are so many endless possibilities to this and honestly, I don't want to know any of them. I'm fine on my own. At least I think I am.

My eyes flutter open and immediately squint from the light that is bursting through my curtains and coming in, filling the bedroom with a soft glow. My alarm clock is blaring right into my ears and I stretch my arms above my head and let out a yawn. After spending half the night working on a piece, I didn't go to sleep until after two a.m. and now at 7:30 in the morning, I have to go to work. After shutting off my alarm, I reluctantly get out from my warm bed and head towards the big windows that are to the right of my bed. I open up the white curtains, releasing even more sunlight, and look down at the city below.

London. My home. I've lived here since I can remember. I can't recall ever living anywhere else.

The traffic down below is a sight that I see everyday. Pedestrians are walking down the sidewalks going to work and businesses are opening up, ready to start the day. I work at a bakery not to far from here. It's only about 10 minutes away when walking, which is what I always do since it's less expensive than owning a car and I don't know how to drive. I'm the one who is in the kitchen making all of the pastries. I've had this job for two years now and I really love it. I get to use my creativity and imagination everyday. The other employees are really nice too.

I look at the cityscape one more time before going to my small closet in the corner of my room. I stare at the clothes on the hangers for a second before picking out a plain grey short sleeved shirt and some khaki jeans, my usual attire. I put my long brown hair into a messy bun and head out of my bedroom and towards the kitchen. The apartment that I live in is in the heart of London. It's a quite old, lofty apartment that looks like it's never been renovated or modernized. It's fairly small sized with only one bedroom, one bathroom and my studio. The kitchen and living room is almost non-existent being so close together and smashed up against the front door right in front of the hallway. All of the walls are brick, except for the bathroom and my studio. You see, I'm an artist. I love to paint, draw, and sculpt. It's my passion. I live and breathe for it. I've been doing it ever since I can remember and I never want to stop. It's my escape. It's the one world where I can go into and not worry about everything else around me. It makes me forget about my problems, at least for a little while.

I have my work all over my house. I usually paint more than I do drawing and sculpting, but I like doing all three. I work on a piece or several pieces for a few days, some taking longer than others. Almost always after I get home from the bakery, I spend the rest of the night working on a piece. The feeling that I get when a paintbrush is in my hand is incredible. It's like there's a fire rushing through my hands that's just aching to get out and onto a canvas. It's an exquisite sensation that I never want to stop feeling.

I grab a large red delicious apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter and pick up my worn, brown, leather bag that was laying right beside it. I put the bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door, stopping to put on my grey vans and my 3 year old black pea coat that is starting to fade into a grey color. Once I'm out of the apartment, I go to the elevators and press the lobby button. Once the doors open back up on the lobby floor, I step out and walk to the exit. When I step outside, I get a whiff of the London city air. It makes me smile and feel at home.

Weaving in out of the crowds of people, I walk down the sidewalks and towards the bakery. Everyone is talking on their cellphones, has a coffee cup or a briefcase in their hands, and is hurrying to get to work on time. I see the bakery sign and I immediately smile. The bakery always makes me happy and I love spending my time here. I step inside the shop and am engulfed by the delicious smell of fresh bread and pastries. The atmosphere here is always warm and inviting. It's a second home to me. I wave to some of the other workers who are behind the counters and walk into the back room where the employee lounge is. I open up my locker and set my bag down and go to get the brown apron that we have to wear.

"Hey Aria!" A voice says to me and I turn around and see Olivia Miller.

She's one of the bakers here and was the first person who talked to me since I started working here and we immediately became friends. She's actually the only friend that I've ever had. Why? I don't know. I guess I am too much of an outsider to have any friends. No one wants to be around a mute girl.

Olivia, or Liv as she's sometimes called, is 19 and way more beautiful than I'll ever be. She has long blonde hair that almost goes down to her waist and these beautiful sea blue eyes that always have a sparkle in them. She's so nice and bubbly all the time. I get a really good vibe from her and can't help but smile whenever I'm near her.

I smile and wave at her and put my apron on and then tie the strings in the back.

"So how are you, good?" She asks me in her normal cheery tone while we wash our hands in the bathroom before going out into the kitchen.

I nod my head and smile at her.

We walk into the big kitchen and meet with all of the other bakers, and our manager Christina comes in and tells us what we need to make today.

She claps her hands together, "Alright let's get to work!"

Everyone starts to go to their designated areas in the kitchen. On one side of the kitchen, you have all of the breads being made and on the other side you have all of the sweet pastries. This is the same setup that goes for the main public area of the bakery.

Olivia and I go and get out the ingredients we need. We are making all of the sweet treats. We start off with the pies first. All while we are baking, Olivia is telling me about her weekend with her family.

I look up from my mixing bowl and see how happy she is when she talks about her family and all of the fun things that they do.

I kind of wish that was me. I would give anything to have a family. I've basically been on my own my whole life. I've never had a true family or friends. It hurts. I have always thought that I just wasn't good enough for anyone to want me.

I am brought out of my daze when flour is thrown in my face. I scrunch up my face and hear laughing. I look over and see Olivia laughing with her hand covering her mouth. I shake my head with a chuckle and wipe my face off with a rag.

"You zoned out on me," She laughs while pouring the pie mix into the pans.

"Sorry," I mouth with a smile still on my face.

"It's okay," she says while still laughing.

Once Olivia is done with pouring the mix, I take the pan and hand it off to Raymond, the African American man who is in charge of putting all of the pastries in the ovens. He smiles at me when I let go of the pan and I wipe my hands on my apron.

"So, I was thinking that maybe we could hang out sometime this week?" Olivia asks when I turn back around to the counter.

I smile at her in response and nod my head at the idea. I've always like hanging out with Olivia. She's very friendly and bubbly when we're at work but once you meet her outside of the bakery, she can be a firecracker and kind of a nut ball sometimes. She always makes everything happier and makes you enjoy being around her. I have had the pleasure of seeing some of the crazy things that she can do; like trying to swim across the Thames River at two o'clock in the morning while drunk, which she almost got arrested for but we escaped before we could get caught. She still reminds me of that night and tells me that I should've tried it with her, but there's no way that I would ever do anything remotely close to that. I'm perfectly alright with spending all of my time at the bakery or my art studio. There's nothing wrong with doing the same thing over and over again, especially if you really like doing it.

"So what do you want to do?" Liv asks as we start making another batch of mix.

I shrug my shoulders and focus on how much sugar to put into the mix.

"Well we went and saw the new Evil Dead film last time. Do you want to go see another film? Or we could go down Oxford street or go to Westfield or we can go to Chinatown?"

I look up when she says 'Chinatown.'

"Chinatown?" Olivia's eyebrows raise.

I smile and nod my head at the thought of going to Chinatown. I haven't been there in a while.

"Okay, Chinatown it is. This Saturday night at around 17:45?"

I nod in agreement and we both get back to working on the batters before we get told off to work more and talk less.

Notes