"It's hot outside, you don't need that," Marta commented as I wordlessly slipped on a cardigan over my t-shirt. "I saw you yesterday in the car, you met him just yesterday. Now you can wait till next week at least."

"There's something important," I lied with a sly smile, giving a sexual innuendo and Marta grimaced.

"Okay, okay. Be home soon. I don't think I can fool abuela for a longer time."

"You got it." I grabbed my sling-bag and headed out, checking my phone. Friday. 4pm.

Happy death day, Mariana Martin.

I inhaled sharply, the streets blurring in the background and I solely existed in my mind even though my feet carried me from one street to the next. My whirlpool of thoughts struck at every possibility cropping up in my mind, destroying any likelihood of an escape to a future, a future where I was not fucked up. I abstractedly stood near the bus stop and when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I flinched.

"Hey, Mariana, it's me," Sam said in a bewildered tone, withdrawing his hand.

"Why did you come here? We were supposed to meet at the bus stop near our apartment, not here," I pointed out, astonished at how he would now have to make this unnecessary trip twice by riding again two hours with me.

"Moral support, yeah?" He draped his arm around my shoulder, the thick sleeve of his bomber jacket comfortable against my neck. I had confessed to him yesterday about all the nudes and Abel on the phone while begging him to promise that he wouldn't do something stupid and accompany me to Abel's desired location. He had reluctantly agreed and today, he looked normal enough, the kind of intensity which he possessed regardless of the circumstances was evident on his pleasant face.

The bus arrived fifteen minutes late than the scheduled time and my eyes were constantly darting to my phone, keeping track of the time. Once we settled down, Sam shut my phone, pressing the screen down on my lap. I sighed, gazing out of the window at the passing rows of trees and houses.

"I think he wants money, he'll come up with something because he knows that I don't have any money. I'm sure he wants money . . . If it was something else, he could have done it that day," I said with firm certitude, suddenly finding myself breathing through my mouth.

"We'll figure a way out," he said in a low voice, tapping his fingers on the back of my hand before pulling me close in a side-hug.

"You know, I took a break from Isaac," I admitted, looking up at his clenched jaw which eased at my attention.

His eyebrows knotted in confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"He wouldn't be able to handle all this," I said, softening my accusatory tone. "It's not him, you know? In some ways, it is. Like-like I always have to be perfect for him because he's so perfect . . . And I'm not . . . With him, I feel like I should better myself every day and now it's exhausting."

"To want to be better-you shouldn't have done that. You don't know how difficult it is to find someone with whom you want to better yourself," he said, glancing at me.

"It's easier said than done . . . But I love him, I love him so fucking much it's insane . . . I want to get it absolutely right with him, but with papá and I-I moving, I just feel---"

"Is this your excuse?"

"I'm not making excuses," I said guardedly. "It's just that- it might sound harsh when I say . . . It might sound like I don't love him when in fact, I do. But it's-it's just that I feel free now in some ways. I feel less dirty."

With Sam, I could be dirty, but with Isaac . . .

The grip of his arms tightened around me. "You're not dirty."

"Well- after what happened . . . Never mind, forget what I said. Fuck, I really fucked up, didn't I?"

"He's a nice guy. He'll come around eventually and then don't be an idiot," he teased and I mock scowled.

Soon, I had fallen asleep and I woke up startled, amazed at how I could sleep just minutes before meeting with my doom than days before in the safety of my bedroom. I was feeling groggy and when Sam repeatedly asked if I was okay, I drowsily nodded. Whatever the hell I was going to face, I wanted to get it over with. "Just don't do anything, okay? Those are my pictures. Stay hidden somewhere."

"I'll be behind that car, okay?" Sam pointed at a dusty, white van which seemed like it hadn't been moved in centuries. "If there's anyone else with Abel, you leave at once." His gaze apprehensively flitted all around the deserted ground where we stood which ominously reflected the darkness of the black sky above. "Bastard chose the best fucking place for him to---"

I placed my finger on his lips, hushing him immediately. "There's no use now. Go, stay low."

He nodded, hugging me for one last time before jogging towards the vehicle, the last remnants of his warmth making me feel colder than I was. I realised that I was subconsciously rubbing my arms when I received a text. Sam- it'll be okay. don't worry, i'm right here.

I took a glimpse of the van and a skinny hand fleetingly raised from behind it.

"I see you brought the other lovebird with you," a gruff voice spoke from behind me and I whirled around. "Now, now, love, didn't I tell you to come alone?"

"Yes," I said, my gaze flickering to his hands holding a roll of paper. He was wearing a gingham shirt and trousers, his pepper hair combed to the side like a clerk in an office. He was wearing rectangular spectacles which partially concealed the malignant nature in his blue eyes. He was smiling in a melancholy sort of way, not in the usual façade of friendliness.

"I was going to offer you a job, in fact. At a beautiful modelling agency in exchange for- you know what I'm saying," he said in disappointment, hitting the roll of paper on his hand which I assumed must have been the exploitative contract. I had gotten into his trap because of the offer in the first place which he pretended to give it to me before, to lure and take my obscene pictures. This proved that the agency was working for something immoral that he had to blackmail me with the procured pictures so I would forever be sealing my hapless fate in my hapless predicament. There was not even a tiny crevice to escape.

A gust of wind blew and my knees felt weak like the frail branches of the swaying trees.

"I'll still consider giving this to you even though you broke your word." His head cocked towards the white van. "This is the only way you can help me and yourself." He slowly unfolded the sheet of paper. "Well?"

The wind ceased to move me anymore and I stood tall and rooted to my spot.

"Do what you want with the pictures," I said, lifting my chin up. Finding a newfound strength from the sudden clarity, I repeated fearlessly, "Do whatever the fuck you want. I don't want your fucked up job."

His eyes widened a little at my outburst and he soon recovered, adjusting his spectacles.

"Your loss then. Don't come crying to me later," he said, feigning indifference since I could notice how jerkily he was folding the paper back. He took a few steps back then forward, conflicted as to what to do before I suddenly felt his twitching hands sinking and gripping my blue-dyed hair, his gritting teeth so close to my face. My sensation was blind to the pain that burned my scalp since I was concentrated at his every movement. He retrieved what looked like a kitchen knife and I felt light-headed. Feeling the sharp edge against the cardigan material over my stomach, he spat out with asperity, "Fucking little slut, I should have fucked you up that day."

He let go with great difficulty, not wanting to give me the satisfaction of refusing, but wanting to avoid any fight. It was only seconds that he had impulsively and directly threatened me, but it was too late. Sam had already emerged out in rage, not knowing that this man held a knife in his hand which wasn't perceptible from the place he was hiding.

Before Sam could charge and Abel could slash him, my eyes desperately settled on a giant rock. Sam had thrown Abel on the ground by this time and I tried picking the rock. Once. Twice. Abel was on top of Sam, breathing heavily. With one last attempt, I lifted the rock successfully and thoughtlessly like I had done this before, struck the back of the pepper-haired head.

The man in the gingham shirt dropped and still strenuously holding the rock, I felt the crunch of his rectangular spectacles underneath my feet as I struck him again. A crazy scream fleeing from my lips. Again and again, I struck his head till I could hold the rock no more and his shirt was soaked with the gushing, black blood. I felt Sam's hand on my arm, a long slit across his cheek and his eyes clouded with fear so foreign to him which made him look like the child he was that I broke down crying.

The lifeless body was like a thick log of wood in front of me.

* * *

A/N :

Wooh. Part Three is over. Next is the last part of this book comprising of a few chapters.

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