Finding Andria

A sound of an opening door pulled Charles out of his reverie. He pushed himself away from the window to turn and face Meledin across the room. She was tall and slim, with perfect glossy black hair, pale skin, the personification of a real Goth princess, except for the shock red lipstick painted on her lips that was set on a taut line, and those cobalt eyes who was staring at Charles in the most nerve wracking way.

"Yes?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Just checking on you," She said in a flat tone.

"I'm fine. I don't have any plans on killing myself today." He said without emotion. He watched Meledin disappear behind the door, wondering how the woman manages to appear the way she does with no care in the world. He supposed that he might be on his way of becoming the same, cold and intimidating.

He leaned back on the window and stared, watching nothing in particular. He wanted to move but wasn't allowed to leave the confinement of the small room. He seems to be going crazy but only because after what he'd been doing ruining his life. But he chose this, the path to vengeance, the very same way people lose their grip on their own short miserable life, he reminded himself sternly.

He had been warned, yes, but he didn't listened, now there's no way back for him, no one left to save him but himself, but he had lost the interest of living and in return he had formed this obsession, a stupid thing that anyone would never believe possible.

He almost lost his life a countless times but two of them had he barely came alive.

Suicide.

Not out of depression of course but one having the thrill of brushing against the hands of the reaper. What a hero, jumping in front to catch the scythe of the death god, in return of breathing again he had faced the fury of his savior.

It's not your time to die. His savior had said. You're barely there. If you forget what you have promised you will forever be a wondering soul not finding peace forever.

Talk about selling your damn soul to the devil.

He smacked his head hard on the window glass and flinched. He'd done it again, hurting himself to forget things he didn't want to remember.

He was scared beyond his wits that he was beginning to become something morbid, someone who finds enjoyment in hurting himself. He sighed and ran his hands on his already tousled hair. How did he end up here? He thought again.

Ah, yeah. It was that night with that woman who started turning his fate plummeting to the unknown. But of course he couldn't blame her, he could understand all of them much clearly now, it was the way they work, the way they live and handle things, and it was his fault diving nose first without understanding anything.

******

Charles had been anxiously waiting for Sato and his secretary to leave the event. He'd been secretly watching the two mingle on the crowd while he pretended to take interest on the discussion at hand with someone he knew. When at past midnight the two left, he finally decided to do the same.

He closed his eyes praying to God that this could be it, he only needs to knock on the well polished door and begin his mission, but as he stood there he was beginning to chicken out. What if what she says is something he didn't want to hear? Or what if that woman was playing tricks on him? But what if she does know the information's he'd been looking for? What if she'll be the only one willing to help him out? If he back out now he might not find any chance again.

He gathered up his courage and stood taller, he knocked once, twice and the door open revealing the woman from behind watching him under her thick lashes, as if she had been standing there for quite a moment herself.

She smiled crookedly, and something from that smile of hers sent another wave of shivers down his spine. The woman spooks him bad!

"I thought you will never knock." She purred, intent to catch whatever prey she'd laid her eyes on, and for this instance he is the unlucky fellow in front of the huntress.

He cleared his throat as sweats broke down on his brow. "Can we start?"