VENDETTA: TAMING THE UNTAMED

VENDETTA: TAMING THE UNTAMED

PROLOGUE

I was seated in a pool of my parents' blood, their lifeless bodies sprawled beside me, gunshot wounds marring their heads. My mother's brain matter leaked onto the cold floor, her vacant eyes staring into nothingness. Blood dripped from between my thighs, my swollen lips quivered, and my hands trembled as I clutched the telephone, its surface slick with blood. I waited for the beep tone, the sound that would connect me to someone-anyone.

I had just been raped. My parents had been murdered.

"112, what's your emergency?" The operator asked, her voice clear and calm, as if it could cut through the chaos.

Staring blankly into the distance, I answered in a voice that felt foreign, detached, "My parents have just been murdered."

I didn't have it in me to cry or scream. It was over. Crying wouldn't fix anything.

"Sorry, miss, can you speak louder? You said your parents have been...what?"

"Murdered," I repeated, my voice a shaky monotone. "I'm bleeding too. I was raped."

The sound of her fingers tapping the keyboard filled my ears, each click echoing in my head. "Miss, I'm so sorry. How old are you? Where are you calling from? We'll send help right away. Can you tell me your name?"

Her questions came too fast, too many. "It's not an emergency. I'm just calling to report them dead."

The operator hesitated, sensing my urgency to end the call. "Miss, please stay on the line. Help is coming. I just need your location, your name, your age. Are you injured? How badly were you raped?"

I glanced down at my blood-soaked thighs, the memory of their touch still burning on my skin. "Brutally, I guess. Three men took turns." My voice was flat, as if discussing a mundane topic, like the weather.

"If help comes, what happens to me? I don't remember their faces, so don't ask."

"I promise not to ask," she assured me, her tone softening. "But I need your name, age, and location. In other to page dispatch assistance."

"My age? I don't know... guess?"

"You sound like a teenager, maybe twelve?" she ventured, her voice gentle, trying to reach me.

I laughed, a hollow sound. "Wrong! I'm fifteen. You're terrible at guessing. Do I sound that young?"

A heavy silence followed from her end, pressing down on me.

"I'm afraid you're in shock. Please, just tell me where you are. You need medical attention."

Her words drifted over me, distant and meaningless. "What do you mean?"

Then it clicked. "Oh, my name? Vendetta," I lied, the word tasting like ash on my tongue.

There was a pause, and I could almost hear her doubt. The line went dead.

My real name wasn't Vendetta, no, it was Kael, but at that moment, I adopted a new one: Vendetta. The operator's abrupt hang-up still stung.

She likely thought I was fabricating the whole ordeal, but I wasn't. Determined to reach her again, I dialed repeatedly, only to be connected to different operators each time.

Time dragged on, each second stretching into an eternity. The blood on my legs dried, the metallic scent fading. I tasted it, and it was just blood-bitter, coppery flavor, and cold.

When help finally arrived, I didn't think I needed it.

"I'm sane, I'm sane. There's nothing wrong with me!" I screamed, fighting against their hands as they restrained me. They said I was traumatized, but I wasn't. I was the most sane person on earth.

Months passed. I took their tests, answered their questions, and they finally declared me sane. They sent me to foster care, and gave me a scholarship to some prestigious school for the elite kids. But it didn't end there. One day, I had enough.

It all spiraled out of control on a Monday morning.

~~~