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It had been almost 3 weeks since 12 year old Kaz had been living in this Ghezen forsake shithole they called the Slat. It was a rundown house in worst part of the Barrel. It was built without foundations on swampy land causing the thin tall buildings to lean against each other, tilting at drowsy angles.The Slat was three stories high stacked tight on top of each other. Inside was cramped, with dull mould invested hallways, the smell of damp lingered heavily in the air.
Kaz's room was on the third floor, barely enough space for a bed, though it had a broken sink tucked tightly in the corner. There was glass scattered across the floor from a mirror. Kaz had not bothered picking up the shards. He questioned if the streets of Ketterdam were more luxurious than this but when Per Haskell offered him a place to stay and food in exchange to work for him, Kaz would be a fool to turn down such a deal and even more of a fool to believe this place would be even remotely comfy. It was now nightfall and Kaz was alone in his room, there was no jobs for tonight, though Kaz wanted to be anywhere but here right now. Nights like this made Kaz want to scream, to break something, to feel anything. He wasn't aloud to cry, no matter how hard he tried to muffle his tears into his pillow, one of the older members of the Dregs would hear him and gladly threaten Kaz with a beating if he did not shut up. One day, he'd gladly get revenge. Let them believe he was a weak little rat for now. So he stayed quiet at nights, the silence suffocating him.
By day, he was ruthless and unhinged. A feisty bastard with a bad temper, pickpocketing valuable information from rich merchants between the shadows, never hesitating to pull out his blade when needed. He was starting to admit that he enjoyed this, the power it gave him. The surge of violence beating inside his chest felt good — like it had always been there. He hungered for more. It had made him feel reborn. Gone was the little boy who believed in magic tricks and happy endings, in its place was a monster beginning to take form, personalised by the Barrel. A monster who would soon grow the sharpest of claws.
Then by night, alone, the monster would crawl back inside and the boy would resurface once more. The memories came back in floods, he could almost feel his lungs drowning. Harsh waves against his throat, struggling to breath. His brother's blotted body in his mind, on his skin. Kaz needed a way to kill this boy or he would not survive. He needed to be worse than the rest, the cruellest. To make a name for himself, so whenever someone heard the whispers of 'Kaz Brekker' amongst the streets, they knew to stay the hell away if they valued their lives and loved ones. That was what he had to do to survive, to protect himself. So tonight he'd fount a way to drown this boy.
To replace the tears with blood using shards of glass against his skin. The pain was sudden and sharp. A warm burning sensation against his upper arm, the pain was almost.. pleasurable, it brought a sense of comfort and control. It was a conflicting kind of pain; the soft burn that each cut left eased his mind, an outlet for his internal pain. Though at the same time it was a simple way out, to escape, to forget. Why was it so easy to destroy yourself than to fix yourself? Perhaps destroying yourself was less of an effort. This city didn't require him to be fixed so why would he even bother?
Kaz walked to the broken mirror looking at his fragmented reflection, the blood slowly creeping down his arm. White knuckles against the sink. He could barely see his eyes from the several harsh lines against the glass. He kept staring at himself in the darkened room as if anticipating for something to appear from within the mirror. He kept on glaring, waiting for the boy to give up and die already. Would the boy put up a fight to stay alive? Then he would only find more ways to fight harder until then.
Kaz tilted his head to one side, crooked smile tugged at this lips.
Finally. The boy gave up.
Goodbye.
Kaz would not mourn for him.