Guilty 3

"Ladies and gentleman, each year the council selects one young person who has been of service to, and has shown a deep commitment to aiding, our community. It gives me great pleasure to present the 'Young Citizen of the Year' award to a young man who has worked tirelessly for the good of this city in all aspects of his life, and is truly a role model for us all. The 'Young Citizen of the Year' award this year goes to Coeur Poitou," the mayor beamed at Coeur, sitting with his mother, Navarre, and father, d'Braose, in the front row.
With a charming, debonair smile, Coeur – bedecked in a navy suit and looking every bit the mother's dream and the father's pride – stood and calmly went up the stairs to the podium. Projecting an air of humility as he accepted the award, and the substantial cheque, from the mayor, he then put on a modest smile as he turned to the podium and recited the thank-you speech he could have said in his sleep. The polite and thankful tone of voice was sustained the whole way through, more from habit than anything else.
Behind the humble, slightly shy mask, Coeur was laughing.
The idiots. They worshipped him, every last one of them. He'd had them eating out of his palm for years. 'Young Citizen of the Year'? What a joke! It ought to have been called the 'Coeur Poitou Annual Award'; every year for the last six years, this pathetic trophy had stood on his desk, just one of the million others collecting dust in his room. Who gave a damn about some rusty trophy? No, it was the cheque that he wanted. The five hundred dollar cheque that had been his for the last six years. It belonged to him. Nobody was going to get that cheque except him!
But he didn't do it just for the money. Oh no. He also did it for the power. This whole 'perfect-role-model' act was a power game. With power came freedom. He could do whatever he wanted, and nobody would even think to blame him. Coeur, terrorising school students? Coeur Poitou, a drug pusher? Coeur d'Lyon Poitou, part of an underground crime ring? Oh no, you're just jealous and making this all up. Coeur d'Lyon Poitou, a villain? Oh, that's funny!
He inwardly chuckled, vaguely noting that he was saying something about what a pleasure it was to be of service to this so-wonderful community. Pleasure, his arse! It was the most god-awful thing in the world, shaking hands and giving speeches, sitting at school-blazer-and-tie functions eating french onion soup and sipping de-alcoholised wine. BOR-ing! How had he put up with it all these years? Habit?
Nobody knew what he did. He had other people do his dirty work for him. His connections were extremely complex; none of them had ever seen him or heard his proper voice. The few imperative phone-calls he did make were from mobiles or public phones, so they couldn't be traced. Nobody knew, nobody even suspected.
Except Angevin.
His inner smile turned malicious.
Dear little Vinn.
The stupid girl. She was the embarrassment of the family. She wasn't the carbon copy of her perfect brother. She had no interest in community projects, like the rest of the family did (or pretended to).
No, she'd rebelled and turned gothic. Coeur'd never forget the look on his mother's face when Angevin had walked in the door, her blonde hair dyed black, her jeans and T-shirt exchanged for a black Shakespeare dress, her pale face heavily outlined with black make-up.
Vinn had become rather proficient in the make-up department; she hid the bruises well.
The stupid girl, she knew too much. He could never trust her to keep her trap shut. And there was only one way to make sure she did. Oh yes, she hated him. She would gladly see him locked in a dungeon and she'd throw the keys away herself. She'd castrate him with a dull knife and gouge his eyes out with hot pokers given half the chance. But as much as she despised him, she feared him even more. She knew that he could kill her, and she knew he'd have no qualms about doing it if she ever gave him the slightest reason.
Nobody would ever believe her, even if she had incontestable proof and the testimonies of every kid he'd ever sold crack to. But that didn't stop him from bashing her at every opportunity; he enjoyed it too much.
And anyway, she was easier to fuck when she was almost unconscious.

"You mean he rapes you?!"
"Yes he does,"
"But – but he's your brother!"
"That's never stopped him before!"
"But . . . but –"
"He's not human, he's a monster! Gods, I hate him!!! I HATE HIM!!!"
Sitting on the back verandah, the metal first aid box between them, Zac carefully bandaged Vinn's battered left hand. She winced occasionally, but not once did she speak a word of complaint.
"I know. So do I," Zac pulled the bandage a little too tight; Angevin flinched, "Oh – sorry,"
"You can hate him, but you don't have to live with him do you?!" there was sarcasm in her voice, but he knew it wasn't meant for him. He just kept on bandaging this bruised hand. It must've been killing her.
"No I don't," Vinn was spending more and more time at his house. She'd told him a lot while they were together. She came to him to talk, to tell someone about her vile excuse for a life. He now knew all about Coeur's drug pushing and involvement in the underground crime scene. He now knew about Div, how his father had beaten him up, and in the end bashed him to death. He knew everything. How often lately had she cried herself to sleep on his shoulder rather than go home at night? His parents were starting to get suspicious.
"He's even got mom and dad under his spell!! Navarre and d'Braose Poitou, number one and two on the 'We Love Coeur' fan-club list!! He's getting another damn award today,"
"Award?"
"Yes, the 'Young Citizen of the Year', sixth time in a row! I don't know how the bastard does it; how come nobody can see what a fucking monster he is?!?" Zac sighed and wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders. The tears smudged the black lining of her eyes and the pale concealer, revealing a deeper purple-black bruise. What kind of devil could do this to his own sister?
"He's a lying, heartless bastard!!! I can't go back there Zac!! I can't bear it!!!" her desperate black eyes turned to him. What could he do?
"You don't have to go back Vinn, you can stay here if you want,"
"I. . . ." she wasn't used to charity. Not even Div – Div . . . briefly, she closed her eyes – could let her stay with him; his father would have beaten the both of them senseless. Zac was offering her a haven, a place where she could sleep without the fear of Coeur creeping into her room and raping her, and she was considering refusing?!?
"It's no trouble. Really," he forced a reassuring smile.
"I . . . thank-you. I, um . . . I'd like that. . . ." and she hugged him. She never hugged anyone. Any form of touch only reminded her of Coeur's filthy hands on her; and she shrank away from it. Yet, she'd hugged Div – she hiccuped. Sweet Div, who'd never hurt a fly. Why had the gods taken him?! – because she'd felt safe with him. It was the same with Zac.
He was all she had left. . . .
Gently, Zac hugged her back, mindful of her agonising bruises and cuts. Christ, what had he gotten himself into? His parents'd flip when he told them. They'd never turn Vinn away, but that didn't mean they had to like her hanging around. He knew what they thought, 'She's been such a bad influence on Zac, what will she do to the girls?'. Ha! Vinn a bad influence? Had they even looked to see what this 'superstar' shit was doing to him?! Did they know what it was like living with the knowledge that one wrong move could destroy your entire career?!?
"It's okay Vinn. He won't ever hurt you again, I promise,"
Did they know what it was like living with the knowledge that one wrong move could end your life?

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