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“You can open your eyes,” I mutter. “And maybe I’ll have to take you to Arlo to get this treated.”
She opens her eyes and looks at what I’ve done.
I’m ready for the horror, the tears, the swear words, and threats to destroy me for ruining her bruised arm. I’m beginning to feel stupid with marking the bruised spot that douche of a guard tainted. It would always remind her of the incident. Would also force her to acknowledge that Domino got rid of him without hesitation in front of his family, servants, and employees.
The only part of the recording I ensured would be kept for bragging purposes. To show the lengths we Kings would go to remind everyone who now belongs to us.
“If we wrap it, it’ll clot eventually,” she mutters. She’s still admiring what I’ve done, which is already tripping me out.
She’s admiring it. Appreciating the shitshow I just drew.
“Dysgraphia.”
The diagnosis comes out before I can tame it.
“Dys-graph-ia,” she repeats it slowly. She’s still taking in the mark. “Is that what makes it capable for you to create something so unique?”
She’s kidding, right?
“You should hate it.”
I don’t get why I’m angry.
Neither does she.
“Why are you mad?”
I don’t fucking know.
She flinches when I grab just below the bleeding mark. My grip is so tight, I watch the blood flow at a sickly output, but I’m shaking with blinded rage that’s underserved.
“It’s ugly! Hideous. It doesn’t look like a fucking heart! It’s scribbling uneven lines,” I emphasize what I see from the bleeding work that should make her shed tears instead oflooking so proud of the permanent scar. “I don’t need your fucking pity!”
She doesn’t answer right away. She’s watching as I huff and puff while still keeping her arm in my possessive grasp. It’s not until I notice she’s a lot paler, like when she was on the verge of fainting in the warehouse, I snap out of my vicious spell.
“Shit,” I curse and release her, but when I try to apologize, she takes that moment to speak.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” She says it nice and slow, hoping I comprehend her intentions despite my furious mindset. “I see the heart. What? Just because it’s not a smoothly drawn one makes it ugly? I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “You could have made it hurt a whole lot worse if you wanted to, yes?”
I don’t understand where she’s going with it, but I slightly nod.
“You took your time so it would be as close to a heart as you could make it. That’s appreciative of you for someone you barely know,” she vouches and even smiles. A real one. “Also proves you’d keep to your word.”
It does?
“Whether you wear a mask or not, Zander, you’re not a villain in my eyes. This mark doesn’t necessarily make me hate you. It makes me respect you more.”
Respect me?
“You kept your word,” she put it as simple as that. “A man who can stick to his word is one I can trust would stay by my side. No matter what side I’m on.”
She stares at the mark once more and mumbles. “You know, you might as well have written Property of RKOC or something in the middle.”
“It would be ineligible,” I mutter, but that isn’t entirely true. I’m not too bad. I’m getting better at writing words. “I… can’t write small letters perfectly yet.”
“Work in progress,” she praises and surprisingly offers her free hand. “Pass the knife.”
“What are you planning to do?”
