Oops. The bottle is empty.
I’m tempted to go back to the shelf and get another. Still, that’s too far, and I’d probably drink it on my way back here anyway. It sure feels like I want to drink it. So, I push myself forward, step by step, agony growing with each one; until I finally reach the door that leads to his house.
I look up the stairs. There’s no handrail. I never even figured I would need one so badly, until now.
God, I really need that bottle right now.
It looks painfully difficult to go up the stairs, while I know there’s every chance the door will be locked, but I still haven’t decided if I want to confront Ares now or just get the fuck out of here. So, I take my chances with the door for now.
My main problem remains, the stairs. It’s pretty dark and too risky to start hopping on one leg, climbing the stairs because they’re too steep. I really don’t think I’d enjoy having both legs broken. So, I have no other option than to crawl up on my ass, one step at a time.
I hope no one sees this because it’s pretty embarrassing, I just don’t have many options right now. So, I crawl my way up until I reach the door.
Of course, I’m out of luck, and the damn thing is locked. I honestly didn’t expect anything less, but I figured I owed it to myself to try sneaking out instead of having to do what I plan next.
I take a deep breath and start knocking. Slowly at first, then after the first ten minutes, I’m just punching the door, kicking it as hard as I can, calling out Ares’ name. I don’t know if he’s out there or not, still, maybe one of his maids or maybe even Mrs. Holloway will hear me, and I’ll have a much better chance of escaping.
None of that happens, though. I’m just left there knocking at the door for what feels like hours. I’m not sure because I don’t have a watch, but it’s long enough for my limbs to go numb as I sit in a very delicate position on a steep step, my leg barely finding stability since I can’t lean on it without cursing my existence.
I don’t even know if Ares is home. I’m tempted to sit here and wait for Mrs. Holloway to bring me food and medicine in the morning, but she doesn’t always use this exit. She sometimes comes through the door that leads to the abandoned mansion, so that leaves me with the possibility of spending a lot more time than I’d like stuck on these stairs.
Now I really regret not grabbing another bottle of wine, or even two, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I could use it to draw him out. He keeps the wine there for a reason. That’s like his precious collection, and if he doesn’t care enough about me to open the door, then maybe he’d care if his antique collection got ruined. That, and the thirst in my veins, convinces me that I should go back for some more bottles—even if the trip there and back is going to be a nightmare, and it would probably be morning by the time I return.
I take my chances and limp my way back to his trophy room. Seeing that gold throne hurts just as much, but also ignites that place between my legs, like my damn pussy misses him and is set on letting me know.
I grab a dust cover from a piece of ancient armor, then return to the wine rack where I wrap six bottles in it, opening one for myself first, using the same slipper method.
The alcohol sure eases my misery. After taking a few sips, I put the cork back in, then toss it next to the others. I wrap the material around them like a bag, which I drag behind me because carrying it on my back right now would throw me off balance.
It’s hell going back that distance, especially with the extra weight, but I need to switch to Plan B. It’s not my fault Ares didn’t answer me. I’ve also considered maybe he’s not in town. Still, I know he’s got people around the house, and the noise I made would have surely drawn their attention by now. So, he definitely knows I’m demanding to be set free, even if he might not be at home.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and decide to give him… let’s say a friendly warning, “Ares, open the fucking door. Now!” I call out a couple of times, but there’s no response.Well, have it your way.I might just be signing my death sentence, but my life is just too boring at this point.
Opening the improvised bag, I pull out one of the bottles and throw it straight at the door. Then I wait... and wait some more, taking a large sip out of the bottle I opened earlier.
No answer, huh? Okay...
I throw another bottle. The liquid spills down the stairs as the collision makes enough noise to wake the dead.
I wait another couple of minutes, or at least that’s what I’m counting, judging by my heart rate as I take a few more slurps from my bottle of wine. I sure hope I don’t end up breaking this one. I quite enjoy it.
“Ares,” I warn again. “I want a burger and some fucking normal junk food,” I roar, just in case he hears me. In every protest, you have to have a cause. The wine just makes me spillall my unsatisfied demands. Okay, not all of them, because I didn’t say anything about the way my damn body tightens every time I think about him, or how much I’d like other things than food too. I’ll just stick to the more basic ones for now. “I want to watch a fucking TV show. To see the fucking sunlight. Open the door!”
It’s no use, though, so there goes another bottle.
...and another, until I’m down to the one in my hand and one more in the bag. I can’t sacrifice my last resources, so I take another sip of the bottle and throw the almost empty one at the door as I feel a tear slide down my cheek, “Open the fucking door, Ares!” I fall to my knees, or more likely onto my side, because I can’t bend one of my legs. Right now, I’d rip the world to pieces, but just when I’m ready to scream my anger out again, I hear a clink, and the door is suddenly framed by a harsh light.
I called, and someone finally answered.
four
-Ares-
It’s been almost two weeks. Two weeks in which I haven’t gotten any closer to finding out what the fuck happened back there with Brynn. Two weeks of trying to convince myself every damn night not to go to the basement and see her. But the more I put it off, the more I fear I won't be able to control myself when we finally meet again.
I only went to see her after the doctor stitched her leg up. As much as I wanted to stay away, I just couldn’t find it in me to leave her without seeing for myself that she was all right. I might want to kill her myself, but I couldn’t imagine her actually dying on me. Pretty fucked up, I know, but then again, things have been pretty fucked up ever since she came into my life. It was only after I was completely sure she was out of danger that my true anger started to pool. It came in rivers, poisoning my mind and soul, pushing reason aside and making me focus only on one thing:her betrayal. The way she snuck into my life, maybe even into my bed to carry out her final goal–ending me. That’s when I decided I couldn’t be there, next to her, anymore. I’m all too aware of the true darkness that lies within, and staying there asthe dark thoughts came rushing in would’ve led to something I’d regret.
I kept my distance for both of our sake, even though it felt like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
