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If I did that from the beginning, if I continued treating Aaron as the despicable sick psycho he is, I wouldn’t be in this red zone. A zone where passion and pain are so strong it’s unbearable.
His intent to kill me is enough reason to make me hate him. For good. I’ll be strong and stop being a smitten fool.
The brown leather peeks from underneath my pillow. I glare at it.
Screw Aaron’s childhood. Who wants to know how a psycho was formed?
Wait. If I study his past, I may figure out how to fight him with his own memories. Maybe I can get powerful information that will allow me to cripple him.
I smile. He deserves every single terror bestowed upon him. He tried to kill me. I won’t be feeling sorry for him anymore. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, I pull the journal from its hideout and pick up from where I left off.
I triggered Arthur again. I took Alexander’s side in an argument about Aaron’s future. It ended up in flames. The brothers almost killed each other. They always tolerated one another, but today was different. Arthur wanted his heir to grow into a heartless monster like he is. Alexander refused to let his nephew slip into this family’s hereditary psychopathy. When I was asked for my opinion, I said, “Let Alexander raise Aaron. He’s a better role model than us.” Alexander gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving. Then I was face to face with Arthur’s murderous aura. If it was visible, it would form a black halo around his whole body. I braced myself to be scolded. To be taken roughly against the desk. Yet, he didn’t move. It’s worse when he doesn’t express his anger. When this last happened, I almost ended up dead.
After a long silence, his words undid me. “The urge to kill you is bigger and stronger than anything I’ve experienced in my whole damn life, Eva. Ever since I knew you, I’m in a constant battle against myself. Even using other women’s blood to not draw yours isn’t helping much. Why are you making it harder by taking someone else’s side? Why do you make me feel like you’re unworthy of my sacrifices? I lost my sister, the only one who understood me, for you. Why can’t I have someone to understand in my son? Why do you have to take that, too?” Arthur fell into that hole again where neither I nor his son can save him. Arthur fought so hard but for how long can he keep up the fight?
I fought the hardest. Over the years, I tried my best to feel for the both of us. I can’t do it anymore. I’m too tired to keep going at this life. I want it to end.
My shaky fingers release the journal, a shadow of a scream forms at the back of my throat.
Oh. God. Aaron is a replica of his father, isn’t he? That explains the vacant look in his eyes when he choked me. He probably wasn’t seeing me at all. It didn’t matter who he kills as long as he breaks the neck between his hands.
Alexander wasn’t able to save his nephew after all. Aaron followed his genes and became a psychopath.
Does that mean he fights it, too? Did I trigger him somehow?
I shake my head frantically. No, I’m not going there. I won’t blame myself for his craziness. It’s not my fault. I’m the victim here.
But is Aaron a victim too? He certainly wouldn’t have been the same if he was raised by a loving family or at least parents who didn’t use him for their own benefits. Both Arthur and Eva never put their son’s needs before their own. He was collateral damage. If they fought, they only did it for themselves. None of them tried to understand a child’s feelings.
I hope they’re both dead. Aaron doesn’t need those people in his life.
Ugh. Dammit. I read the journal to fuel my hate and find a way to bring Aaron down, but here I am inflaming my overflowing sympathy for him.
I need to talk to him. What if he has an explanation for his murder attempt? After all, it was the first time he’s got physically violent with me.
This time I’ll get some answers, I won’t let him shut me down like every other time.
I jump out of bed and scurry out of the room. Is he in his bedroom? I tap on his closed door, my voice tentative. “Aaron, are you in there?”
No answer.
“Open up! We need to talk.”
The damn bastard. How dare he ignore me after what he’s done? I kick at the hard wooden door, ignoring the stinging in my toes. “Hey! Come— “
A loud bang outside pulls my attention. It sounded like a gunshot. Aaron mentioned hunting before. Is he doing that?
I inch to the window at the end of the hallway. Blood freezes in my veins.
Down in the field, a woman in black clothes lies in the midst of a small pool of blood. That’s not what locks my muscles and forbids my lungs from functioning. It’s Aaron lying not far from her. Blood gushes out of his mouth and chest, soaking his T-shirt, dyeing the stony pavement red. Aaron’s face is pale, no life in his limbs. No twitch in his fluttered eyes. Just blood. Everywhere.
Is he dead?
He can’t be dead. He... can’t.
“Aaron!” My strangled shout pierces my ears, but I call his name over and over, as if the sheer force of my scream can bring him back to life. I bang my palms on the ice cold glass. I hit it, hard until my hands sting. The damn thing doesn’t break. Nor does Aaron show any sign of life.
