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“She’s a feisty one.” I hand him trousers as he unclasps the hospital gown. “You make a good pair.”
Despite struggling to put his feet in the trousers without falling unconscious, Aaron still manages a glare at me, jaw clenching. “Fuck. Off.”
“She’s an innocent girl.” Dylan’s voice isn’t as carefree as mine. “When did you start kidnapping innocent girls?”
“It’s...” Aaron collapses onto the bed, coughing and panting as if putting his trousers on equalled running a marathon. His words come out in short breaths. “It’s not girls. It’s only her.”
“That’s not the point.” Dylan towers over him. “What will you do with her, huh? We certainly won’t let you kill an innocent girl. The only alternative is letting her go which means she will testify against you and send you to prison. It may take all the damn judges we’ve gathered so far to save your arse from this one. Great job in ruining years of our effort.”
I stare at Dylan. I know Aaron’s foolishness will delay our revenge, but this isn’t the right time to call him out on it. He can barely blink straight.
“Can we have this conversation after I’m out of here and injected with copious amount of morphine?” Aaron puts one hand in his shirt but struggles to pull it through.
With a sigh, Dylan throws his hand in dismissal.
I help Aaron put the rest of his clothes on. He doesn’t seem to have the energy to breathe right.
He slumps into a wheelchair for Dylan and I to escort him out of the hospital. If we insist on keeping him here, he’ll probably escape in the middle of the night and aggravate his wound. Better keep him on the estate’s grounds and under my watch.
As I wheel him out of hospital, Aaron turns around slowly, shoulders tense. “What did you do to her?”
I smile. “She’s as you left her.”
He nods, a wave of relief seems to wash over his face and relax his limbs.
Interesting.
Who said Aaron is long gone? I may fulfil Father’s wishes after all— without the asylum.
All I have to do is use the crack in Aaron’s previously impenetrable armour; Mae.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mae
Arthur doesn’t look at me anymore. It’s like I’m a contagious disease he’s afraid to catch. My presence seems to suffocate him, disintegrating him inch by inch. I hate this. I despise how he subtly avoids me. Yes, I’m aware he’s doing so to protect me from himself. Yet, I abhor the gloominess in his eyes. It feels as if he’s erasing me. Writing me off. The screams of the women deafen me every night. I can no longer sleep. The image of Arthur doing things to them, that only I should be entitled to, haunts me. I was the one who suggested the women so he wouldn’t draw my blood. It’s been years, I should’ve been used to this. It turns out I’m not. I need them gone.
Tonight, I’ll drive them all away. Arthur is mine, and I’ll retrieve what’s mine. I know he wouldn’t want to touch me, but I’m also aware that he can’t resist me. If letting him draw my blood will make us both alive again, then I’ll willingly let him. I’ve been dead for a long time already.
I turn the page for the following entry. There’s nothing. What?! Is this it? Why did Eva stop writing? Ugh. I want to know what happened.
The latest entries were dedicated to Eva’s void. She was on the edge of herself, wanting Arthur’s attention and getting nothing but neglect. The last entry was the first time in months she decided to act. All this happened while Aaron was spending most his time with Alexander. Eva seemed to be relieved for that fact. After all, Aaron was another burden in her lifeless existence.
I sigh and stare outside from my window. Dark grey clouds haven’t stopped releasing their contents, slumping the estate in a gloomy rainy afternoon. Droplets of water blur the glass, but the view of the outside terrace’s still clear. If there had been any blood left on the grass, then the downpour will have washed it away. It feels like years since I saw Aaron doused in his blood. The exact period is days— judging from the number of meals Kane brought me.
I begged him to tell me about Aaron’s condition, but like a damn robot, he nodded and left without a word every time. Until yesterday. He slipped a tiny piece of paper under the spoon. ‘He’s out of danger. Still hasn’t regained consciousness.’ I would’ve hugged Kane if I weren’t too afraid he would knock me on my butt.
Aaron lives. My prayers were answered.
Then... what? What do I do once he returns? It doesn’t really matter. All I want is to see him outside of that blood pool. Breathing. Alive.
The past few days, all I could sketch were fragments of rubbish. My muse abandoned me ever since Aaron was shot.
I don’t know what to feel about that.
Indistinct chatter in the hall pulls me from my thoughts. I hide the journal under the pillow and get out of my room. Kane’s bulky silhouette stands in front of Aaron’s bedroom. When his gaze meets mine, he nods, a little smile plays on his lips as he motions for me to go inside.
He’s back?
