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I can feelevery nerve in my body thrum with anger.
Unable to quell the way I shake, I pace the room. I’ve been ostracised since Beckett found me with Alistair, and I’ve not been able to fight my side of that shit show. Instead, I was left in this room with meals brought to me and not one word spoken.
Yesterday, I was in shock and hated myself.
The feel of Alistair’s touch still burnt a little, even when I ran the water until it was icy cold. Even when the feeling dulled, my emotions didn’t. In fact, they came alive. Each a little demon of their own. They manifested, catching fire as I became angry.
It was in the corner of the shower I realised I had lost myself, and I hated myself for that.
Seven years ago, I was at my absolute lowest, having lost everything, and here I am again in the same predicament. This time, however, I really feel like I’m to blame.
So, today, I’m simmering away, left to stew.
“Want to explain to me what the real game is?”
I turn on the spot, almost disappointed at the sight of Beckett.
Standing in front of him, I recognise that after all of the years of mounting hate, I can’t bring myself to feel even a morsel of it. Instead, I stand before him, realising how little I have left to feel towards him, and I was always taught indifference is a dangerous emotion to feel.
“The real game was always to come and take it all back.”
I can’t embellish that fact. That was always my one motive. No one needed to know it but me until I was ready.
“Right,” he says, casually walking while starting to roll the sleeves of his black shirt up. “And what I witnessed yesterday with my dad was what?”
“Something that never should have happened.”
I don’t need time to rally a response when the truth is enough.
“Amen to that.”
I can hear the slivers of hurt in his tone. As much as he likes to act like the head of The Company should be emotionless, he needs a new audience if he wants to maintain that. He walks the length of the room without coming remotely close to me, and I know why. He still can’t bear to be near me.
The pit in my stomach opens up, and I realise I’ve achieved something I wanted for so long.
I wanted people to hurt like I hurt.
Words only did so much, but I wanted people to feel everything I was made to feel. I’m only cut up because I know that will never happen at my hands.
Alistair took advantage yesterday, but the end result for me was always the same.
Vindictiveness was always a driving force, but then I let petty feelings get in the way of the greater goal. Beckett took me by surprise in many ways. His handsomeness made me falter. His entire demeanour mesmerised me. The hate he thrust into my soul tainted it all, but my love for him burned in tiny embers underneath.
Beckett was my catalyst.
He’ll be my downfall and my greatest achievement in every way possible, good or bad.
Call me the lamb to the slaughter, but I can tell from one look, he’s my lamb too.
“You know, your father’s a bit of a cunt.” My comment is blunt, but I’m testing Beckett on this one.
“He said you’d say that.”
“I take it you’re on his side for this.” I laugh sardonically. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“The evidence is pretty fucking damning.”
“Is it, though?”
