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CHAPTER 12
Present
Rebecca
“Are you insane?” Manasseh gasps heavily near my ear, and as I open my eyes, I notice blood between us, yet I feel no pain.
He leans against the cabinet behind me, and I feel the pressure of his trembling body against mine, caught between him and the kitchen counter. Stepping back, I realize the blood isn’t mine. His broad palm covers the blade of the knife, while I hold onto the handle. His hand trembles, his fingers stained with blood.
“Why...” I whisper, still in shock, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Why did he interfere? I have the knife in my hands. He would have had no connection to this if I were to die here. Why didn't he just let me?
“Let it go, Becca,” he mutters in a low tone, his words muffled in my tousled hair, his heavy breath caressing my ear.
Manasseh shows no sign of backing down. I could wrestle the knife from his grasp and strike before he even has time to react. The blade would slice through his bleeding palm, and in the blink of an eye, I could plunge it into his chest.
But I'm not a killer.
I don't want to stain my hands.
Not for him.
My hands tremble, and so do his. We're both trembling. There's a bitter mixture brewing beneath my tongue. It's a blend of fear, anger, and madness. Does he... tremble because he's worried about me, or because he's in pain?
No. I’m not gonna pity him!
You took pleasure in tormenting those people! Han's voice, my martial arts mentor, reverberates in my mind amid the tumultuous thoughts.
I am nothing like Manasseh.
I can't do this to him.
I release my grip on the handle, watching as he opens his blood-stained palm and tosses the weapon into the sink, gritting his teeth. He turns on the faucet, allowing the water to cascade over his injured hand.
“This brings back memories,” he whispers wistfully, gazing at the wound's depth, which doesn't seem to worry him.
A chill runs down my spine, recalling the moment I tumbled from the rooftop, and he dislocated his shoulder while shielding me.
I watch him as he grabs a towel and wraps it around his wound. Then, he goes straight to the knife holder, tucking it under his arm, passing by me with a lethal gaze, as if trying to suppress the waves of brutality that surge beneath his skin whenever things don't go as he desires.
“I'm taking this with me before any other ideas cross your mind. See you tomorrow,” his voice echoes before he shuts the door.
I stand in the small kitchen, my mind racing, a crimson stain on my hoodie, on my hands, and a few drops on my bare toes. It's Manasseh's blood, a result of his selfless act, standing between me and the blade without caring he would get hurt.
He's crazy!
I can't bear to see the scattered ashes on the floor, no matter what the truth is, and I make my way to the bathroom, tossing my hoodie into the laundry bin along with my socks, underwear, and sports bra. Then, I sink into the empty and cold bathtub, turning on the water and waiting for it to fill.
Thoughts flood my mind as I gaze at my toes stained with his blood. I try to process it all, but it’s too overwhelming. Slowly, I sink deeper into the tub, the water rising, hoping to drown out the turmoil within.
He planned every step, orchestrating my downfall, just to bring me under his control. And if I dare defy him, he'll destroy me without hesitation.
He will, I'm sure of it.
He's here to finish what he started.
Nothing has changed. I'm trapped in the same role as before, a slave Manasseh desires, but this time, there's no one to save me, suffocated by the power he has gained over the years. Surely, he has been waiting for this moment for far too long.
