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Aidenstaresatme,unflinching, his expression as unmoving as a stone.
He blinks once, then twice. It’s all the movement he seems capable of.
“Ade?” I ask, uncertain how to proceed.
I just laid a bombshell on his doorstep. Is he going to diffuse it or disintegrate in the explosion?
“That can’t be right,” he eventually says. “Our soul couldn’t be so corrupted.”
He’s in denial. Shock and horror furrow his handsome face.
“I don’t think it’s his soul that’s corrupted.” I can’t help but defend Tiero. “This is a case of nurture over nature. He doesn’t know any different.”
“Do not defend this criminal, Ella!” he suddenly shouts.
Ade has never raised his voice like this before, and I take a step back. Not because I’m afraid, but to give him space.
He’s sinking.
Starting to pace the room, he reminds me of myself when my mind and thoughts challenge me.
“He stands for everything I detest in this world. It’s not possible for him to be like you and me! You’re wrong, Ella.”
I should let him vent. He needs to get the anger out of his system. But I want him to understand that Tiero isn’t all bad. I saw his light. I connected with it.
“How do you explain my reaction to him then?” I say gently. “My recognition of him ran as deep as when I met you.”
He shakes his head vehemently. “No! No. Just no.”
With that, he storms to the front door and flings it open with so much force it slams against the wall and bounces back, almost hitting him. A tornado rages inside him, ready to tear him apart.
I run to the door, only to see him disappear behind the house. Moments later, I hear him cursing, and then the unmistakable sound of an axe splitting wood travels through the air.
I guess cutting more firewood isn’t a bad way to transmute his anger into something useful for everyone.
I wish I could help him, but this is something Aiden has to work through within himself.
Restless, though, I wear out the carpet with my excessive pacing. After an hour of hearing log after log being split, I grab a large water bottle and dare approach the man who behaves like a caged wild animal.
He’s soaked in sweat, his body glistening in the early afternoon sun. He’s shed his shirt and swings the axe bare-chested.
Oh dear lord.
The sight has my ovaries weeping. Every muscle in his body is curled tight. Mesmerized, I watch as they ripple and contract.
Why didn’t I come out here earlier to watch this show?
I sit down on a cut log, trying not to salivate over this Adonis.
He briefly glances my way before redirecting his attention to the block of wood right in front of him. He tightens his hold on the handle and lifts the heavy axe above his head. With a swift and forceful motion, he brings the axe down, its sharp edge sinking into the wood with a satisfying crack.
As splinters scatter and the crack reverberates through the air, a hint of relief flashes across his face. Each swing becomes an outlet for his pent-up frustration, a way to channel his anger into something tangible, something external.
The repetitive rhythm of the axe rising and falling seems to soothe his troubled mind.
Rivulets of sweat run down his brow and torso, but he pays them no mind.
I wonder if he’s picturing Tiero with each strike that chips away at the wood. He must be. The raw power in his movements reflects the intensity of his emotions, as if the wood itself is the embodiment of the source of his frustration.
