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“No.” He slouched into the chair as if he wanted all his sins to devour him. “I’m not in that sort of trouble. But I also know what I did. I know how badly I fucked up. But I did stop. I stopped by turning that blackness on myself. I-I would’ve finished the job and put myself out of my misery if she hadn’t taken the knife off me. She…forgave me. I compensated her. And…she left.”
I stayed silent, letting him stew in his guilt.
Licking his bottom lip, Henri took his time forming his next sentence. “I came here because…I have nowhere else to go. No one else to call my own. I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting and I’m tired. I’m tired of being so fucking lonely all the time. I’m tired of being on my own. I’m tired of being different. So…I made a bargain with myself.”
“A bargain?” I asked softly. “What sort of bargain?”
He didn’t look up. “One that will either save me or condemn me. When I dug that blade into my thigh, hunting for a way to end it, I remembered what my mother said. That she’d been taken and raped for over a decade. That she’d birthed me in some chateau in France. That she’d done her best to raise me when she was granted the permission to spend time with me.”
I studied him.
Did he remember that time?
Did he remember me?
His eyes locked on mine, answering my unspoken question. “I thought I’d recall something from my childhood driving up here. I thought for sure I’d recognise you if what she said is true. How could I have spent the first eight years of my life in a place I can’t remember? How could I have a half-brother that I’ve never met? How could I have this disease inside me and have no way to get rid of it?”
I knew how.
I’d seen it happen in numerous slaves I’d rescued and rehabilitated.
Selective amnesia.
Deliberate blank spots in a traumatised psyche to exist the best it could.
For all his confessions, that one told me the most about Henri.
He was broken.
In motherfucking pieces and, in all honesty, those sort of fractures weren’t fixable.
I knew from experience.
I’d clawed my way through my late teens and most of my twenties alone. Hiding who I truly was, drowning beneath nightmarish urges, begging the blackness in my soul to stop.
I was well acquainted with the allure of peace whispering on the promises of suicide. I knew how such offers of quietness and contentment could seduce.
I’d contemplated it a few times.
But each time I sank into such self-pity, I threw myself deeper into my work. I saved more slaves. I rescued those that’d been hurt by men like me. I did my best to erase my shame by giving back those lives that were ruined because of bastards that deserved to be dead.
But…we were at different stages of our war.
I fought mine on a daily basis and ensured I won every single night.
I was seasoned at this battle but Henri…
He’s only just begun.
And that made him my enemy because it took every fucking shred to stay human, each and every day, and Henri already housed the beast. It’d sunk its fangs into him and no matter how much he thought he was winning, he wasn’t.
It’s only a matter of time.
Not if but when he killed someone.
And…I can’t let that happen.
I shifted on my wingback.
