by Rina Kent
My breath catches in my chest. The butterflies in my stomach erupt with a giant flip.
No.
Tristan is using me. He would tell me everything I needed to hear to get what he wants. I’m not falling for his manipulations.
“He won’t listen to me,” I say matter-of-factly. Tristan’s crazy if he thinks Aaron listens to anyone but his own head.
“Try.” Tristan smiles. “I will give you back your freedom in return. You’re innocent, you don’t deserve to be here.”
If I try then it’s not for freedom. It’s for Aaron.
. . . . .
I lie facing Aaron. The steady rise and fall of his chest transfixes me. This man is tragedy incarnate. Would he have become a killer if he wasn’t trained to be an assassin?
My palm reaches out to caress his stubbed cheek. Heat instantly seeps through my skin.
Why am I feeling this bad for him? I’m suffering from that Stockholm syndrome thing, aren’t I?
“I’m sorry for trying to kill you,” he whispers, his eyes closed. When he flutters them open, they’re an odd mixture of softness and harshness. Stormy black wells. “That wasn’t me... or at least not the version I want to be.”
An arrow strikes me in the chest, but instead of pain, joy spreads into my limbs. I murmur, “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay.” His thumb caresses my lips. Jolts of electricity travel throughout my body, sucking me into a hole of forbidden need. “You’re fucking me up, Mae, and it is not okay. It is dangerous.”
I stare into the once-bottomless eyes. They consider me with warmth so intense I wish to drown in them. “I’ll accept it.”
Aaron gathers me close, keeping a little distance between me and his bandaged chest. He inhales the top of my head before planting a soft kiss on my forehead. My body melts in his arms. I want to remain here forever.
Oh God. What is this feeling spreading inside me? Infecting every cell?
No. This can’t be.
The realisation of my feelings shatters me into a million pieces. Ones I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick them up again.
I’ve fallen in love with my captor. A serial killer. A psychopath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aaron
I lift my hand up. Only a tiny ache. Good. I slowly twist my torso. Rippling pain stabs my chest. I cough, and my chest reverberates in continuous spasms. I lean back, allowing my body to fall on the bed, panting with effort.
It’s been almost two weeks already. Screw this nonsense. I should’ve at least been able to walk for a few minutes without panting like a bloody dog in heat. Or was I that weak? I did neglect workouts.
The door clicks open, Mae pushes a wheeled tray of food inside. All frustrations evaporate at her radiating smile.
She hasn’t left my side ever since I came back. I can’t understand why, but I’m glad that her presence shoves Tristan and Dylan off my back. Even if it’s only for now. Tristan won’t let this pass unnoticed. I’ll think of a method to escape the asylum later. For now, Mae and the citrus that invades the room are all I need.
What does Mae smell like, anyway? Aside from her perfume’s odour, I still can’t pinpoint her exact scent. She’s not entirely Uncle Alexander’s Autumn. Or perhaps she’s Autumn and something more.
Mae places the tray of food between us, then sits on the chair opposite the bed.
As soon as we start eating, Mae’s kitten mouth takes over. She always talks about soup and nonsensical things when we eat together.
“It’s common etiquette to keep silent during meals,” I say when she keeps asking me to speak.
“Thank God I’m not some snob.” She cuts her steak, her eyes fixating me. “Actually, I still can’t understand how you’re genetically able to keep silent for such a long time.” Then she goes back to eating and endless talks that only keep her lips moving. As if chewing food isn’t enough to busy that luscious mouth.
I rip my gaze from her and nibble on my salad before I stumble to filling her mouth with my tongue.
Hell. Since when did I become a lower-half smitten idiot? Not only Mae’s mere presence tempts me to take her body and soul in all ways possible, but she’s also alluring my demons to end her life in the most gruesome way.
‘Give us her blood already, Aaron.’ Aunt whispers. ‘We need it.’
‘How long do you think you can last?’ Father says in the only composed voice he owns. ‘It’s interesting to watch.’
Salad lies forgotten, all appetite gone. My mind swirls with options to fight my demons, protect Mae, resist the overwhelming desire to have her, all while escaping the asylum.
It’s not possible. I have to lose something in between. Better my already deteriorating sanity than Mae.
My attention dart to her shiny eyes, they’ve lost some of their gleam, but they’re still as soft as when I first met her. Persistent. Alive. She’s still breathing, smiling, and talking. If I keep her, all those will fade to black. Can I actually let her go? No. I can’t sacrifice my well-being for another person. I’m not the type.
“Is that Rubens’ painting in the hallway?” Mae asks, still chewing on her steak.
I hold her curious gaze. “It is. Grandfather bought it from an underground seller.”
“But it’s stated as missing.” She looks at me as if what Grandfather did was the most insulting thing. “Why didn’t he report it to the national museum?”
“Because he liked collecting art for his own pleasure.” I pause, filling both of our glasses with red wine. “Besides, he was the one who looked for it and paid the highest price to have it.”
Her eyebrows crease together. “It’s still wrong. Why do people like you get to own exclusive art that everyone is entitled to see?”
“Because we have power and money?” I hold my wine glass close to my nose and breathe it in. The strong bouquet fills my nostrils. This wine has aged well.
“Arrogant.” Mae narrows her eyes to slits. “Do you even care about art?”
“Not really.” I take the first sip. the crisp taste pleases my throat. When I cross Mae’s gaze, she’s ogling me as if I’m the painting. I smile. “But I care about your art.”
Her eyes widen to their full stunning blueness. “Y-you do?”
I give a single nod. “If you use the art studio to draw me something, I’ll allow a rare exhibition of Rubens’ missed painting in the national museum.”
She beams but quickly masks it, clearing her throat. “I will.”
“Hmmm.” I take a sip of wine, leisurely taking my time to savour the multiple flavours. “But wouldn’t that sully your art?”
Mae purses her lips before her sarcastic voice comes out. “I’ll consider it a sacrifice for the art community.”
A deep laughter escapes my lips. God, she’s a gem. I never had fun talking with another human being ever since Uncle died. Mae gives a goofy smile back as if unable to hold it in.
“Let me ask you a question,” I say once my laughter subsides.
“On one condition.” She holds up a finger, her brows furrowing in apparent concentration. “I get to ask you a question too, and,” she points at me, “you will answer. You don’t get to manipulate your way out of it.”
Huh. Look who got better at bargaining.
I nod, and she waves her hand like a judge in court. “Ask away.”
“You clearly have a bright entourage, and your personality is... well, cheerful to say the least.” I keep my voice monotone. “So why do your paintings have dark themes?”
Mae releases her fork and wipes the cor
ner of her mouth. She fixes her glass of wine, her voice calm, almost reminiscent. “When I was seven, I got lost and was trapped in a dark cave for several hours. Despite the therapy, I couldn’t go to sleep without the lights on. I was progressively getting better until high school.
“On a cold dark night, Nathan was dropping me home after we finished with our study group. A few men appeared out of nowhere and started beating Nate. Their sole purpose seemed to use Nate as a punching bag. Although they didn’t hurt me, my trauma was triggered and I had a panic attack, unable to help Nate. Even if they had different shapes, the men were too similar to the monsters I saw in the cave as a little girl. Nate survived with a few cuts and bruises, the men were enemies with his father and wanted to teach him a lesson. He went along with life fine after that. I was the scarred one.”
She pauses, a smile crossing her lips as she releases a deep sigh. “But it was after that incident that I became serious about my art, so I guess it was an inspiring trauma.” She bites her lip, peeking at me through her lashes. “Then you came along. My dark inspiration spiralled out of control ever since I met you in that alley. It was like all the dark traumas I witnessed built to the moment of meeting you.”
“Does that imply I am the climax?” I smile, keeping my tone light.
She smiles back but her scolds, “Why do you sound proud? It wasn’t a compliment.”
I sip my wine, barely tasting anything memorable. “Who’s Nathan?”
“My high school boyfriend.” She chews on her steak and swallows but doesn’t continue. Out of all the times she could’ve stopped being talkative, it had to be this. I should’ve read that file about her.
“He wasn’t in your circle of friends.” Why am I so fixed on knowing the bastard? So I can rip his heart out?
Mae focuses on her soup. “Nate chose to study abroad, I didn’t. So it ended there. He was everything to me for years. I had a broken heart for a long time after he left, so I decided to shield it from any possible relationships. I was insecure and afraid of being hurt again, thus I refused all men’s advances. I lied to myself that I was doing it to focus on art until I believed my own big fat lie.” She goes silent, her gaze lost in the redness of the wine.
Did the bastard mean that much to her? The mere thought sends a stab of uneasiness through my chest. Even more uncomfortable than the constant pain of the bullet.
Mae shakes her head, a dismissive chuckle forces its way out of her lips. “But let’s not talk about me. I get to ask my questions now.”
“It’s only one question. Why are you pluralising them?”
She grins, playfulness shining her eyes. “Since you asked me two. The first about my art and the second about Nathan.”
The little mouse. She actually tricked me. I nod her away. She claps, triumph fills her expression. But not for long. Her brows knit together seeming in deep concentration. I can almost see her mind working around the hundreds of questions she probably wants to ask me. I’m in fact eager to know what will come out of her kitten’s mouth.
“Why did you study medicine when you’re into business?”
“I’m not into business. If it wasn’t the family’s conglomerate and therefore, image, I wouldn’t go near it. Medicine, however, is a field of interest to my bloodlust.” I put my glass of wine on the tray and make a few circles with the base. “The human anatomy, symptoms, medication, and trauma courses of action are helpful tools.”
“For killing.” Her voice is in its calmest tone. Not judging, mostly curious.
“Yes, for killing.” I take another sip of wine.
She pouts, but doesn’t seem the least bit shocked about what I admitted to. “But you don’t really want to kill, do you? It’s all because of the voices.”
The glass of wine remains on the side, or else I would’ve broken it to pieces. “Looks like Tristan has been telling you things that are none of your concern. How much did he tell you?”
She swallows and bites her lip. “Everything.”
My left eye twitches.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.
“Don’t you ever repeat that again, do you hear me? Forget whatever Tristan told you, I’m not broken for you to fix me.”
She doesn’t flinch at my harsh tone. Instead, she stands and strolls towards me with steady composed steps. She sits beside me and places both her hands on each side of my cheeks, her palms warm against my skin. Any repugnance I have against people’s touch is null and void with Mae. Quite oppositely, a raw need to touch her back takes the better of me. I keep my hands to myself when her calm voice washes over me. “I don’t want to fix you, Aaron. I just want to understand you better.”
A deep digging starts somewhere in my chest, the sound so loud that my ears almost burst from echoing it.
What is this woman? Why did she say the words only Uncle dared to say in my entire existence? Why would she want to understand someone like me?
My chest submerges with the constant digging. Citrus asphyxiates me with a mixture of brightness, freshness, and... life. Mae smells like life. I didn’t even know what that smelled like until now.
“What the fuck are you doing to me, Mae?” I whisper the words before I could realise it.
She leans close until her breaths mingle with mine. Her eyes soften as they bore into my gaze, mirroring my confusion. “I’m the one who’s supposed to ask that.”
My mouth finds hers, and any rational thoughts vanish at the softness of her lips. The world hushes into the background, only the sound of me consuming her mouth remains. That unfamiliar sensation I had when I first kissed her comes back. It starts with my tongue ravishing hers and finishes some place in my neurons’ ending. I haven’t deciphered it before, but now I know. This is what it feels like to taste life.
This is what it feels like to be alive.
‘No, it’s not!’ Father and Aunt bellow in my head. ‘Either kill her or we will do it for you.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mae
My boots are heavy against the grass. Even walking has become a hindrance. The cloudy late afternoon adds to my gloom. Why does everything seem to be against me these days?
Silver’s muzzle tickles my neck. I giggle and twist sideways. The mare keeps reaching out for me, sniffing my hair. I give her a side glare, and she huffs.
All right, everything is against me except for Silver.
“Easy, Jet.” Aaron clutches the reins of his horse as he descends.
It’s been over a month since he got shot. He seems fully recovered now. He even went back to work a few days ago. Today is the first time we’ve ridden after his recovery.
My eyes wander to his broad shoulders, perfectly outlined by his riding jacket. The khaki trousers give his long muscular legs their due. He’s definitely back to shape. God, why does he have to be so beautiful? My poor heart is unable to take such torture.
Not like Aaron has been around to torture me.
Since we had our second kiss, he withdrew into himself. Kane took care of him and I was, once again, locked in my room. As if I did something entirely unforgivable and had to be punished for it.
But this afternoon, Aaron barged into the room, appearing as handsome as ever, and asked me to ride with him. Being me, I followed him out.
I missed the estate’s fresh air, birds’ chirping, and Silver’s attitude. But most of all, I missed the man walking by my side. He hasn’t uttered a word during the entire stroll. I poked him every way possible, but he seemed to have transformed into the mute from his childhood. I eventually held my tongue, too. To initiate conversation, I had to step over my injured heart. Aaron crushed it all over again by s
ubtly ignoring my existence.
Enough is enough. No matter how much I yearn for him, I have pride. I’m not a toy for him to toss then go back to when he’s in the mood.
Handing Silver’s reins to the stable boy, I storm back into the quarters, uncaring if Aaron is on my heels. I lock myself in my room and strip from the riding clothes.
Streams of the shower’s hot water flush my skin, but they don’t erase the ache in my chest. They don’t burn Aaron out of my heart.
The bastard.
If he doesn’t care about me, then why does he keep me? Why would he kiss me so feverishly as if his life depended on it, then push me away right after?
Although I want to be there for him, he keeps building a fortress to chase me out of view. How am I supposed to climb? Why do I even insist on climbing?
You kind of love him, Mae.
I pull at my hair. Pain stabs at my roots, but self-loathing is a lot stronger. God, why him? Why do I have these feelings for him? My persistence doesn’t help. I always go back to his side, reach for him, simply talk to him. Especially since he doesn’t appear to be doing well lately. Sometimes, he zones out, his eyes turn blank, seeming lost somewhere out of this world.
With a deep sigh, I step out of the shower.
After putting on my sleeping robe and tucking myself in bed, Eva’s journal peeks out at me. Do I want to be like his mother and ignore the issue until it’s too late? Can I really be a bystander in Aaron’s destruction?
I jump to my feet. I’m not Eva. I’m Mae. Things will go my way. Even if the opponent is someone impossibly headstrong called Aaron.