Chapter 15 Kateřina #2
What on earth did he say?
My mind races, trying to process the revelation, but his reaction and his whole mindset tell me there’s nothing left to question. I can’t justify him, but I somehow understand him.
How can someone kill his mother and make his brother suffer her absence?
I’m trying to find the right words to say, but what could be the right thing to say?
“I’m so sorry,” I sigh, letting my hand rest on his chest for the first time. I have no idea why. Maybe building a bridge between the two of us is a mistake, but at the moment, it feels right.
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he mutters, his tone almost accusing. “You don’t owe me that.”
I try to dodge his sudden aggression. I need to know more.
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“No one deserves that,” I breathe.
“My mother didn’t for sure.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask. I don’t know what I’m waiting to hear. What answer could be convincing enough to justify what he’s done?
“No. I told you I’d do it again, and I mean it.”
One more time that I don’t speak. Besides, I don’t know what to say.
He’s so much like his infamous namesake, and it’s almost disturbing.
The biblical Cain was consumed by jealousy for his brother, but in this case, Cain was fueled by hatred.
Hatred for what his brother did to him. To their mother.
Actions so vile they carved out everything human and left only something warped and cold.
He wanted to destroy him, to make him suffer, and he succeeded. He turned him into a monster.
They share only one thing in common: neither of them regrets their actions.
But unlike the biblical Cain, this one never played the role of the martyr.
Instead, he bears his cross in silence, alone, carrying it for so long that it seems to have become a part of him, like the crown of thorns pierced into his mind, making him suffer every day.
Perhaps all I’m asking is an excuse to justify him in my mind. To find the reasons for his terrible actions.
“Your shivers have stopped,” he says abruptly.
He’s right! I think my fever has stopped rising. Is it because of the conversation or because he’s touching me so tenderly?
“Then I suppose you can tell the doctor not to come.”
I mean, what’s the point, anyway? I’ll be fine, and I can’t even ask for help. If I do, he’ll kill him.
He doesn’t speak. He merely hums sharply. He’s different. He doesn’t seem so twisted, so dark, just like when he played the piano. For a moment, I almost forget who he is and what he’s done.
I raise my eyes and look at him. He’s looking ahead of him, into nothing. He seems absorbed in his thoughts. Then, he lowers his eyes, and they meet mine. Why can’t I look away? Why do I feel different? More … available.
I lift my hand and gently stroke his cheek, my eyes traveling all over his face. He looks normal. Not sinister or twisted. He seems like the man I thought he was. Vulnerable, even.
Our lips are just a breath away. They can almost brush against each other. My heart is pounding beneath my chest, and my breathing becomes more rapid. At that moment, all I want to do is kiss him.
And then I do it. My hand glides higher, resting on his nape for a few seconds, and then I pull him closer.
Then, his hand catches my chin.
“Don’t.”
I freeze, my pulse hammering.
“Why?”
He exhales through his nose. “Because I don’t do this.”
He says no, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t let go.
“You don’t want to?” I ask while this awful, awkward feeling starts consuming me.
His fingers tighten for just a second. His lips curl into a smirk, while his eyes travel all over my face, as if he’s studying me.
“I didn’t say that.”
He said that he wanted to push my limits and break my boundaries. And that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.
He wants me to push. To cross that line. But he won’t be the one to do it.
Fine.
I lean in, closing the space, daring him to stop me. His fingers slide down my throat, making my pulse jump beneath his touch.
And just when my lips nearly brush his, his grip on my throat tightens.
In one smooth motion, he rolls us, pinning me beneath him. His face is close—so close—but still, he doesn’t narrow the distance.
“You’re flattering me, little rose,” he says as if taunting me.
I swallow hard.
Bastard! He is indeed making me do it, making me the one to cross the line.
And the worst part is that I want to.
God, I hate that I want to.
He wants to see how far I’ll go, how much I’ll beg for something he already knows I want.
Asshole!
I exhale sharply through my nose, my pulse hammering against his palm.
In a swift motion, he pushes himself up and off me, standing up from the bed like it meant nothing.
I sit up so fast my head spins. “Are you kidding me?”
Nothing. He doesn’t even look at me.
“You play these games,” I spit, my voice shaking with anger. “You push me, you … ugh! And then you what? Lose interest?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s bored.
“I told you,” he murmurs. “I don’t do this.”
“Bullshit!”
His head turns then, just slightly, his eyes flicking to me. “You wanted it.” He smirks, amused.
“And so did you,” I snap. “Don’t you dare act like you didn’t.”
His smirk grows wider. He doesn’t deny it.
I shake my head, disgusted. “You think you’re in control? That this little game of yours gives you power over me?”
“You need to rest, little rose. We have plenty of time to play games together.” He bends down, his lips hovering just over mine again as if he’s taunting me again.
“Don’t forget you’re mine now. And I will bend you.
I will break you.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip.
“But not tonight. It’ll happen when I decide. ”
Then, just like that, he turns his back to me and walks away.
I feel it, then. Rage is burning through me like fire. He’s playing with me. Toying with me, knowing I want it, knowing I hate that I do.
He’s so damn sure of himself, so damn sure that I’ll be waiting for him when he decides it’s time.
“You asshole!” I spit.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t turn around. He walks away and closes the door behind him.
I should be relieved that he’s gone.
But all I feel is the anticipation and the invincible need to make it real.
He will bend me. He will break me.
And worst of all is that he knows I’ll let him.