three -Brynn- #2
I know they all look the same, but this one feels like something’s calling me from behind it.
For a second, I suspect it's the call of revenge, and I press the doorknob with the intent to grab any kind of weapon I can. But the second I’m in the room, something else entirely replaces it.
A feeling I tried to keep buried for the last couple of weeks.
A place I didn’t allow my soul to go to, because I honestly didn’t think it could handle it.
My hand slowly slips over my heart, as if I’m trying to stop it from beating so loudly.
I’m in the middle of Ares’ trophy room, though it’s not the weapons proudly displayed on the walls that grab my attention.
It’s the gold throne. The damn thing is lying there as if its sole purpose is to defy me.
Or maybe to tear me apart from the inside out, reminding me of one of the few moments in my life when I didn’t feel trapped, when I didn’t feel I needed to do anything but be free.
Happy. Funny how my freedom and happiness translated into belonging to someone.
Still, that’s how I felt, even if it was for a mere second.
Like I was light, protected, released from every chain and duty of my past.
My eyes linger on the gold throne much longer than I’d like. It's like the damn thing does something to me. Like a shift in cells that rewrites my DNA, and I suddenly want to be there again, even for a moment. To be free… to be his.
I quickly shake my head, like the thoughts coming to my mind aren’t really my own. Like a demon is trying to take control of me, poisoning me with feelings for the man who deserves nothing but my hate.
My eyes shift to the walls where his weapons of war are displayed, and for a second, I’m considering which one I should take along with me, but as I take a step, aiming to grab a long hunting knife, my physical condition reminds me that I’m limping.
I had a few to no chances to take down Ares when I was whole. But now… now he would probably kill me without lifting a finger and seeing me carrying a weapon will only speed that up.
Besides, I have a ruined moral compass that won’t let me forget the fact that he saved my life, even to make me his prisoner.
I know I would have been dead if he hadn’t taken care of me.
The same way I know he could’ve killed me right there in the asylum.
Which makes things a little more complicated.
Because I don’t know what I want anymore.
Though I know what I promised. I promised I would avenge Elias.
And somehow, I need to make good on that.
That makes me pick up another knife, smaller than the hunting one, the right size to hide beneath my clothes and keep handy, just in case Ares decides to end me—or I get an opportunity to end him.
I take a look at the bottle of wine I’ve been carrying all along. It sure doesn’t help with my walking, I just hope it helps with whatever the fuck is bubbling inside me.
Oops. The bottle is empty.
I’m tempted to go back to the shelf and get another. Still, that’s too far, and I’d probably drink it on my way back here anyway. It sure feels like I want to drink it. So, I push myself forward, step by step, agony growing with each one; until I finally reach the door that leads to his house.
I look up the stairs. There’s no handrail. I never even figured I would need one so badly, until now.
God, I really need that bottle right now.
It looks painfully difficult to go up the stairs, while I know there’s every chance the door will be locked, but I still haven’t decided if I want to confront Ares now or just get the fuck out of here. So, I take my chances with the door for now.
My main problem remains, the stairs. It’s pretty dark and too risky to start hopping on one leg, climbing the stairs because they’re too steep. I really don’t think I’d enjoy having both legs broken. So, I have no other option than to crawl up on my ass, one step at a time.
I hope no one sees this because it’s pretty embarrassing, I just don’t have many options right now. So, I crawl my way up until I reach the door.
Of course, I’m out of luck, and the damn thing is locked. I honestly didn’t expect anything less, but I figured I owed it to myself to try sneaking out instead of having to do what I plan next.
I take a deep breath and start knocking.
Slowly at first, then after the first ten minutes, I’m just punching the door, kicking it as hard as I can, calling out Ares’ name.
I don’t know if he’s out there or not, still, maybe one of his maids or maybe even Mrs. Holloway will hear me, and I’ll have a much better chance of escaping.
None of that happens, though. I’m just left there knocking at the door for what feels like hours.
I’m not sure because I don’t have a watch, but it’s long enough for my limbs to go numb as I sit in a very delicate position on a steep step, my leg barely finding stability since I can’t lean on it without cursing my existence.
I don’t even know if Ares is home. I’m tempted to sit here and wait for Mrs. Holloway to bring me food and medicine in the morning, but she doesn’t always use this exit.
She sometimes comes through the door that leads to the abandoned mansion, so that leaves me with the possibility of spending a lot more time than I’d like stuck on these stairs.
Now I really regret not grabbing another bottle of wine, or even two, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I could use it to draw him out.
He keeps the wine there for a reason. That’s like his precious collection, and if he doesn’t care enough about me to open the door, then maybe he’d care if his antique collection got ruined.
That, and the thirst in my veins, convinces me that I should go back for some more bottles—even if the trip there and back is going to be a nightmare, and it would probably be morning by the time I return.
I take my chances and limp my way back to his trophy room. Seeing that gold throne hurts just as much, but also ignites that place between my legs, like my damn pussy misses him and is set on letting me know.
I grab a dust cover from a piece of ancient armor, then return to the wine rack where I wrap six bottles in it, opening one for myself first, using the same slipper method.
The alcohol sure eases my misery. After taking a few sips, I put the cork back in, then toss it next to the others. I wrap the material around them like a bag, which I drag behind me because carrying it on my back right now would throw me off balance.
It’s hell going back that distance, especially with the extra weight, but I need to switch to Plan B.
It’s not my fault Ares didn’t answer me.
I’ve also considered maybe he’s not in town.
Still, I know he’s got people around the house, and the noise I made would have surely drawn their attention by now.
So, he definitely knows I’m demanding to be set free, even if he might not be at home.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and decide to give him… let’s say a friendly warning, “Ares, open the fucking door. Now!” I call out a couple of times, but there’s no response. Well, have it your way. I might just be signing my death sentence, but my life is just too boring at this point.
Opening the improvised bag, I pull out one of the bottles and throw it straight at the door. Then I wait... and wait some more, taking a large sip out of the bottle I opened earlier.
No answer, huh? Okay...
I throw another bottle. The liquid spills down the stairs as the collision makes enough noise to wake the dead.
I wait another couple of minutes, or at least that’s what I’m counting, judging by my heart rate as I take a few more slurps from my bottle of wine. I sure hope I don’t end up breaking this one. I quite enjoy it.
“Ares,” I warn again. “I want a burger and some fucking normal junk food,” I roar, just in case he hears me.
In every protest, you have to have a cause.
The wine just makes me spill all my unsatisfied demands.
Okay, not all of them, because I didn’t say anything about the way my damn body tightens every time I think about him, or how much I’d like other things than food too.
I’ll just stick to the more basic ones for now.
“I want to watch a fucking TV show. To see the fucking sunlight. Open the door!”
It’s no use, though, so there goes another bottle.
...and another, until I’m down to the one in my hand and one more in the bag.
I can’t sacrifice my last resources, so I take another sip of the bottle and throw the almost empty one at the door as I feel a tear slide down my cheek, “Open the fucking door, Ares!” I fall to my knees, or more likely onto my side, because I can’t bend one of my legs.
Right now, I’d rip the world to pieces, but just when I’m ready to scream my anger out again, I hear a clink, and the door is suddenly framed by a harsh light.
I called, and someone finally answered.