CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ARES NICOLAIDES
FINALLY SHE IS IN MY ARMS.
Her head softly resting onto the side of my chest, her hands holding onto my waist tightly as if she fears that I would ever leave her again. She should know I wouldn’t. I can’t. I don’t have it in me. Three weeks without felt like three years. Her soft breaths rhythmically rising and falling as we sat together on the sofa, my fingers brushing through her soaked curls since she had taken a shower.
The crackling fire in the fireplace added a sense of warmth and comfort to the room, but it paled in comparison to the warmth I felt in my heart as she held me tightly.
I couldn’t bear the thought of failing her once more.
I had made mistakes in the past, and those mistakes had caused us both so much pain. But now, as she clung to me, seeking solace and safety in my arms, I vowed to be different.
My eyes close, and the memories of the crash echo in my mind.
I gently slide her off my chest and carefully place a pillow under her head. With tender affection, I drape a soft blanket over her sleeping form, making sure she stays warm and comfortable.
Grabbing my car keys, I head out of the cabin. The cold night air bites at my skin, unlocking the car-the boot automatically opens and I grab the duffle bag in the far end. I unzip it, sliding out my black hoodie which I put on. I walk to the driver’s side, opening the door and starting the car. I didn’t waste time reversing out and driving to my destination.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel, I have to calm myself down. Or do I?
Arriving at my destination, I step out of the car.
I throw the hood over my head, staring up at the house as I sharpen my knife.
She wouldn’t want this.
She wouldn’t want them dead.
But I want them dead.
I wonder what colour their blood is. What type of red they will bleed. Crimson. Velvet.
But I know her, she cares to much about people.
So, I chuck the knife back into the car, and walk towards her balcony stairs. I head up them, pushing her already open balcony door.
I look around her trashed room, her mother must have gone crazy. I’ll show them crazy. I don’t know what went through their head thinking they can touch my Alex with the idea of keeping their hands attached to their bodies.
The soft moonlight filters through the silky white curtains, casting a gentle glow on the familiar surroundings.
I know what I must do, and I won’t let anyone hurt her again.
As I exit into the hallway, I tread quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else in the house. Aunt Coraline no longer here. My heart pounds in my chest as I head towards her parents’ bedroom.
Pushing the door open with a quiet creak, I find them both fast asleep, oblivious to the pain they’ve caused their own child.
Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I stand at the threshold, watching them for a brief moment. They were both fast asleep, how could they sleep after doing that to their own child? My arms folded across my chest; how do I want to do this?
I’m acting as if I don’t have an entire plan, fuck the plan. I walk over to her father’s side of the bed and pull the sheets out before yanking him out of bed by the fabric of his shirt. His eyes shoot open, and he groans the moment I slam him roughly against the wall, “what on earth!” he screams out. “Who the fuck are you?”
I smirk, pushing my hood down as his eyes met mine.
I watch them widen.
Fear flowing through, just like the tears in his wife’s eyes as she screams for me to let go of him.
“Andrew!” Her mother cries out, panic in her voice. But I won’t let her interfere. “Stop it! Stop it, please!” Catalina begs.
“Shut the fuck up!” I point at her. “You think you can hurt my wife and get away with it?”
“You fucking son of a bitch! Let go off me!”
“Hit me. Fucking hit me!” I shout at him; his jaw tenses and he shook his head. “Why not! Fucking hit me like a man! Like you hit my wife!”
I slam him onto the wall again, throwing a hard punch right into his face as he begins to cough out blood. He then decides to man up a bit, and his fists slam into my face. My head turns to the side.
And a smile spread across my face.
Blood pours down my nose, not as much as his. I use my thumb and wipe it softly. I glance down and watch as it stains into my fingerprint.
“You punch like a bitch.” I whisper.
I taunt, wiping the blood from my nose with a grim satisfaction. With calculated precision, I deliver another punishing blow, sending him crashing into the wardrobe with a satisfying thud.
As he struggles to rise, I show him no mercy, driving my boot into his face with relentless force. The room fills with the sound of his pain, mingled with the cries of his wife, a symphony of vengeance in the darkness.
I crouch down, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up for our faces to line. “Come on Andrew, I thought you could do better…”
He coughs out blood.
“I dare you to touch my wife again, because if you do-it won’t be my fist next time. It will be a knife and two body bags.” I push him back inside the ruined cupboards and stand up, I see Catalina shaking her head at me-begging with her eyes to not touch her. I scoff, I don’t hurt women.
But my sister does.
I walk out of the bedroom, and back to Alexandra’s.
I grab a couple of things that she may need; her sketchbooks especially before heading down the stairs and into my car.
I slide my phone out and press onto her number.
“Ares.” Maria speaks.
“Maria, a couple by the name Andrew and Catalina will call the police station about me. Sort it out.” She sighs.
“My husband isn’t going to like this Ares.”
“Make him like it.” I end the phone call, knowing my half-sister will help me.
Reaching the cabin, I slide out of the car and head to the door, pushing it open to find her not on the couch as I had expected. I head up the stairs, pushing the bathroom door open as I unzip my hoodie and throw it to the side. I open the tap, the water pouring out as I rest my bloody hands beneath and watch it stain the sink.
I feel her presence before I even see her, her aura heavy with concern as I catch her reflection in the mirror. She stands by the door, arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on me.
“What did you do?” She whispers, her voice barely audible but laced with worry.
“Just sorted a few things out,” I reply nonchalantly, though the weight of her disappointment hangs heavy in the air.
She shakes her head in disbelief, a hand covering her face in frustration. “Ares, did you go to my parents’ house?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror, knowing that I can’t lie to her, knowing that she’ll see the truth written in my eyes. And she does. The disappointment in her eyes deepens as she reads my answer.
“Why did you go?” She asks, her voice trembling.
“Because they hurt you,” I say, my own frustration bubbling to the surface.
“Ares, you better not have hurt my parents. Tell me you didn’t hurt them!” she demands, her voice rising with panic.
“I did!” I snap back, turning to face her fully. “I hurt him like he hurt you!”
“Why? He is my dad!” She pleads, her voice breaking with emotion. “You shouldn’t have hurt him!”
“He’s a shitty father!” I retort, my own anger matching hers.
Is she really upset with me?
Because I hurt a man who abused her.
Her reaction made no sense to me.
“I don’t care if you’re upset with me, if you’re angry with me. I don’t give a fuck. He hurt you, he punched you and because of what? He deserved it,” I continue, my voice softer now, but no less determined. “No father should ever lay a hand on his daughter the way he did to you.”
“You’re fucking crazy.” She whispers, “fucking crazy!”
I shrug my shoulders, “crazy for you.” I respond.
“Don’t be smart mouth with me.” She warns.
“Can’t help it angel. You bring out the worst in me,” I tease, attempting to lighten the mood.
Her expression softens slightly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite her lingering apprehension. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Maybe,” I concede with a shrug, reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from her face. “But you love me anyway.”
“I don’t. I hate you.”
Her whispered admission sends a shiver down my spine, but instead of recoiling, I find myself drawn to her even more. “You do?” I ask, my voice tinged with amusement.
“I do, I hate you,” she insists, her tone defiant but with something else, something I can’t quite place.
“God, say it again, Alexandra,” I urge, stepping closer as she instinctively retreats.
“I fucking hate you,” she repeats, her words dripping with venom, but there’s a fire in her eyes that tells a different story. A low chuckle escapes my lips, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“It turns me on,” I confess.
In one swift movement, I grab her throat, pulling her fiercely against me as our lips collide in a fiery embrace.