“So, what do we do now? Cecilia is not with Massa and neither is she with Eloive.” I asked, taking off my shoes. Sia popped a button on his shirt.
“Nothing. I only volunteered to help so I can decide to wash her case off my hands.”
“But don’t you think you owe it to Eloive to help? He would get in serious trouble with his father.”
“I do well to avoid situations like this. Cecilia is not missing and neither does she want to be found. You were right after all; she is with her lover.”
What was he saying? Eloive clearly stated that he had no idea where Cecilia was.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why he lied and it doesn’t matter how I know about that.”
“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Perhaps he was scared you would report him to Ruarc. Forget it. Where’s your lover?”, I ask looking around the cabin.
I didn’t see her when we left for Eloive’s, and I haven’t seen her today.
“She left. Gone to him. Just like you initially wanted. And stop acting like you care about her whereabouts,” he snapped, and I can see that he’s annoyed. Well, that gives him no right to take it out on me. I didn’t ask him to fool around with someone else’s mate.
“I didn’t think you would let her go,” I said and it was the truth. He was selfish enough to keep Anita from Lyles, so I can’t be blamed for thinking that.
Sia laughs. It’s bitter.
“I can remember you telling me to let her go, and now I do, you are saying another thing.” He stops laughing and smirks. “You asked me to let her go, not because you give a shit about Lyles’ feelings, but because you don’t want me to be with her.”
“That’s not true!”, I sputter. “I’m not jealous!”
“I didn’t say you were but you assumed that yourself because you are indeed jealous.”
“I’m not! I can never be jealous of someone like her! Stop saying that.”
Sia hugs me from behind, resting his head on my shoulder. “No need to be jealous my little whore, I’ll take you out and we will spend quality time together.”
I pulled out of his grip. “Stop touching me with those bloody hands of yours.”
Those white eyes watched me, and when I looked closely, I saw the purple dot. I wanted to ask him about it, but I figured this isn’t the right time to ask about it.
“Take it. You look dehydrated.”
I blink, staring at the dark liquid that swirled in the glass he held in his hand.
“And wine is the solution?”
He drew his arm back, and I sighed, grateful that he wasn’t going to push it, but that little relief vanished when glass shattered on the wall behind me.
I trembled as my eyes lifted from the glass shard to Sia. He was seated on the couch, one elbow propped up on the arm, and he was holding another glass of wine.
The purple dot moved left and right, and I am certain he’s mocking me with his eyes.
You know I never miss my target.
But he had missed. I know it because I felt nothing.
It’s a shock. You’re just in shock, my subconscious whispered.
Sia was on his fourth glass, when I spoke, or rather stammered. “Y… you…. missed.”
He blinked as though he wasn’t expecting it. But he didn’t say a word, and just sipped slowly at his wine, watching me.
I spoke again, and tried to concentrate on my words, and not on that dot, fiddling with my fingers, my eyes never leaving his. “Y… you missed. You never miss your target.”
He tilted his head to the side, and watched me.
“You’re scared. You shouldn’t be.”
I blink. The fear disappeared, and I was filled with anger.
“Are you serious right now? You fucking threw a glass of wine at me, and you expect me to be fine? What if that thing hit me?”
He stood up, picking up the almost empty bottle of wine, and emptied the contents into his glass. He returned the empty bottle to its crate. He held the wine glass and looked at me once again.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? The indifferent looks you’ve thrown my way just because I shared a bit of my past?”
A bit? If all those things he told me were just a bit of his past, then I’m not so sure I want to know the rest.
But it will kill you if you didn’t know, my subconscious whispered.
It would also kill me if I know, I argued back.
When I didn’t respond, he continued, “You think me vulgar, abominable, grim, deficient, vicious, base…”, he pauses to take a careful sip.
“I don’t…”
He cuts in curtly. “It is written all over you Crinka. Everything boils down to one thing. You think I’m bad.”
The last word rolls off his lips with venom, and I shiver.
“And yes, I won’t deny it. I am vulgar, grim, abominable, deficient, vicious, base and bad. But you are just like me Crinka. Just like me.”
Then he downs the wine in one swift gulp, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the back of his palm.
“I’m not like you,” I growl.
“That’s exactly what someone like me would say”.
“I’m not like you.”
“Prove it.”
I blink. Wait what?
“Prove it Crinka. Prove that you’re not me. That you’re not an abominable, grim, vulgar, bad, deficient, vicious, or base woman.”
He called me woman. Not slave. Not whore.
“That you’re different. In simpler terms Crinka, prove that you’re clean.”
I stared hard at him, my brain trying to come up with answers to that question.
“You want proof? Okay then. But what happens if I come up with proof?”
Don’t Crinka!, my subconscious snarls at me. This man is dangerous. This is exactly what he wants. For you to bargain with him.
But do I listen? No. I ignored every rational thought and continued talking.
“Tell me Nasia, what happens if I..”
His glare shuts me up. “You do have guts. I told you not to call me that. Only a few people deserve to call me that and you’re not one of them.”
“Well yeah. Just keep reminding me that I am one of your….”
“You were saying something before Crinka.”
Now it is my turn to glare. How can he be so annoying?
“If I come up with proof, which I am going to, what happens then?”
“Ask and you shall receive.”
My heart danced. “Are you serious? You’d seriously grant my request?”
“Yes, but you haven’t provided proof yet.”
It stopped dancing.
“Oh right. I will come up with proof,” I say adamantly. I’m going to have proof.
“You sound so sure that you can actually do it.”
“That’s because I can,” I say smugly.
“I didn’t say you can’t.”
“But you implied it.”
“Maybe,” he said with a chuckle. Sia sat down on the couch again, and pushed the wooden crate to the mirror in the living room. “Don’t you wonder what it would be like if you can’t come up with proof?”, he asked, his white eyes finding mine. “Are you not afraid of what I would do or not do, if you can’t come up with proof?”
The hairs on my neck stood, and I shuddered. I’m shaking with fear of the unknown. What if I don’t come up with proof? What if this bloody man here is right and I am just like him?
No! I shook my head at the thought as I tried to calm my fears. I don’t want him to know what effect his words have on me even though I have a feeling he already knows.
“I’m not afraid,” I say, standing a little straighter, and that’s kind of hard when you’re surrounded by glass shards. Thanks a lot, Sia. “You want to know why? Because I’m not you.”
He laughed. It was cold.
“You think I am afraid? That’s funny. I’m not afraid.”
I scoff. “Yeah right. At least one human being here has to be afraid of something.”
“Then it’s a good thing I am not human is it not?”
His voice is cold, really cold, and I can feel the temperature in the room drop. He did not just do that.
I can literally see my breath, as I hug myself to keep out the cold. “Stop it,” I say quietly.
Did he stop? No.
“Just because I let you talk to me freely at some point, should never make you forget who I am, and how inhumane I can be.”
He took a step forward, and that step alone made him feel taller. It’s like he has grown bigger, or maybe I have just gotten smaller?
“Just because I let you harass me with your unspoken words and insulting looks, should never make you forget what I am.”
Another step. Glass shatters under the weight of his boot.
“You’re no longer an omega. I have reduced you to a title worse than an omega. Do not forget that.”
I shiver as he nears me. “I have rights you know.”
He laughed. “You gave up those rights when you lost to a sleepy man Mara!”
Mara. I clenched my fists. He knows how much I hate that name.
“You gave up those rights when you let him auction you off.”
I tasted a tear. “I… I didn’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices. The only difference is the aftermath of the choices we make.”
I felt an underlying tone in that venomous voice. Something I can’t place a finger on.
“And now, you made a stupid choice by wasting your time.”
I blink. I’m suddenly warm again.
“What? What do you mean?”
He was walking away, his wooden crate in hands. He turned his head, to look at me. No purple dot this time.
“You made a choice to be like me.”