A Hunger to Share ( Book Two )

chapter 52

Artyom 

Artyom was curled up in the corner of his room, smoking James's pack of cigaretts, and taking occasional sips of the bottle of whiskey sitting at his feet. 

The letter James had written him was in his trembling hand, the ink smudged with tears. 

In case you wake up, and I'm not here, don't worry. I'm just haunting the castle. Insamnia is a bitch :D I'll probably end up at the pool.

Love you
James  :)

Artyom had read those words so many times during the past three days that he knew them by heart. He would give his life for them to be true, but he would never be here again.

Artyom had tried so hard to keep James safe, to make sure he didn't end up like Thomas, but he had fucked up again.

Mathias won.
He always won.

"Artyom. Artyom." Hans was calling his name, looking irritated.

He hadn't left Artyom's side since he'd heard the news. Artyom had told him to leave multiple times. He needed to take care of the club, but he refused.

Artyom was thankful but he wanted to be left alone, and drown in his guilt, and misery without Hans worrying about him. Adrian, and Gideon were even worse.

Artyom didn't blame Genevieve. She was just a pawn. He didn't blame Ada either, or Marcia for not being able to find James's location. Artyom knew they couldn't be found unless Angelina allowed it.

It didn't matter how much Artyom wanted James back, or how much it killed him to know James was at Mathias's mercy. Artyom couldn't ask Ada to sacrifice her life, and their child's for James. It was too cruel.

Artyom had tried calling Mathias a million times, to beg him to take him and give James back. He never picked up. It was one of the many ways he liked to torture Artyom.

Mathias didn't care about Ada. That was Angelina's obsession. For Mathias this was personal. By hurting James he was getting back at Artyom for leaving him, for breaking his heart.

This was Thomas all over again. Artyom couldn't survive it a second time. Thinking about James getting whipped everyday was breaking Artyom to infinite pieces.

"Artyom." Hans was shaking his shoulder.

"What?" He glared at him, taking a sip of the bitter whiskey.

"Put that shit down, and drink this." He shoved a bottle of blood in Artyom's face.

"No." Artyom shoved his hand away, staring at James's letter.

"Stop being stubborn. You haven't had any blood for three days. You're whithering away. You need your strength."

"James was my strength." Artyom took a long drag of the cigarette, trying to find some lingering trace of him in there.

"Artyom I know..." Hans started.

"You don't know anything. You have never loved anyone enough to know what it feels like to have them ripped away from you, so shut the fuck up, and leave me alone." Artyom snapped, throwing the whiskey bottle at his bestfriend.

Hans dodged it before it could explode in his face. It hit the wall behind him, shards flying everywhere, brown liquid running down the wall.

They stared at each other in silence, Artyom fuming, and Hans calm, until Artyom finally realized what he'd done, and burried his face in his hands. "Fuck, Hans, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Hans put the blood bottle on the nightstand, kneeled in front of Artyom, and held his hands in his own, voice soft. "It's Ok. I know you didn't."

"I fucked up. I keep fucking everything up..."

Hans smiled sadly. "You're right. I've never loved anyone enough to know what it feels like to lose them but you're my bestfriend, and I love you Artyom. I'll always love you. And it hurts so much to see you in pain.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do but I'm trying to be here for you, so don't push me away. I wish I could save James for you, but I can't. All I can do is be here for you, and share your pain. So let me brother."

Artyom nodded. "I'll try and I appriciate you being here for me. I'm sorry for being a bitter bastard."

Hans patted his back, and got up. "I'm gonna get another bottle. Be right back."

"Hans? I love you too."

"No surprise there. I'm very lovely." He winked and closed the door.

Artyom slumped against the wall, taking another drag of the cigarette. The sharp ringtone of his phone made him almost choke on the smoke.