A Gun To My Heart

37

I'm back in his room. Now he's here too. Every second of the day. Focused on his paperwork. Working in peace. Stillness. While I'm just laying here. I've tried to start conversations, but his answers are short. Telling me that he needs to work and that he doesn't have time for anything else at the moment.

Azia bursts into his room, wanting to tell him something, but her eyes move straight to me. Stopping her from speaking. He lays the metal pen down on his desk, gently as he watches her, waiting for her to stop wasting his time.

"She's still here?"
He rolls his eyes.

"Do you have any important information?"
There it is. His voice is meant to be used when he's the leader. It pisses her off, making her grip onto the cold handle harder. Her knuckles turn white from the strength she uses.

"He said it will happen in a month."
Aries nods quickly and waves his hand for her to close the door. It shuts loudly, making him sigh as he continues with the paperwork.

"Who?"

"Not now, Maeve. Please." There it vanished. Replaced by his soft voice. Not meant to be shown as a leader. I sink into the bed, trying to figure it out myself. His pen clicks onto the paper, and it reminds me of the day I almost hurt him.

Which throws me into another memory.
'You're a bitch!' A different voice screams into my head. Maddox's voice when I threw the knife at him. The start of a dangerous journey. When my anger boiled over.

I miss them. I want to apologize. A thing I can't do at the moment. My mother wouldn't allow me back into Insuria yet. Scared that I'm going to ruin her plan again. Knowing they can and will read my facial expression. Making them ask questions. Get answers that way. Realize exactly how it'll go. Precisely how it will happen.

It feels strangely odd calling her mother. I want it to work so badly. Make her love me like her daughter. Not like some kind of wicked tool. Item. That's what I am to her. Yet, I still do as she says. As she orders me to. I still step my foot in her trap. Noticing it's there. I still do it.

Only for a type of love that isn't possible to receive. I still try. I don't realize that he's next to me until his hand touches mine. "Hey, " he says low, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look into his hazel eyes, feeling so bad for him. Our roles should switch, by he doesn't let me do it. Accept my help.

"Is it the voice again?" He lays his hand on my forehead, trying to check if I have a fever. "No." He looks so uncomfortable in that blue-colored suit. I touch it, feeling the silky fabric. "Isn't it too hot for you to walk in that all day long?"

He chuckles at my sentence. "No." My finger moves to his dark circles again. This time he doesn't remove it. "I feel so bad for you, " I mumble, pitying for him. A sigh escapes his lips before he walks over to his desk, starting the paperwork again.

What a sad life.

I rest my head on my hand just starting at him working. "Can I sit on your lap or something?" My question catches him off guard. He stops for one second processing it. "Anything other than lay in this bed, " I quickly add.

"Is it uncomfortable?"
"It isn't, but it gets boring just laying here all day."
Before he can answer, I walk over to him, and he moves his arms so I can sit down. Once I do, I lay mine gently around him, looking down at the papers.

He moves his fingers to my lips, pushing the corners up, so it looks like I'm smiling. "It's been a long time, I just had to see it again."

The pen in his hand continues to write gracefully. His handwriting is so perfect. "I wish could write as pretty as you do."

"Did you just flirt with me?" He asks with the tiniest grin forming on his face. I don't know how long it's been since I last saw his cute dimples. Seeing him smile, makes me feel some happiness.

"No. It was only a compliment." With a swift motion, he lays the paper on the other paper pile sitting in the left corner. There are multiple piles on his desk. "Why did you decide to make your room so dark?"

I look at the place where the band-aid was earlier. Looking at the perfect skin. No scratches. No cuts. It's healed. "To make it easier for me to fall asleep."

The scraping from his pen writing against the paper is loud. Immediately after his response, I look at his dark circles only to rip my gaze away from him again. Knowing he dislikes it.

"I don't think it helps." Just as the words escaped my mouth, I regret them. He doesn't seem to care, continuously writing with his arm around my waist. "Me neither."

"Your answers are so short and it seems like you're so uninterested." The pen in his grip hits the paper, as his hand runs to my jaw. Quickly he kisses my cheek before he proceeds to write. "It's because I'm working."

I stay in his lap, leaning my head on his. Quietly observing him make different decisions. Small and big. Checking different boxes and then justify why he thinks that way. In the future, if our lives are without my mom. Something that will never happen. Letting us live in peace. I will never try to deceive him into making a decision.

I will ask him. Discuss with him. Not deceive him. Which is one of many factors, that separates me and my mom from being similar.