Morphine (Complete)

𝟑𝟓

(a/n: I have an important question at the end of the chapter, so even if you're a silent reader, I'd really really appreciate it if you could reply with a comment answering :D that's all for today, thank you!)

Chapter Thirty-Five

She escaped the scene and ran down the hall to Carter's room. The bedroom door slid closed behind her. Rannia's back fell against it, tight breaths escaping her lips. Her head rolled back and she closed her eyes, groaning quietly.

"Fuck," she muttered. "What is fucking wrong with me?"

Mind reeling, she stumbled forward on her hands and knees, getting closer to the bed. Dropping to her stomach, she crawled forward and extended a hand past the sheets hanging to the ground. She tilted her wrist upwards and undid the clasp tying it to the top of the bed frame.

With a soft thud on the carpet, her suitcase came loose. Her fingers grasped its rough material and pulled it into her lap. The cold zipper pressed into her thumb as she dragged it open and flipped the top off the reveal the contents within.

Her hand first traced the heavy gun concealed within her heavy black cloak, brushing against the cool metal exterior. Her heart urged her past it and towards her beloved knife stowed away in a leather strap. Like cradling a baby, she circled her hand around the hilt, fingers light and loving.

The thumb of her other hand traced over the blade, movements slow and calculated. Her heart beat rang loudly in her ears, pumping blood erratically. Why did her body feel so heavy? Her mind so uncertain and panicked?

"I wish to speak to you privately."

It was that deep, unrelenting baritone, heard even from down the hall. Aziel. Rannia froze as footsteps moved from the front door to the end of the hallway, past where Rannia was.

"Don't manhandle me, Aziel." It was Romina's voice, followed by scrambling. "If you want to talk to me... Fine. But you have five minutes and then you leave."

Rannia's eyes fell back to the knife in her lap. Her fingers curled around the familiar patched handle, adjusting her grip along the worn out leather. Bits of dried blood lined the knife still on the handle, uncleaned and noticed from last time she'd had to use it. Her eyes gleamed in the reflective light the blade produced.

She was a Romero. If the Amirs were in trouble, she was not supposed to care nor interfere.

She knew it in her blood. She knew it in her heart: this was not something for Rannia to deal with.

In protecting an Amir, she went against her bloodline. She went against her promise to her dad. So no, it was not something for her to deal with.

But perhaps it was for Garcia.

---

There was a killer's glint to Garcia's eyes. Glossed over with bloodlust, with anger, with fury. She'd left those emotions to rot and stay passive for a long time--too long. And now the cage was unlatched.

Garcia stood, breath warm on her bottom lip. Her fingers ghosted the door and the light scraping of her knife on the wood met her ears like a glorious siren calling, begging her to turn the wood to flesh. It was quite simple to Garcia: nothing looked as sweet as a man's blood on her blade.

"I still care about you," Aziel confessed from inside the hall. Garcia tensed at his words, jaw twitching. He did not deserve to say such a thing, and most certainly not to Romina.