The World We Live In | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 ♤

Chapter 19

The tick in Troy's jaw tightened when Cristine looked away, slicing their brief connection. Her face pointed down at the wheezing Aaron. The glimpse of her blood-splattered profile remained slack, her breaths still audible from exertion. Troy swallowed the lump in his throat, dug his nails into his palms, and blocked his awe with the scenery of Cristine's severe thirst for blood and a vengeful judgment that rivaled his own.

He needed to see more.

Before Troy knew it, his feet guided him closer to the carnage and the person responsible for it. He tipped his head to stare at the unrecognizable lump of meat. It was like looking at those mannequins with their limbs angled incorrectly. "He'll turn soon," Troy remarked with the familiar excited glint in his eyes.

"That's the idea." There was no tremor in her voice, just a stern tone that showed her focus while watching her fallen victim.

Troy moved his gaze to look at the profile of Cristine's downturned face again and asked, "you want to time it?"

Cristine momentarily shut her eyes as if doing that would null Troy's question. Her mind was empty, her body drained, and emotions switched off. Her face stayed slack while her shoulders and chest slowly moved from catching her breath. "What about not immortalizing or wasting any headspace on him?"

Troy chuckled despite himself. "I did say that," he recalled and scratched the trimmed hairs of his thin beard. Cristine looked at him again with bright eyes. Her blinking didn't increase, betraying her rousing emotions when under duress, but to Troy, it strangely felt like she found a lifeline to hold onto with the way she stared at him. Troy's skin tinged, and he fought the urge to reach out for Cristine. "It's your call." Giving her the final say elicited a twitch at the edge of her mouth. There was a silent conversation when staring into each other's eyes until Cristine broke eye contact, shifted on her feet, and spoke.

"I think... we need to get ready to leave this place." And just like that, Cristine severed their moment. It left Troy off-guard by the suddenness of her claim. Her words were deliberate, and he sensed their anger, which confused the brunette even more. Cristine saw through his manipulation tactic. Hell, she even went along with it and got the upper hand. So Troy assumed that since Cristine saw through him, venting on Aaron would dampen her mood. Troy didn't understand the coldness in her behavior and why she was pushing him away.

"Cristine-"

"We're on the clock. We'll talk once we get home," Cristine interjected coldly and gave him no room for a rebuttal or a chance to lighten the mood. She wasn't going to make any allowances using what he did before they entered the room, making her reiterate what Aaron's men had almost done to her for his selfish savior-esque ideas of wanting to stay out of this all. She barely gave him any room to reply, and before he could, Try couldn't help the harsh breath when inhaling and moving his jaw from left to right, felt her presence disappear before the door slammed shut. His darkened stare traveled to Aaron, and Troy assessed his body half sprawled on the red-stained floor.

Cristine had tried to come to herself by heading to the bathroom. She stood in front of the grimy mirror, rolled her shoulders back and forth, and flexed her palms against the warm and wet steel that was wet with Aaron's blood. Oddly, the sensation managed to wash away some of the adrenaline that caught up with her. Her body went slack, and her arms relaxed against her sides. Cristine didn't stare at herself in particular; she just stood rooted on the same spot in silence. The light particles of dust were visible through the cracks of the slowly decaying ceiling. The air tasted dry and stale. It was better compared to the metallic taste of the basement still glued against her tongue. Where she let her blood-curling rage loose and answered the demand of revenge plaguing her mind, it was her mind and body's fuel right now; the hate harvested through killing.