She'd been imprisoned in every way. She couldn't even think to take a step out of place. She had disappeared into the furthest shadow of her mind to escape and conceded to the man who had ruined her.
Submission had been forced onto her until she...
The sun rises and sets outside my window. I watch it pass and with it the days. Shadows dance on empty walls and give way to nothing. What would I do to be nothing? To fade away like I never existed? But, maybe I already have.
Breuer comes in every day begging me to talk to him or at least eat; it's bad for the baby not to eat. I wish he'd go away.
He never goes away.
He comes in in the morning after doing his knocking routine. He brings me trays of his cooking. And he sits at the foot of my bed speaking the kind of nonsense about goldfish or whatever I used to believe.
Maybe, it's a good thing goldfish live in those tiny little tanks. I think it might be better to feel how my organs outgrow my body rather than to grow in a great big tank. Even a great big tank is a cage full of fake plants and painted pebbles. Do the goldfish know?
How can he talk about nothing all day? Even now he's rambling nonsense. Some old story about how his daughter only liked blueberries before they were ripe. He talks like it's some great metaphor for life.
"Why?", I ask sick of his words.
He smiles at me in his sheepish way, "I'm not sure but, you should've seen how cute she-".
"No", I cut him off, "why?". Finally, he's quiet.
"Why would you make me carry this child?", I ask. He is quiet.
I sigh, "fine if you won't tell me that, tell me what happened to your family". I say it only to be mean. I always skirt the topic, not wanting to hurt him, but not today.
He breathes out a shaky breath before he starts, "Alpha Panganiban was a tyrant. He was addicted to dead man's blood. Grimm had already started his madness but, wasn't coherent enough to direct into war yet. I was running the pack alone at the time I only needed him to sign off on my decisions.
Panganiban saw Grimm was a figurehead and knew he wouldn't get the violence he craved bothering him so he turned to me. He saw my mate and my daughter and in them, he saw his war. He paid off the kitchen staff to slip some blood into my dinner one night. It was the blood of someone strong but, low-ranked. It was meant to be strong and wear off quickly. It did its job. Made me the strongest I'd ever been and I did the worst thing I ever could've".
Sobs break his voice and he stops a moment to collect himself before continuing, "it wasn't me that did it. Not really. Still, I felt everything and watched my hands do it. I can still feel it in every sense. Sometimes I dream I can smell my mate's scent and I wake up to that awful metallic stench".
His nails dig through the denim of his jeans. I watch as the gentle movement of his chest turns ragged.
"Breuer are you-".
"When I came out of I tried to tell myself it wasn't real", he says not hearing me, "I told myself that even the darkest thing my body was capable of couldn't be that bad. I wanted it to be anyone else's blood on my hands. It wasn't. They were unrecognizable after what I did but, her body was still wearing her ring. We couldn't even hold a proper funeral with what was left".
He breaks down completely, even without his words I can see the gruesome scene painted over his face. Despite my anger I still love him. I pull myself into his lap and wrap my arms around him. He pulls me tight against him burying his face into my hair. The rapid rise and fall of his push me like waves against a ship.
"I'm sorry", I whisper over and over again.
He pulls back abruptly, takes my face into his hands, and stares hard into my eyes. His normally gray eyes look almost blue in contrast with how his tears stain them. He's searching for something in me and I guess he finds it as he smashes his lips into mine. This isn't like his usual gentle kisses pressed chaste to my temple. It's not Grimm's cruelty and mocking. It's not even the romance and passion the way I always imagined a kiss should be. It was longing. It was want for what he'd lost and he was begging to find again in me. And I knew why he didn't tell me.
He pulled back to rest his forehead against mine. Puffs of breath brush my lips as he tries desperately to steady himself. Still, a voice inside calls me to ask one last question.
"Your mate", I start, "what was her name?".
He smiles softly thinking of her, "Aurora, her name was Aurora".
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