Cadence

31. Regrets

Nicolas

I should've stopped her. I should've told her everything. I should've said I was sorry. I know it wouldn't have helped but she deserves an apology, I regret every second of last night.

I should've told her I didn't want to do it, that my father pressured me into it. Beat me into it. I never wanted to take their lives. They were my first kills after all.

I sobbed once I got back in that car, and he beat me for it. He hit me until my face was a bloody mess and my body covered in bruises. I should've told her.

I've never realised before how big of an emotion regret is until now. It consumes you to the point where you can't breathe. Think. Speak. If I could take it back, I would. But the damage is done.

Nothing I do can fix this. I know that as a fact.

"Hey man, where's Cadence?" Jamie looks around the living room.

I clench my jaw at the sound of her name on his lips, I detest him for even mentioning her.

"Gone." I say flatly.

I have no intentions in carrying on with this conversation, he can talk to himself for all I care.

"Gone where?" He presses.

Kicking the coffee table across the room I stand to my feet and get up in his face.

"Stop asking questions that don't fucking concern you Jamie! Stay out of it. Go home." I bark.

"You know what. Fuck you Nicolas, I came over here to spend time with you. You know, like we used to do." He shakes his head walking out of the front door with a slam.

Okay. Maybe that was a little harsh. But to be completely honest, I wouldn't even speak to my mother with the mood I have on me right now.

Grabbing the vase in the kitchen with her flowers in it I bought her a few days ago, I launch it at the wall.

The contents dropping to the floor like dead flies and the glass shattering against the wall. The shards of glass spreading throughout the room. One of them landing in my arm.

Opening the cupboards I throw glass after glass at the wall, I continue this routine until they're all a mess on the floor and the wall is chipped from the abuse.

***

After my little episode earlier, I decided to get my shit together and prepare for tonight.

It is the day of the ball after all.

And by the end of the night, my father will be gone.

I've thought about how I'd kill him a multitude of times over the years. Knife in the chest. Bullet between the eyes. Drowning. Knife in the neck. Running him over. Covering his face in his sleep. Poison.

Like when I was ten and we all sat at the table and ate, I would imagine what would happen if he chocked on his food and died. Would I save him? Would anyone save him?

The images played in my mind through my younger years, what if I smashed a glass into his food and it cut his insides whilst he ate. I thought of every death imaginable.

There was one time when I kneeled at the end of my bed and prayed for it to happen. Hell, I fucking begged.

"What."

"I'm sorry, for being a dick earlier, can you come over. And put on a suit."

Ending the phone on Jamie, I walk into my closet and pick out my most expensive suit. Slipping it on I button the cuffs and reach into my drawer, picking out a matching Rolex and tie.