Vengeance (Updating Weekly)

Part 16

"Catarina told me about your dad — what he used to do to you," I speak softly, reluctant to approach the subject with him, but I can't resist.

"It's nothing," Atticus waves me off.

"It doesn't seem like it," I glance back at the room with Angelis trembling on the touch. "It looks like it had a big impact."

Atticus nods his head. He purses his lips, keeping his eyes glued to the glass of water in his hand. He stays silent. For a moment, I think I've overstepped, but then he speaks up.

"He gave me this," he points to the scar above his eyebrow. "He pushed me through a window when I missed a shooting target. We didn't have a clinic on the island back then. Santos had to pick the glass out of me and stitch me up himself."

"Jesus."

"Angelis had it to the worst," he continues, still refusing to meet my eyes. "I don't know why. It was like he couldn't stand the sight of him. He was so cruel to him, even as a child. I understand why he is the way that he is now. What Vassilsi did to him was worse than I thought possible. He, uhm... he made him kill our mother."

"Holy shit," I did not expect that.

"He was only 10 years old. Who does that?" he finally turns to look at me. "It's no wonder he ended up this way. He was tortured his whole life, far worse than the rest of us. And there was nothing we could do about it — Santos and I. We just had to sit there and watch it happen or we'd be just as much as a target."

"It sounds like you're doing something about it now," I comment.

"It's not good enough — just look at him. It's not fucking good enough."

"Hey," I place my hand over his, trying to reassure him the best I can. He puts his other hand on top. "You had no other choice and he knows that. It's a miracle you even made it out the other end. You're doing everything you can to help him out now. It's clear you all love each other. You're doing everything you can."

"I'm glad you see it that way," he shoots me a grateful smile, his eyes still filled with sadness. "What was your nightmare about?"

"What do you think?" I pull my hand free, my own mood shifting. Images of their dead bodies flash in my mind. "It was just so bloody. There was blood everywhere — on me, on them, everywhere."

He stifles a laugh. "Sorry."

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. It's just... Of course it was bloody. You emptied your whole clip on them. Those men would've looked like Swiss cheese."

"I panicked!" I defend, struggling not to laugh at his comment.

"You do know how to shoot right? Simpson must've taught you."

"Yes, I know how to shoot! I just panicked."

"Well, it did the job," he chuckles. "Were they the first people you've killed?"

"Yeah," my sombre mood returns.

"It's hard, isn't it? The guilt can eat you alive."

"I don't feel guilty," I tell him. "I didn't have another choice. It was me or them. What bothers me is knowing what I'm capable of, what my current situation is, what I may very well have to do again in the future... That's what scares me."

"So it's fear you're feeling, not guilt of grief?"

I nod my head, but my dreams may be telling me otherwise.

"How many people have you killed?" I ask him.

"Too many."

"And you feel guilty?"

"For some, yeah, but there's no point in dwelling on it. It's part of the job — for me, at least. It wouldn't be for you."

"Well, that's good to know," I laugh. I don't think they're very good at accepting 'no' for an answer.

Our attention shifts to Angelis when we hear him groan. He's passed out with a deep scowl on his face, clearly in the midst of an unpleasant dream. At least he's not trembling anymore. Atticus gets up to place a blanket over him.

"He'll wake up again soon," he says. "I'll stay here with him. Are you sure you don't want to go back to sleep?"

"No, that's okay. I'm awake now." And truthfully, part of me doesn't want to end the conversation with Atticus. I don't have many people to talk to at the moment. He seems to understand.

"How have you been handling everything the past few weeks?" he sits back down, this time facing me instead of the bar. I angle myself towards him, too.

"I don't even know where to start," I admit. This is not at all where I thought I would be right now, but I didn't think I would be in St Louis either. "I'm just trying not to overthink everything. I'm taking things as they come, and dealing with them one at a time."

"You're doing better than I expected. You're a lot more... understanding than I thought you'd be."

I could say the same to him.

"How are you handling everything?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're about to kill your father, you're helping your brother through a crisis, and you've been stuck dealing with me for the past few weeks."

"I'm not stuck with you," he laughs. "I don't mind it, anyway. It's been kind of entertaining."

"Entertaining?" I question him. That's not what I would call it. He nods. "Well, I'm glad you're having a good time."

"You surprised me, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"I knew you'd be strong, but I didn't realise how tough you are — physically and mentally. You're resilient."

"Well, you surprised me, too."

"I did?"

"I didn't think you'd be as..." I search for the right work. "I didn't think you'd be as caring as you are."

"I don't blame you, given how we first met."

"But even then, you were considerate. You tried to rationalise with me. You tried to reassure me and keep me safe. You let me cause trouble and still comforted me when I was sad. You even wrapped up my ankle when I got injured."

"Of course," he shrugs. "I figured you'd be scared, so it was the least I could do, right — to make it as easy as possible for you."

"See, that's what I mean. You wanted me to feel comfortable and safe. Even when I hated you, you cared for me."

"It's the right thing to do."

"Exactly. That's how I know you're nothing like your father."

"So, you don't hate us anymore?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Good," a smile pulls at his lips, almost smirking at my words. "I'm happy to hear that."

"Yeah?" I eye him in amusement. There's something in his expression that doesn't make sense... something devilish — confident but sincere. My rapid heart rate returns when I realise he's leaning towards me. My excitement peaks. I meet him halfway, pressing my lips against his. Our kiss is slow and gentle, both of us wanting the moment to last. The thought of pulling away hadn't even crossed my mind until I feel his hand on my leg. Reality comes crashing down on me.

"Wait—."

"No," I shake my head, already climbing out of my seat. "We can't do this."

"Erin..."

"No, this is wrong," I head towards the door.

"Erin!"

"I'm sorry. You'll have to look after Angelis on your own."