Bound by Shadows

17

Caelus

Keeping the cycle going on was a common thing. A cycle in which I am unable to escape, one from which I find myself unable to break free. My mother allows me my freedom to do things which my father doesn't. I have learned and honed my skills to be like him. To be a copy of him, so we don't lose the things we have now.

Throughout my life, I've resorted to killing and torture to get answers I wanted to hear, a practice that inflicted as much harm on myself as it did on others. The thoughts haunting my mind questioned whether it was acceptable for me to leave this life behind following the death of my parents.

Witnessing their murders firsthand, I cowered in a cramped closet, my body curled into a tight ball as I observed the tragedy unfold through the narrow confines of the door frame.

No, I am not allowed to walk away.

After countless years under the guardianship of my perpetually absent uncle, having completed my education and taken up the mantle of my father's legacy, I remained unaware of what else I lacked.

Each day, I managed issues, delegated tasks to others, and handled personal vendettas when necessary. A mental switch, ingrained in me since I was fourteen, allowed me to suppress my emotions before carrying out the necessary actions, just as my father had taught.

'Turn off your emotions, Caelus. Do not let them cloud your judgement'

So I did. Only, I kept it off until now.

I've never met someone who could evoke the emotions that people often discuss. Being attached to such a sentiment would only feel like being stung by a poisonous spider. It's akin to the instinctive withdrawal of your hand when punctured by the venomous bite—a sensation reminiscent of when I touched her.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Her brunette hair cascading over her face as the wind swept through. Plump lips, a slender nose, and brown eyes framed her features. Despite her petite frame, she ran into me with those ridiculously high heels. My hands tingled with warmth as I grasped her arm, instinctively preventing us from stumbling.

"Sorry!" Her voice resembled the flipping of a page in an enthralling novel. "Did you happen to see a man running this way? He stole my bag! He was about your height," she rambled on. Normally, excessive talking would lead me to boredom, but with her, it was like watching a goldfish blowing bubbles in a tank—she spoke, yet it felt like she wasn't really there.

"Hello? Did I bump into you too hard?"

I blinked, "No," the voice that escaped me felt unfamiliar.

"Which one are you saying no to? The guy running this way or the bumping into you?" Her tone carried irritation. Now, she resembled a pouting puppy seeking for my undivided attention. Comparing her to animals wasn't my intention, so I dialed Tadashi, instructing him to track down the person who had mugged the woman in front of me. After ending the call, I turned to her, noticing her expression soften.

"It's not safe here," I warned. In Los Angeles, having her bag stolen was the least of her worries. She was fortunate to escape with her life, considering the designer clothing she was in from head to toe.

"Figured," she murmured to herself, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I can't go back home now. All my things are in that bag—my phone, wallet, car keys." If she hadn't seemed on the brink of a panic attack, she might as well have handed me her social security number.

"I'll drive you home."

She started to say something but hesitated. "You might end up kidnapping me."

Considering my attire—a black suit—my usual attire hardly gave the impression that I resembled a kidnapper. I removed my watch, clicking it open before tossing it to her. She caught it, looking puzzled. "It's an original Patek Philippe. My father's watch. Hold onto it until I get you home safely."

And just like that, I drove her home. As she showed me the way, she prattled on about her life in New York, her trip to Los Angeles with her brother for undisclosed business, and her plans to open a flower shop after graduating with an art degree—topics that weren't particularly relevant to me, yet I listened intently.

For the first time ever, I truly listened to a stranger with much to share. Not only did I listen, but I found myself unable to resist the addicting scent of her. Melon, plum and freesia.

"I just realized we haven't exchanged names yet. My name is Zanya," she said with a gleam in her eyes, her cheeky smile illuminated by the streetlights outside. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, and I averted my gaze, my throat tightening as a sick feeling churned in my chest. "And you are?"

Believing this encounter would be our last, I told her my name, hoping to never cross paths again. "Caelus."

Little did I know, I was wrong. What I initially thought was a singular occurrence evolved into a series of coincidental encounters, with each instance drawing me closer to her. Despite my efforts to distance myself, she found ways to infiltrate my thoughts. Day and night, she consumed my mind, leaving little space for anything else.

I believed I was losing my sanity. I questioned my mental state for longing to have her be mine. Instead of shutting myself off as I did all my life, I allowed my emotions to take over me when I chose her.

Zanya had completed my mind and soul. Zanya was the light to my dark. Zanya served as the voice of logic when the echoes of the past haunted me. Zanya was the only one I yearned for whenever she was out of my sight. I would defy my death with the call of my name on her lips. I would crawl home to her.

Even if she won't ever forgive me for the things I did.

"Wake up! Please!"

I hear her voice breaking, calling out to me in the void. She urged me to wake up from this dream where there is nothing but darkness.

All I want is to see her, to hold her close. I keep following that voice like I'm climbing a steep mountain only to tumble back down to the pits of my mind.

"Caelus, please!"

But with all that effort, I fell again and again, every inch of my body burning like I've really been tossed in hell to die. Perhaps I deserved it after what I've done. I've broken her once. What are the chances I'll ruin us again?