Secrets of the lost past

Chapter 33

 Dimitry

It was midnight when I went downstairs to grab a cup of water, I couldn't sleep at all.

I sat down on the couch to see Irene sitting there as well, it looked too much like she couldn't sleep either, but I knew very well what had happened.

She was sitting with her eyes closed, arm laying flat on the headrest. I glanced a little at her, then back at her arm where an awfully large scar sat, looking fresh. I didn't think that a knife would do that to her, even though I knew what was up with it. I did know, but I suspected, and asked about a different story.

The deep scar didn't look very appealing on her pale, yet lovely skin. It looked like she had been through a rough battle, getting injured in the middle of the process. And she did.

Thoughts rushed through me: one side of me knew how she got the scar, the other one thought completely different.

-Who did that to you? -I asked, pointing at the scar tracing her whole arm.

She turned her head to face me, she probably didn't notice when I sat down, but all she could notice was me when I asked.

-Heh–What?

-I asked something. Who did that to you? -I repeated, more slowly for her to hear.

-Oh? So you want to know who did it? It was you who did this to me -she started, drunk anger fueling up in her gorgeous gray eyes. -And stop acting like an innocent hero when you're made of pure villain -she added, purposely saying the word "villain" slower than the rest. I never knew I could feel something for a literal word. That I could relate to a word.

-You don't mean that, -I argued, pretending an offended face. I looked back at her before continuing my sentence. -I feel that you don't.

I knew that drunk people take words in much easier, the same happened with Irene. Her face flushed more than usual as she went for another sip.

One more,

One more...

I knew that I had to stop her, or at least do something, she couldn't just rely on alcohol for the whole game. It would've made it too easy to win.

I took the bottle from her hands.

-What are you doing with my stash?

She stood up frustrated, so I stood up with her. She quickly covered up her scar, she looked a little too sober.

I felt her thinking about what to do next, and she did the right thing. She scurried a few steps closer, the rest she let me do. With one hand, I pulled her even closer by the waist, with the other, I grabbed her scarred arm, and put it over my own neck. I continued pulling and pulling until there was almost no space between us, just the sweetened, and warmed air around the both of us.

She had only a nightdress on, which tightened around her waist to reveal a beautifully curved body, the one I saw when she had that navy blue dress on. And it was delightful, even if it wasn't the real Irene standing before me, just a drunk, yet beautiful person, which I loved the sight of.

Her person inside was horrible, and I didn't think of that at the moment. When a woman is drunk, you can get anything out of her, even getting so close to a person who she despises, who she wanted to murder that day.

Even though I was mesmerized by the view under my eyes, I looked at the view in front of my eyes. Her gray gaze turned to a shade of gold when lit by the lanterns around the house. Her cheeks still flushed, lips wanting to meet mine in seconds. Her hair was gorgeously messy. It was gorgeous that way, but it looked, and felt even better when I brushed the tangles out of her face. That way, I could see everything, top to bottom, and I loved it more than I loved her. Much more.