A Blood Soaked Throne - Part Two

Seven- Damien

I watch as she rushes into the bathroom with scarlet cheeks. Memorizing the flustered look on her face. I had expected her to still be asleep when I got out of the shower, but the completely unfiltered desire in her expression was a welcome sight.

I pull the sliding door of the bedroom closed, giving her the time she craves to gather her thoughts. It must all be very confusing for her. Just days ago she was a mere possession to my father, and the love he showed her was nothing more than a manipulation tactic. Even then, I'm sure some sort of feeling stirred within her. The body will do many things to survive.

Every feeling, every interaction between the two of us is something completely different from the toxic claim he had over her. I'm not sure she understands that yet. In the castle she would have controlled herself, averted her eyes as soon as she saw me. She probably wouldn't have been in the same vicinity as me to make sure my father's anger was kept at bay. She was afraid of how I would react if I caught her, and I have to admit I'm lucky I did.

The color on her cheeks, like bright red roses, sent a radiating warmth to my chest. We've been going back and forth between the terror she's been consumed by and the buried feelings she used to hold for me. I cherish every moment I get where she isn't afraid of me, and it doesn't hurt that she looked so damn cute with her mouth hanging open either.

I step into the kitchen and fill a glass of water from the tap, settling on one of the barstool as I force my mind to think of more pressing thoughts. It won't be long before the guards find us. I need to get close enough to kill my father while they're all occupied searching.

The power that has been developing within me may be our only chance of making it through this alive. I need to figure out how to control it, which unfortunately means using it. My palm glows with the faint red light as I try to pull the destructive force to the surface, but it fizzles out as it hits some sort of internal blockage.

The only thoughts running through my mind when it manifested were of protecting Alayah, and again when I could feel it bubbling up inside me the night she told me of my father's assault. I visualize her face again, the fear in her eyes that he caused, and the blockage begins to clear.

It feels like a current rising through my body, and the light burns brighter with each memory of her pain. The immense power it brings feels addicting, but the same overwhelming rage I felt before poisons my body. I shove the feelings back down, shaking out my hand as the light diminishes. If I can't use it without becoming my father I'd much rather it didn't exist.

A few minutes pass by in silence before I hear the bedroom door slide open. As I turn my head I find myself speechless at the sight before me. She's standing in the doorway scrunching her dark curls with a towel. Droplets of water drip onto a deep green sweater that extends to the middle of her thighs and a pair of black leggings.

Her eyes still bashfully avoid mine as she settles onto the couch with her stolen book. Her movements appear so natural, and her comfort around me eases the anger that had been pulling me in.

My gaze is drawn in as I see her tracing her fingers along the tiny sketches I left behind on the pages. I hop off the barstool and slide myself onto the opposite side of the couch, careful to keep a comfortable distance between us.

A curiosity to know more about her experience tugs at me, but I know that asking will ruin the affectionate mood of the morning. I decide to approach the topic cautiously, not wanting to put too much pressure on her if she's not ready.

"Alayah?" I say her name calmly. She looks up from the book and meets my eyes for the first time since our awkward encounter not that long ago. I can see the same blush slowly coloring her cheeks again. "Do you think you can tell me more about your time in the castle?"

The embarrassed look on her face is replaced by sadness as my question brings an onslaught of memories to her mind. In an instant I regret asking, but my selfishness of wanting to understand her experience won out over my common sense. She takes a deep breath and holds the book tightly to her chest.

"I um..." her mouth opens to speak but the words are fractured.

"You don't have to. I'm sorry, I know I'm asking for a lot." I try to reassure her but her focus is on the terrorizing memories suffocating her.

"No, it's okay. I want to tell you. I want you to know the person I am now... I'm just afraid that once you've heard everything... you won't like who I've become." I hold back the sorrow that her words instill in me. To think that the damage caused by my father could drive me away must be terrifying for her. It doesn't matter what she's done to survive, or how many pieces of her have been stripped away. I will do everything I can to put her back together and be a safe place for her to share her trauma.

"I want all of you Alayah." I hold my hand out for her and wait for her to place hers in my waiting palm. She looks down and hesitantly interlaces her fingers with mine. "Every broken, stitched, glued back together piece of you. You are safe to share them with me." I bring her hand up and press a light kiss to her knuckles. Her cheeks flush red again and she nods her head.

She tells me about the night she cried herself to sleep in my bed, holding onto the sweater that I found hanging by my bedside shortly after. Infuriating details of the way my father hit her when he found her there, about the belt he dug so carelessly into her skin just for missing dinner. How agonizing it was to sit there tied to the bed while the sun was rising through the windows.

Tears form in the corners of her eyes as she recalls the way he treated her afterwards. His manipulative tactic of patching the wounds he created only further poisoned her already fractured mind. As she begins to tell me of the herbal bath he ran for her after every assault her voice catches in her throat. I can tell she's emitting parts of the story, but I don't push her for more.

"If I would've just listened to him this all would've been different. He wouldn't have hurt me, it was all my fault." A lump forms in my throat as those words hit me like a shot to the chest. This is what he's best at, making people feel like they're the ones messing everything up when in reality he's the monster.

I give her hand a gentle squeeze and lower my head to meet her gaze that she's directed towards the splintered floorboards. The unfamiliar power begins to rise up within me when I see the dejected look on her face.

"Nothing that has happened to you is your fault. Even if you had given yourself to him the minute you stepped into the castle, even if you did everything he asked you to. He enjoys hurting people, he would have found something to punish you for. I need you to understand that."

She nods her head but I can tell she doesn't fully believe what I'm saying. Even outside the castle walls he's still finding ways to torture us. I watch as the look in her eyes changes to one I'm painfully familiar with. Her grip tightens as his voice echoes through her head once again.