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AARON'S GREEN EYES ARE undeniably beautiful, a vivid shade that seemed to hold stories of both light and darkness.
When looking at his soldiers, his eyes would be cold and calculating. But, when it came to me, his eyes were always warm and kind, filled with a deep understanding of trauma's we both endured.
But now? His eyes just look haunted.
It is in the way he stares at me, that he confirms I am a monster. His gaze filled with betrayal and overall exhaustion.
He came in a few minutes ago, he didn't speak to me when he walked in. He had me carried to his office by some soldiers and left me waiting in his office for an hour before coming in himself.
He probably used the hour to torture Kenji for information about Juliette's whereabouts, only to find out Kenji doesn't know anything. And it's all my fault.
"Astoria.." Aaron finally speaks up, breaking the silence. His voice carries a weight of sorrow, each word laced with a sting of betrayal. "Why?", he asks, his face emotionless.
My voice is caught in my throat, heavy with the weight of guilt. I open my mouth, but it just feels like the weight of the guilt presses down harder, forcing me to retreat back into silence.
Aaron's mental mask, which had been emotionless until now started to crack. Slight anger slipping through, but most important, sadness was visible. "Astoria, I asked you a question. Answer me!" He yells.
I have never seen him angry, and I always wished I would never see him angry. But here I was, and he was angry because of me.
I croak out a few words, my voice breaking every now and then. "You were going too far, Aaron." A pause, "You were killing her from the inside out."
He stares at me, and lets out a mad, humourless laugh. "I was going too far?" He scoffs, "your selfish, Astoria. Do you even know why I did it?"
I kept quiet, not daring to speak. My eyes start watering, and I don't bother hiding it.
He steps closer to me, shouting now, "I asked you, do you know why I did it!?" I can feel the anger radiating off of him.
I kept quiet, staring to actually tear up. I am angry with him, I have no right to be angry with him, but I am. How could he do such things to such a beautiful and nice girl?
I am annoyed with myself for being the kind of person who cried when angry. I wanted to be a shouter. A shouter is much better than a crier.
He scoffs, "I did it to help mom." He pauses, staring at me, awaiting a reaction. His gaze is intense, I am convinced he can see my soul. "Everything I did was to help mom, everything! It was all a plan, which, you fucked up."
