Just Him&I: In Universe of Cruelty

Part 23

"Could Ramlow and Henry be related?" I don't know, but the fact that they have the same tattoo in the same spot — that already says something.

I pour a glass of water on him to wake him up.

— Alive, — I slam the glass down loudly to get his attention.

He squints, examining me. He looks completely unfazed, actually, he keeps smiling. He even holds back a laugh.

— What's the password? — I pull his hair back, and he snarls. He stays silent, his horrific grin full of blood, frightening me more than it should.

When I pull him closer, I see the resemblance. Eyes, smile, hair, laugh. A smaller copy of Brock... Damn it, they're blood brothers, how did I not realize sooner?

I slap him in the face and let go, pacing around the room. Yet, he doesn't know me.

— Good one, you don't even realize what kind of trouble you're in! — he spits on the ground, a clot of blood. And coughs. His gaze is wild, making blood freeze in my veins. I clench my fists tighter at the way he called me that. It twists in my stomach, and I almost fall to the floor from the sensation. The past can't be erased, changed, or taken away. I lied to him back then. I lied sharply when I looked him in the eyes. I want to change the past, but I can't. It's like sinking sand in which I will eventually drown.

— You don't even know who killed your dear mother..? — he laughs, laughing as he looks me straight in the eye.

— I'm in the parking lot, are you going to be long? — I hear James' voice, and it seems to pull me out of my trance. I shake my head and finally get ready.

— What's the password, you son of a bitch! — I squeeze his jaw and breathe deeply, loudly. From nerves and how furious I am.

— Your date of death! Today's date, sweetheart — the door flies off with such force that it rings in my ears.

I try to turn toward the sound, but I get hit from behind. I crawl back and start fighting, not even sure who I'm fighting. Finally, when my vision clears, I realize who it is and what he wants from me.

Brock is alive, and right now I'm fighting him.

My hits are confident, but of course, he blocks them all. A precise kick to the head helps knock him out for a few seconds. And I run out, grabbing my heels.

I hear only a squeal, an unpleasant squeal. And the younger brother's laughter. Nothing more, the picture blurs, and everything slows down like in the movies.

Only the harsh thumping of my feet on the floor as I cover the short distance, and then slow steps and the sound of the trigger.

The bullet flies right behind me, hitting my hand. Blood splashes on the wall, leaving a mark of my presence. Adrenaline rushes into my bloodstream along with the shot. I feel nothing.

— Mia, is everything okay?! — James' voice echoes through my head, vibrating and slowly dying down.

There's no flash drive, no buyer, no agent. It's all a lie around me, all a lie. I'm to blame for everything that happens. People are suffering because of me.

I run out through the back exit, straight to the parking lot, inhaling air like I've never breathed before.

I don't pay attention to it and run a few meters to the motorcycle, where James is already sitting. He looks at me worriedly, and I immediately sit behind him.

— Drive faster — I urge him. I know every second counts for our lives. He pulls out onto the highway, and only then do I feel a little calmer.

The darkness outside is absolute, spreading under the flickering streetlights.

The city is tired of the day's clamor and now submits to the power of darkness.

Stars shine in the sky like distant souls, watching over the life of the streets. The traffic lights blink red, yellow, and green, controlling the rhythm of the night's melody.

Everything becomes more melancholic and cozy. Shadows spread across the sidewalks, and every sound becomes more distinct in the silence.

I hold on to his stomach. With each passing meter, he gains speed.

We weave through cars, I don't have time to look at them, I only see the streetlights and the road, nothing more.

I remember the scariest moments of my life. My late mother, Henry's words. Pierce's actions, that I am his daughter. How many lives he's ruined.

"— I'm the daughter of Alexander Pierce..
— Arrest her, immediately!!"

"— I buried her body myself"

"— You need to get used to it!
— Dad! — Let go, Dad!"

"— Mom..
— I'm at the cemetery. Come..."

"... I dreamed I killed a child... these are real memories"

James' words in the car, how much it hurts and unsettles him. It weighs down on me so much that I press myself against him with all my body.

He shudders from my touch, but doesn't break his focus on riding the motorcycle.

I clench my hand into a fist and begin to sob behind him. Hot tears flow down my cheeks and onto James' leather jacket. I cry straight into his back.

— My, are you crying? — he asks, are you hurt? — I stay silent, unable to say a word, my voice trembling like my hands. He slowly stops on the Lions Gate Bridge*, and to my surprise, there's not a single car in sight.

I let go of him, feeling nothing but emotional pain. My entire dress and my hand are soaked in dried blood. I sit on the ground and continue crying, staring at the stars in the sky.

His reaction is too quick for me. A second ago he was a few meters away from me, and now he's washing my wound on my hand with brandy from a flask and bandaging it with a piece of cloth from his hoodie.

Only then does physical pain appear in my body when he removes the bullet and rinses the wound. I writhe in pain, clutching the edge of his jacket and grinding my teeth in fear that they might crack.

He throws his jacket over me and sits next to me. I rest my head on the motorcycle.

I yank the flask from his hands and drink the last of the alcohol, continuing to cry silently like a little child who wasn't bought a toy. And now, she's throwing a tantrum on the floor.

— What happened? — his voice is worried. He pulls me closer and takes away what belongs to him.

— There's no flash drive. No buyer, no agent. Did you know Brock has a younger brother? — James' jaw drops when I say that. He looks at me in surprise, and I continue staring ahead, crying without emotion.

— It's me, I'm to blame for everything. It would have been better if he had killed me, — he hugs me and gently strokes my back, calming me down.

— Don't say that, you're not to blame for anything, — he presses his cheek against mine and softly rocks back and forth. I breathe in his perfume, so familiar and pleasant. My mascara smears his jacket, but he doesn't mind at all. I stop hugging him and look up at him. That height difference doesn't make me feel awkward.

His eyes shine from the streetlight.

I run my hand through his hair and pull him closer, kissing him. He's surprised, but doesn't hesitate to respond to the kiss.

I'm sure in my actions, right now — this is the most I need.

I feel him breathing heavily, but he keeps kissing me.