La Lune // Bastille (ON HOLD)

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Karena

"Karena? I'm back!" Mason's voice echoed throughout the empty house. This was the only sound other than that of my knife slicing through vegetables and dully thudding against the cutting board. I was in the middle of cooking dinner. My jaw clenched on instinct as the front door slammed shut, shaking the entire house from the force. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the kitchen!" I called out without looking over my shoulder. Nothing was going to break my concentration from cutting these vegetables.

I heard the wooden floorboards begin creak as Mason began to move closer to the kitchen. His heavy footfalls seemed to foretell an impending doom. Though, Mason often gave me this feeling by simply being in the same building as me. It's horrible, I know, but this is what I have to live with now.

The creaking neared and then suddenly ceased altogether, so Mason must be in the doorway to the room now. Slowly, the stench of iron began to drift through the air toward me, hitting me hard in the face. Something is horribly wrong. "How was it?" I asked trying my best to hide the terror in my voice. But there was no reply to my question. My breath quickened as panic took over and surged through my body. "Mason?" I swallowed the lump in my throat and gripped the knife tightly as I turned around. I almost wish I hadn't.

My husband stood before me, covered from head to toe in blood. The clothes he had left the house wearing earlier today now hung from his body in tattered scraps. The ripped cloth was soaked in the crimson liquid, so much so that the blood dripped down to pool by his feet. His hands and exposed skin of his arms and face were now stained red, barely showing up against the deeply tanned skin underneath.

I swallowed the sudden wave of nausea and backed up against the counter, bracing myself against it so I wouldn't fall over. The lip of the counter pressed harshly into the small of my back. But the pain helped me stay grounded and somewhat calm in the face of pure terror. This bloodied mess might be a normal sight to me at this point, but it makes me sick every time I see him coated in the sticky stuff. It was most horrifying to see that most of the blood seemed to be centered around his hands and dripping down his face. This was one of the worst fights he'd been involved with in a long time.

Mason just shrugged nonchalantly, gazing around the kitchen to see what I was doing. "It was a tough patrol this time, I can't help it." He walked over toward the table to inspect the food I was preparing.

I pressed my lips together to avoid showing the wrong emotion. "What do you mean by 'tough'?" I asked quietly, my voice barely covering the fear that was slowly beginning to rise higher within me.

"What do you think I mean?" he roared, cold eyes locking with mine. Mason's brow furrowed, casting his features in a dark black shadow. Or, maybe it wasn't his brow that had cast the dark features across his face. I closed my eyes in fear and gripped the knife tighter, as if it would actually help me. I don't know if I was confident enough in myself to stab him. But, if I were to actually stab him, it would only piss him off more, but hopefully slow him down enough for me to run. I was never allowed to keep silver knives in the house, so this knife steel one was useless for defense.

"I'm sorry I asked," I whimpered quietly as I squeezed my eyes shut and forced my fingernails into my palm to control my emotions. I forced myself to flex all the muscles in my body so Mason wouldn't see me shaking with absolute terror. Though, he could probably smell the fear coursing through me.

"No, I'm sorry," Mason's voice softened as the dark features faded quickly. He walked over and wrapped his bloodstained arms around me. I cringed mentally at the thought of all this blood sticking to me. I tried my best to ignore the thought because I knew he would only get even angrier with me if I said anything about it, or if he sensed something was wrong.