Immortal Ballad *ON HOLD*

He left....

*Unedited and short (?)*

He left....

Irial awoke, his muscles strained from his nightly tumbles with the sheets. His mind was made up; he wasn’t needed any longer so why should he stay. Lorenzo’s death had impacted his mother and Alecxa but not him and that seemed to make the women resent him. He wasn’t heartless, far from it; he just didn’t care anymore. Lorenzo could be abroad instead of dead and he wouldn’t care.

Alecxa had been distant, even more than usual, for the last week. After the funeral and the talk with Marckus, Irial had spoken to Alecxa. He relayed his fears to her and she brushed it off as an attempt to distract her. He blamed him for Lorenzo’s death even if the doctor was clear that he died of something that had been building over time, eroding his internal system.

He’d walked away, her cries, her begging, going mute in his ears. Why should he stay when everything he did was taken the wrong way? And then there was Marckus, that mysterious man that hadn’t left his mind. He was there when he closed his eyes to sleep, he infected his dreams, his very thoughts, and Irial had no idea what to do.

At first, he saw it as a coping mechanism over seeing Alecxa throwing herself in his arms rather than the arms of the man she had slept with. But soon he came to the realization that perhaps, maybe, he was attracted to the man. It wouldn’t be that far off, the man was rather handsome. But the thought of having those kinds of thoughts about the dark stranger put his mind into frenzy.

When had this begun? Had it always been there, in the back of his mind, or was it recent? He didn’t know. And, if he was being frank with himself, he didn’t want to know.

It was how he had come to the decision of leaving Italy. The farther away he was from Marckus, the better. Sometimes, whenever his mind was clear enough, he could swear that a voice other than his own whispered in his mind. It told him to leave and never to return it sounded oddly like Marckus’ but how could that be? So rather than go crazy, he decided to leave and soon.

He stretched in his bed one more time before sitting up. He looked around the room, the shadows giving him chills, before throwing his legs over the bed and getting out. The cold floor sent a shiver up his spine as he went to his dresser to dress. As always, he’d slept in the least amounts of clothes possible. The hot weather was something he was glad he was leaving behind.

Putting on a simple shirt and pair of slacks, he slipped on his shoes. He stretched again, his muscles never quiet fully extending, and sighed as he heard a pop somewhere between his lower back. Satisfied, he ran his hands through his tussled hair and stepped out of his room.

Alecxa was in her regular seat at the breakfast table, her hands in her lap waiting for her food to be served. Irial didn’t look at her as he entered the room but he felt her eyes on him as he took his regular seat in front of her. He kept his eyes on the food being served and then took especial care not to drip any of the sauce on the expensive linen on the table.

“Wine,” He told the servant girl when asked if he wanted coffee. His mother looked at him, her eyes red from her midnight crying. Alecxa dropped her fork, loudly, and stared at him, her mouth agape. Oh, how that mouth would’ve exited him before. Not anymore. Now, she looked plain silly.

“What?” he asked looking at them both. “Che cosa?”

“You are drinking wine now, are you?” Alecxa asked. “Why?”

“Am I not allowed to drink what I please?” Irial replied sharply. “Is that not why I have a choice on what to drink? Or shall I drink what you are having? Warm milk, is it?”

Hurt flashed passed her eyes before reaching down to remove her napkin from her lap and pulling her chair away. She looked at him one last time before, in a huff, left. How had he not noticed how dramatic Alecxa could be? Now that his mind was clear of lustful thoughts towards her, he was able to see her clearly for the first time.

He turned back to eating just as the servant girl came back with his glass of wine. He swirled it, noting the way the color changed from red to a dark version as the wine spun around the cup. He took a sip, careful no to take too much, and set it down by his plate.

He ate in peace, his mother going back to ogling the now empty space that Lorenzo once occupied. Taking the final sip of his dark drink, Irial stood and after giving his mother a kiss on her cheek, which he doubt she even felt, he went back to his room.

Taking the stairs one at a time, he tried to convince himself that leaving without a word was the best option. If he were to tell Alecxa she would try to stop him, If he told his mother she would stop founding his trip. It was better to take what little savings he had, sneak off in the middle of the night, and take the first carriage out of Italy.

He didn’t feel anything, his body and mind going numb, as he packed everything he owned. Leaving behind only what brought painful memories to his hear, like Alecxa’s necklace which she gave to him for his last birthday and his mothers portrait, he hailed trust worthy servants to take his things outside to the carriage that awaited him.

As he stepped into the small car that was to be his home for weeks, he took one last glance at the place he had once called home. There was nothing there for him anymore, only people who resented his presence and painful memories. He took once last breath, his mind going back to the night he had lain with Alecxa in the couch in the study, before closing the door. A servant, rather tall for a common peasant, banged on the door to signal the driver and he was off.

“To a new beginning,” He whispered to himself softly, a stray tear failing from his clear blue eyes.