Playing the Assassin

Ch. 16 Dying for the Dead

“Cry if you want,” He whispered, the space beside me filled in by him, “I won’t look.” I nibbled on my bottom lip and dropped my head low to my lap, my palms falling flat and hard on the bed I was sitting on. His eyes weren’t on me but I still felt embarrassed.

                “I’m not crying.” I shortly explained my voice slack and dull. Even in my own ears it sounded like a total lie despite that I really wasn’t crying at this certain moment. How could I cry for someone I barely could remember? There were only little details that I knew of her but I’m sure all this betrayal I was facing took part of it as well. There was no telling who were the ones to call the hit on my mother, but my head pointed it to Lucia. Our families were at war with each other, so why not? But I was denying it. Whoever killed my mother would definitely get what they deserved. My fingers curled up into really tight fists.

                My eyes squeezed shut, my body trembling from holding all the frustration and anger reciting in me, wanting to ignite and lash out everything that came into sight. I was continuing it-which was good. I was getting dizzy from it, which...was bad.

                Daphne was right to call me oblivious, and in order for her to say that to me she must have known something. Hell, she was probably on her mother’s side. Did she know? Did she really know? I didn’t even want to think about it. However, this wasn’t the time to be crying. I had to stay strong and not embarrass myself by crying like this.

                It was just...her long silky brunette hair-the exact shade as mine, the hazel green eyes and the childish smiles she gave me. Or the sudden comments about being awful at being a bother. It was everything down to how she kept messing my hair up and would look away when I was jumping in puddles or doing something that maybe I shouldn’t be doing. It was the vanilla scent she gave off, and how her favorite ice cream was Vanilla. The way she looked at my dad and the way my dad looked so hollow yet with heavy tears coming down his eyes, trying to turn his way so that I couldn’t see when he saw her bleeding on the concrete. How was it fair that someone had a right to take someone like that way? She was worth everything and she died.

                “I was wrong about you,” He suddenly spoke. I didn’t say anything.

                “I thought you were human, but here you are not able to cry after hearing that you were backstabbed by Damon and you remembered your mother is dead. There’s a word for those types of people. They’re called monsters. Crying is human, natural...don’t be afraid to express it.” He slowly and quietly spoke, being careful not to alert Damon in the next room that he was in here. A couple of tears were blinked away but I tried to wipe them away before they made it past my cheek.

                I wanted to know... Maybe it would give me a lead.

                “Who killed your parents?” I quickly asked

                “It doesn’t matter,” He breathed out, leaning a little back, eyes still far off me. Only the stream of moonlight from the small open square window beside me filled in the room. I could only make out the dark silhouette of him at the corner of my eyes.

                “Why? Don’t you want to know? You know, don’t you? Don’t you want to get back at them?” I rushed my questions in a low shaky tone.

                “No.”

                “No to what?”

                “That’s up to you for deciding. But what good would it do to get back at them?” He asked, putting me into silence. I didn’t get what he was asking because I always knew that you couldn’t just let people go scot free after doing something so terrible.