Bound To You

Chapter 1 - Bound By Blood.

                                       Chapter 1 - Bound By Blood. 

Before all of this, I lived with my mother in a small apartment in the middle of the city. Now, I lived in the middle of nowhere with trees surrounding the house.

My brother was long gone. He left when he had the change, many years ago. He left me with our alcoholic mom.

I never blamed him though. If I had been in his position, I would have done the same. When I still lived with my mom, sometimes he would call me to check how I was doing but only if I was the one who picked up the phone.

Everything was harder with him gone. Before, he was the one who worked just so he and I didn’t starve. When he left, I had to do the same. My brother never really cared about the woman who brought us into this world but I did. She was my mother after all.

I think that’s why it took me so long to finally pack my bags and leave. Even though she used the majority of the day being drunk, she was still the woman who cared and sang for me when I was a little girl.

That was before my father died.

When my father was still alive, everything was good. We were like the perfect little family. We lived in a nice house; not too big, not too small. It was perfect. Our relationship to each other was perfect.

Then my mother got pregnant again. Unfortunately, she had a miscarriage.

The miscarriage was hard on them booth which resulted in fights, long nights with alcohol and my dad eventually getting in a car, highly intoxicated. It killed him.

I was 13 when he died. My brother was 16. Neither one of us was ever the same after that.

Now, 5 years later, my life was restored. Even though my mind sometimes still returned to the darkest of times, I was happy.

I was happy because he was in my life, helping me every step of the way. He knew everything about me. I knew nothing about him but he liked it that way. He didn’t want me to know of his troubled life. That’s why I never asked whenever his name turned up in the news.

Roman Maxwell.

The same name he had introduced himself with, the first time we met. He was a man with many names. The most common one was Stone.

I never referred to him as Stone. He forbade me to. Why? I never asked. Asking questions has always been a bad thing because questions often leads to answers and secrets you don’t want to know; secrets that was never yours to hide to begin with.

We met in an old dusty bookstore. I was seeking shelter from the pouring rain and roaring thunder. He was busy killing the owner of the store. He didn’t hear me walk into the store before I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.

The weird thing is I wasn’t afraid of him in that moment. I was intrigued. I remember the old man’s look before he took his last breath. It was like he was begging me to help him.

I didn’t. My gaze was focused on Roman the entire time. My body was frozen on the spot where I stood while he forced a knife through the old man’s heart. As he wiped the blood from the knife, his eyes met mine.

Maybe I should have run from him. Maybe I should have screamed for help but I didn’t.

I didn’t even say anything as I felt the knife on my own skin, slicing the palm of my hand ever so slightly. He stood in front of me, tall and dangerous, offering his hand to me. Blood was covering his own palm.