Healed by the Broken

Out

11

Who was she to Areson Sainter to make him wounded like this?

No, that is not the question.

Who was Areson Sainter to me to make even his pain mine?

After a couple of minutes, with a slightly shaking hands I opened the door to reveal a deadly silent Areson and Mason staring at each other. Sensing my arrival they changed their posture, Mason looked at me with a small smile which I effortlessly gave back to him. Meanwhile I composed myself to look more serene and collected. But Areson turned his back at me with a bitter expression on his face.

Mason eyed me suspiciously, probably thinking if I had heard their conversation. But I expertly covered up myself even though I happened to hear almost everything.

....when I even remember how her touch felt.

His words were still echoing in my ears. Sharp and clear.

Mason's phone ringed, the only sound in the entire room. He excused us and went out to pick up the phone.

I stood there facing the back side of Areson. He was taking deep breaths, calming himself. His broad shoulders slumping up and down with each breath. Alone in this room with him, I felt suffocated. Not because of his presence but of his mystery. He was in need of a person to soothe him, comfort him. Unfortunately I was not that person. Even though his pain was affecting me without my consent, what right do I have to comfort him?

So I paced around the room, admiring all the weapons that stood proudly on the wall. My heels clicked the magnificent wooden floor while I walked. Clouded with my thoughts I zoned out. I closed my eyes, hoping to see his alive brown eyes. For a moment I stood there. Even when my eyes were closed, I saw his orbs perfectly like I was melting into him.

"At what age you first started training?" Out of blue Areson's deep voice asked. I turned around to see him watching me. Somehow he managed to be in his usual demeanor. His dark brownish hair looking perfect, his pink lips in a tight line, his jaw not clenched and his blue orbs blank. Instead of that dark blue eyes which holds nothing but mysteries I wished I was looking at the alive brown ones. Areson was just trying to ease the tension that covered this room. Because there was no interest in his voice, no genuine touch to his tone.

"Since I was ten." I replied." What about you?"

"Six."

No wonder! A moment passed.

"Why do you choose this life?" He inquired. Surprised by his sudden questions, I replied with a small smile.

"Why can't I choose this life?"

Amusement and irritation filled his face. His jaw clenched, clearly specifying his annoyed state.

"Stop being so difficult always and give an exact answer!" Areson's harsh voice came.

Instead of being intimidate by his irritation, I was enjoying this. He was a man who got what he wanted from everyone. And I was not a woman who would cope up with all of his shits. Impatiently waiting for my response he stared at me. But when my silence went unbearable, he turned away.

Why was I acting so difficult? I asked myself. Maybe because I was not ready to open up to anyone. Gang or not, this is just my another temporary place. Areson's hands raked over his hair. I smirked to myself, I was definitely getting on his nerves.

"You choose, only when you have an option. Unfortunately in my case I didn't get to choose because I didn't have an option." The instance I spoke, he turned around to face me. His eyebrows shot up after processing my words.