The Spare To The Throne

Chapter 48: Punishment

480...481...482...

Xavier sniffs, and I stop counting his light snores. I hold my breath, awaiting an audible continuation of his sound sleep.

483...484...485...

How does he do it? Be at such unperturbed peace that his own nefarious actions don't dismay him at all. He sleeps blissfully. Murder, a long forgotten memory.

In this state, he doesn't look so fraught.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

He deems far from that. Right now, he's an artist. The painter that made me feel comfortable in my own skin. He's the man that visits orphans for some reason. And he likes to leave notes to tell you he's leaving, rather than wake you from slumber. He has the most sultry lips, kisses as feathery as a brisk. And the most strongest arms. But a wicked heart.

I reach out to graze his eyebrows. The bushiest brows, nevertheless well maintained, always dances along with his emotions. And they're a dead give away whenever he's mad because he'll scowl that loathsome look, a hint of genuine confusion tints his face at the boldness of whomever dares to defy him.

But now he looks, I dare say-innocent. But this is false. So false. And yet I can't deny his beauty. His dapper mindset that works sometimes against me. But he's fetching, bewitching to say the least. And although I'll never say it, I'm awed.

His forehead creases, a sign of slight discomfort just before his lids peel back. And there it is. Frosty eyes that seem to swallow me whole. I tuck my hands back, feeling like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar. He says nothing. The impassive look on his face is incomprehensible. And it is now that I add on to my list of pet peeves about him. I hate that I can't make out his emotions. Unless it's angry. That, I can forever perceive.

"Next time, don't stop." His murmurs, baritone.

My lips part as I don't know how to respond to this.

"You okay?" His heavy eyes refuse to close again as a labored looks awaits my answer. Does he truly seek the truth to my well being? Strangely, this feels sincere.

There's a lot of things that aren't okay. I was one of them but the least of them. "I will be." I opt out of my usual answer - an automatic lie in response.

He studies me for a second, imaginary holes carve through me. "Even the strongest insect cedes to the spider web," his voice is crisp.

"But sometimes they break free," My own voice is low unlike his, similar to that of a child hoping to find a solution to a problem that interferes with a strong desire.

He blinks somberly. "Sometimes," he whispers. "Unless the spider gets to it in time."

His message is as clear as the morning glow, spewing into the room.

He stares at me and I stare back with only one question gnawing at me internally, "why?"

I'm not worth it at all. So why?

"Because," he licks his lips, a simple reflex that makes me twitch. I almost flinch when his hand tucks away a rebellious curl from my face, his fingers lethal yet taunting. "You don't know."