SWNOVELS Alexius: Chapter 23
“You wanted to know,” I sneer, biting back tears. “Well, now you know. The story of a girl locked in a bathroom while her parents got high and participated in sex parties and gangbangs.”
It’s the first time I’ve told anyone. It’s the first time I’ve heard myself say it out loud, and hearing the words come out of my mouth makes me realize just how deep the wounds are.
The buzz of the alcohol is gone, and so is the rush of being desired by two men. I reach down and slip the heels from my feet. Feeling and looking sexy for Alexius had lost its appeal now that I’m laying my demons bare.
I rough my fingers through my hair and stare at this spot on the patio floor stained with a slightly darker ring, maybe from a potted plant recently moved. My chest hurts as memories of my childhood pour in, as fresh and vivid as if they happened yesterday. “They would leave me locked in that bathroom for hours. I’d get so hungry that the tap water would make my empty stomach ache. Eventually, I started hiding food in the bathroom so I’d at least have something to eat.” I glance up at him. “That’s when raw instant noodles came in handy.” There’s a slight hint of sarcasm weaved through my words, remembering the day he was at my apartment asking about my choice of dinner.
Alexius wipes a palm down his face, shifting his weight and settling those crystal blue eyes on me. They’re not as cold and hard as they usually are. Instead, there’s a softness that flashes there, almost…sympathetic. I hate it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I murmur. “I was a victim back then, but I’m not one anymore. So, I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I just need you to stop fucking with me.”
I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the threatening tears from escaping. Mira warned me not to show weakness, or I’d get eaten alive.
Alexius doesn’t say a word. He’s barely moving and simply staring at me as if I’m this wounded deer he doesn’t know what to do with.
I purse my lips, my shoes dangling from my right hand. “I bet my father’s prison file didn’t tell you any of that shit, did it?”
The muscles in his jaw clench. His nostrils flare. But he doesn’t say a fucking word, and I’m about ready to burst into a pathetic, sobbing mess that can’t happen in front of him.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” My feet barely make a sound as I cross the patio and walk past him. My arm touches his, and I gasp when his fingers wrap around my elbow, pulling me back. He looks down at me with a sideways glance, iced irises warm with something I’ve never seen in them before, sending the heat of a hundred suns through my chest.
“No one will ever hurt you again. Ever,” he bites out in earnest. “I’ll make sure of it.”
There’s this last ounce of strength inside me that I grasp on to as I place my hand on top of his. “Does that include you?” I murmur, pull his fingers from around my arm, and linger for a second more before walking away.
The weight of our conversation follows me. It’s stuck to my shadow as I walk down the lighted hall, cursing this big damn house. All I want is to get to my room so I can lock the door and let the tears free without the burden of having to be strong around him. Around all of them. But it’s too much, and the tears break past my resolve, trickling down my cheeks.
My walk turns into a run, wetness lapping across my lips, and I wipe my palm down my face before crashing into someone.
Warm hands grab my shoulders, my cheek firm against a hard chest ablaze with heat. It’s too comforting for me to pull away, and I can’t stop myself from nestling my face deeper—needing the warmth and the touch as I sob, unable to control it any longer.
Each tear burns as it escapes, each whimper cutting me open and allowing more pain to gush from my soul.
“Leandra.”
Isaia.
Knowing it’s him only makes me cry more, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him closer, burying my face against his chest. There are so many reasons for me to let go and run away from him. But I can’t.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I’m cocooned against him as he holds me. He doesn’t say a word and only squeezes me tight, giving me this moment to be weak. To be fragile. Vulnerable. To be…sad.
I have no idea how long we stand there, how long he has his arms wrapped around me, letting my tears soak through his shirt. My sobs turn to whimpers, whimpers to sharp inhales, until I’m finally able to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter and lean back, but he doesn’t let go and keeps me trapped against him. “I didn’t mean to—”
His lips crash against mine, and my every thought evaporates as Isaia kisses me. My breath is lodged in my throat while the saltiness of my tears mixes with the taste of whiskey on his tongue. And I’m frozen against him, his arms keeping me captive as my mind starts spinning out of control. His lips feel different, cold. But my body responds to him, desire lighting up inside me. Images of him watching me with my legs spread, his hardened expression painted with lines of lust—it’s filling my head. Yet something’s missing. It’s not the same.
Alexius isn’t there. He’s not in that image, just like he’s not here now. And neither are the flames. The fire. The need to get burned…I don’t feel it.
My fists clench, and I push against Isaia’s chest, forcing him to let me go. Instinct takes over, and I slap him across the face, the burn stinging my palm. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Isaia touches his cheek and looks at me with an arrogant smirk on his face as if my slap merely turned him the fuck on. “I can look at your cunt, but I’m not allowed to kiss you?”
“Don’t be a dick.” Resolve straightens my spine, anger drowning every last drop of lingering tears, and I shoulder past him, stomping down the hall.
“Leandra,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn around. “I’m sorry.”
I still.
“I’m sorry, and I won’t touch you again.”
I turn to face him, and he pulls a palm down his chin.
“Not unless you tell me to.”
Alexius
I knew she had demons following her around. Don’t we all? I just didn’t think her demons were the same as the devil she craved. Now I understand her resistance—the constant hot and cold, and why she tries so damn hard to fight it. And God forgive me, but now I only want her to embrace it even more. To conquer her demons and fall at the devil’s feet in surrender. My feet.
The courteous thing to do would be to go after her, talk to her, comfort her. But I think I’ve tempted her demons enough for one day. God knows mine are already frothing at the mouth, needing to tear into her. But not today.
On my way to my parents’ room, I take the time to shake her, to clear the space in my head she’s been occupying all day. When I’m around my father, I need a clear head, and who knows what he’d like to see me about now. He rarely requests an audience in his room while feeling weak.
I knock on the door, and my mom eases it open. She’s already wearing her nightgown, a soft lavender against her naturally tanned skin. “I was just about to go grab a book in the library,” she says, probably the first excuse she could think of to give us men some privacy. “Be nice, Alexius,” she whispers as she steps into the hall. “He’s weaker than usual today.”
Worry settles on my brows. “Has the doctor been here?”
She nods. “He gave him something to make him more comfortable.”
“He should go to a hospital,” I urge, inching closer. “They can take better care of him there.”
“He made us promise no hospitals. So just be patient with him, okay?”
“Fine,” I concede and walk into the room, closing the door behind me. It smells like antiseptic and baby powder, the lights dimly set and dancing across the heavy draped burgundy curtains. My parents’ bedroom has always been vintage Italian with rich colors and mahogany furniture.
As I round the corner, I find my dad sitting on the beige and gold striped bedspread wearing his black bed robe and his hands placed on either side of him.
“Dad, you should lie down.”
“Nonsense. I’m fine.” He inhales deeply, and I notice his untouched plate of food.
“Not hungry today?” I ask and take a seat on the beige-tufted chair across from him.
“I had a big lunch.” He’s lying. I can see it on his face. His sunken eyes and pale cheeks. But I don’t push it. My guess is he’s sick and tired of people nagging at him to eat, to sleep, to rest when he doesn’t want to do any of those things.
I lean back and lightly prop my ankle on my other knee. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I just want to hear how you are doing. How your wife is settling in.”
“She’s settling in just fine,” I reply. “Everything is good. You don’t have to worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” He clears his throat, then cranks his neck from side to side. The circles under his eyes are growing darker, his cheeks thinner. “I know this marriage of yours took place quite abruptly.”
“As you asked.”
“Yes.” His lips curve in a sardonic smile. “So, I have.”
“Is there something on your mind, Father?”
“You know, spending all this time in bed resting, it allows me to think of life—my life and all the decisions I made. Decisions that seemed like the right ones at the time, but now—” he exhales “—now I know they were wrong.”
Worry settles in my gut, and I inch closer to the edge of the seat. “What’s going on?”
“Pour me a whiskey, would you?”
I shake my head. “You know I can’t do that. You just had your meds.”
“Oh, my God,” he lashes out. “I’m already dying, Alexius. What difference is one glass of whiskey going to make? Jesus, I’ll get it myself.”
“Sit. Down,” I order, getting on my feet and easing him back down by his shoulders. “I’ll pour you a drink.”
He coughs, then nods. “The bottle is in my—”
“Closet, behind the crates with old newspaper articles and dirty magazines.” I shoot him a sly grin. “It amazes me that I figured this out when I was fourteen, and Mom still doesn’t know about it.”
My dad snickers. “I’m pretty sure she knows.”
“Probably.”
There’s a sense of nostalgia as I pull out the hidden bottle of whiskey and pour my dad a glass. Nicoli and I used to sneak in and take a swig of his secret stash every night before dinner.
“And don’t think I don’t know about you and Nicoli sneaking in here before dinner every night.”
I laugh and hand him the glass. “You knew?”
“Of course, I did. I figured it out when my whiskey was suddenly becoming less and less without me drinking any of it.”
“Shows how fucking stupid Nicoli and I were.”
My dad chuckles and takes a sip of his whiskey, humming his approval as he swallows. “Having the four of you is one of the few things I’m convinced your mother and I did right.”
I lean back in the seat, placing my elbows on the armrests.
“Children are a blessing given to us by God. You and Leandra shouldn’t wait too long before having your own.”
“Jesus, Dad.” Fuck, there’s always something with him. Nicoli was right. It was just a matter of time before this topic came up.
“I’m serious, Alexius.”
“We just got married, and you know the situation surrounding our marriage. Children are not part of the deal.”
“It should be. You will never know the meaning of life until you’ve held your child in your arms for the first time.”
I’m on my feet again, pacing across the luxury carpet at the end of the bed. “I didn’t even want to get married in the first place. The only reason I did it was because you threatened to hand over the Dark Sovereign to Uncle Roberto.” I spit out his name like bitter gall. “Is this why you wanted to see me? To give me yet another ultimatum, dangling my birthright in front of my face like a goddamn carrot?”
“Alexius, sit down,” he orders, out of breath. “That is not why I wanted to see you. All I’m saying is, when you’re a dying man like I am, you start to think of all the things you would have done differently. The things you wish you could go back and change.” He takes another gulp of whiskey, grimacing as he swallows. “You fucking realize that you spent half your life chasing shit that means nothing to you when you’re on your death bed.” He scoffs. “All this money, these Earthly possessions,” he gestures around the lavish bedroom, “how the fuck is it helping me now? All the money in the world can’t cure me or prolong my life. And power? What is power when death can erase you with a mere snap of its fingers? There’s only one thing that matters, Alexius, and I regret that it’s taken me my whole life to realize…and that’s family. Loved ones.” He swallows the last bit of his whiskey before slamming the empty glass down on his bedside table. “For ninety percent of my life, I focused on the wrong fucking things, spent my time worrying and chasing things that don’t. Fucking. Matter.” His eyes find mine, and he levels me with his gaze. “There is one decision I regret the most now…now that my life is coming to an end. One wrong decision that pains me more than any amount of morphine or medicine can numb.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, sitting down across from him.
His lips press in a thin line. “It no longer matters.”
“Clearly, it still matters to you.”
“The window of time for me to set it right has long passed. There is no use for me to open up old wounds now. But for you,” he continues, “for you, there is still time. I want you to have something worth fighting for, and believe me when I say money and power is not it. I know that now.” He swallows. “But it’s a little too late for me.”
For the longest time, we both sit there draped in this heavy silence, a grave sense of foreboding stealing the air of oxygen. And every second that passes feels like one moment closer to the end—an end we all knew would come eventually.
My dad clears his throat and glances around the bedroom. “I need a favor from you, Alexius.”
“Anything,” I reply, crossing my legs and clasping my hands in my lap.
“It’s short notice, but I do not doubt your ability to pull it off in time.”
“Out with it, Father.”
“Your mother and I, it’s our wedding anniversary next month.”
“I’m aware. Mom is planning a get-together, is she not?” I frown.
“She is.” My dad straightens his shoulders, inhaling deep and letting out a long sigh. “I need you to put together an early anniversary celebration. Here. At the house. But she can’t know.”
This makes me sit upright, shifting to the edge of the chair. “I can do that, of course. But if Mom has already made plans for a party next month, why surprise her with an earlier one?”
My dad nods, staring out in front of him as if his thoughts are wandering someplace far from here. It’s the first time I fully realize that my father has become a frail remnant of the man he once was.
He finally looks up, tired eyes pinned on mine with a heaviness that presses hard against my chest. “I need you to do this because I’m afraid I won’t be here next month.”