The Life of Charlotte Diaz

Chapter 11. Insight

Not Edited 

A grin curled at the edges of his lips, and a sinking feeling erupted in my stomach, for it was the same grin he had when he had shot both of my parents with his pistol. That stupid, taunting grin haunted me for so, so many years. 

I gulped back the rage that grew in my throat and breathed out deeply. With my eyes closed tightly, I gradually felt my heart beat slow down from its fierce beating it was doing moments ago. 

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. 

I chanted in my head. 

After I felt could breathe properly, I opened my eyes and stared into Damien's eyes. Amusement sparked his orbs. He thought this was humorous! The rage came back just as fast. But I clenched my fists and instead, plopped myself on the seat across from him. My jaw clenched, my throat burning with a desire to speak. To blurt out the words on the tip of my tongue. So much. I wanted to say so much to him but I didn't know where to start. So, I bit my bottom lip and continued to stare at him. 

He looked older. His features more defined. Sharper. But his eyes. His eyes hadn't aged with him. They were still that deep black color that looked so intense, but vulnerable at the same time. That small ounce of vulnerability in his eyes is exactly what made me feel slightly less nerved to be around him. 

On the inside, I knew I was shaking. I was screaming and cowering away in fear because my mind wouldn't let me forget that these were the eye's of the very man who killed my parents. The very man who ruined my entire life and ripped my grandmother and I of our beloved ones. 

But on the outside, my face was impassive. With my lips set into a thin line and my eyes guarded from letting any emotion seeping in, I knew he getting frustrated because he couldn't get anything on me. He couldn't figure out what I was thinking or feeling and I saw his hands twitch slightly, causing a small tug of lips upward, before I pursed them again. 

Finally, after many moments of silence, he opened his mouth," My Charlotte," his voice drawled out in a husky manner. "to what do I owe this pleasure of being in your company?" The tone he used dripped with false innocence as his eyes sparkled with mischief.

My insides churned at his voice and I clenched my fist for a split second, calming myself down. 

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes assessing over every inch of me from what was showing. I trued hard not to squirm at the uncomfortable situation. When his eyes met mine yet again, I saw a devilish smirk  appear on his lips. "My, my, Charlotte. Haven't you grown into quite the woman." He rasped out, and I turned my head from his intense gaze. 

Don't give in Char. Don't let emotion cross your face. Don't you dare let this bastard get inside your head. He's trying to toy with you. He's trying to play with you. Stay strong. Stay. Strong. 

After the internal little pep talk I gave myself, I let my eyes cast back over to his amused one's, before taking out the note book I had and a pencil. Than, I looked down and began writing, all the while feeling his confused eyes staring at me. 

When I was finished, I turned the note book so he could read it:

I'm here for some answers. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

His eyes scanned the paper, before he looked back at me, cocking his head to the side. His eyes scanned my face, squinting, assessing everything a second time. It was as if he was searching for something that, to the eye, wasn't there, but was there beneath the surface. 

Than, his eyes widened in disbelief. "No," he whispered. "You... you can't speak. That's what they meant, didn't they?" He murmurerd, and my own eyes narrowed on his. "Shit," he whispered under his breath, before his eyes met mine once again. "When they told me you'd survived but something was still wrong, I had thought they were talking about your bullet wound. Not your voice. Not your sweet voice." I was disturbed to find his eyes fill with so much pain and regret. So much sadness and despair. It truly was an unsettling sight.