The Void Queen's Ascension

Chapter 28

Aidan shakes his head, hesitating. His gaze lowers to the floor. "Drop it, Blaise. Please." 

She chuckles softly. "You should know by now that you are not meeting my gaze. You are hiding something. I have every intention of figuring out what it is." 

Aidan rolls his eyes with a scoff. "Yeah." He answers bitterly. "You probably would. You could just tell things about me without even knowing me properly. 

"Nah, Aidan, that was you when you approached me in the pub." 

He stares, narrowing his eyes. "Drop it, Blaise." 

"Does this have to do with your pa--" 

"I told you to drop it." His voice lowers to a broken growl. "Let it go." Blaise tilts her head, ogling Aidan before he softly adds, "Please." 
"You just said you were going to walk away." Blaise' eyebrows crease, worry etching itself onto her features. What is going on with you? Aidan, please. Tell me." 

"Really? It should not concern you. I am fine." 

"Aidan?" She repeats. At last, she backs away from him. Though he is reluctant to see her walk away from him. Her verdant eyes observe him as he departs. He allows the door to softly shift back into position. Standing alone in the kitchen, she stares at the door. Her eyebrows furrow. 

Something is clearly wrong. 

He flinched under my touch. 

He never--what happened to you? 

She saunters back from the kitchen to the living room, and refocuses her attention on the book. 

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When the bedroom door clicks shut, he releases a shuddery breath. Raking a hand through his hair, he leans against the door for a moment. For that said moment, he ponders locking the door, yet she would just storm in, breaking the door in the process. He pushes away from the door, entering the bathroom. Locking the door, he flicks the tap on, staring at the grey and crimson linoleum tile which encases the floor, wall and ceiling of the shower. Stepping out of the bathroom, he reaches for a crimson towel. 

Fitting. He muses, noticing the shade is almost identical to Blaise' eyes when she's furious. He enters the bathroom. He pulls off his shirt which is still slick with moisture from the rain. Throwing it on the sink, he catches a glimpse of the brands in the mirror. The shade no longer that of the angry crimson he had become accustomed to. 

Bastard. 

Bitch. 

Why should I help her? 

Don't help her for her sake. Do it for his. For Zander. 

He steps into the blasting stream of hot water. The steam rises and clouds the paneled glass. His eyes flutter shut as the heated flow soaks into his skin. The heat finally allows the muscles in his body to loosen. Scars littered where the brands could not. She did not deserve to know--she did not need to know what I was truly capable of. He easily recognized the fact that Blaise would do everything and anything to ensure I paid for the trauma. As he turns one-hundred-eighty degrees, the scars from past trauma bleed into the inky swirls of a few tattoos he had received. 

Ridiculous. 

She wouldn't agree to play the role of the distraction. 

She would tell me no. 

Leave me. 

Demand an answer. 

Yet, I vowed I would not leave her.