Our Deception

(19) The First POV

''Eleodore''. A voice startles me as they bring me back to reality. I blink away tears as I realize who it is.

Elijah.

"Why are you crying?" He asks, placing his thumb on my cheek to remove one rolling tear. I almost start sobbing. It's like when someone asks you are you okay while you're trying so hard to hold it in.

He hovers over me, a little startled, we're still in the limo but the limo stopped, and the doors are open. We must've arrived because Tori and Taylor are gone and it's only him and I.

"What's wrong princess?" He asks once more and I can't keep it in any longer, I start sobbing. I hated him so much, I hated Hades for everything he did to me, for ruining me so hard. For breaking me down till I was unfixable. For making me unable to love. For making me lose all trust, for making me exactly like him. Cold and heartless. I tried to ignore it, but it's slowly making its way back to my future.

Even while absent he still haunts me, his words, his touch his laugh. Everything. Including her. I lost the biggest part of me when he killed her. She didn't deserve it, if I could have gone back to change my actions, I would. I hate myself for my actions, which lead to her future. Her death.

I look up at Elijah, who is still hovering over me, trying to unbuckle my belt as I keep crying. He unbuckles it and lifts me up. One hand under my knees and his arm under my neck. As I keep crying, he carries me in, without a word.

I don't really want to talk right now so I'm glad he's not asking questions

___________

Elijah

I carry her in my arms, looking down at the broken girl sobbing in the corner of my arm as she tries to wipe away her tears.

I've never seen her like this before, even when I threw her in the dark room alone, she didn't cry. She didn't cry when I held her at gunpoint. She didn't cry when she was kidnapped. She didn't cry when she lost all hope of going home. But she's crying now. It makes me angry that she's hurt, was it because of my actions? My temper?

I'd be damned if I let her shed another tear. I don't get my sudden attachment to her, but I needed to be around her, I needed to hear her voice and her laugh. This wasn't usual for a guy like me. So all I do is carry her to my room.

As I carry her to my room her soft sniffling makes me tense. She didn't deserve whatever was upsetting her. I'd put a bullet in anyone who did, it's not like I haven't done it before, like that one blonde woman, I can't remember her name, but she was so excited about searching around in my mansion, I gave in, because she was the best sex I had in a long time.

She went out of line when she disrespected Eleodore, and she got incredibly annoying after that. I don't regret killing her, not even a second, that wasn't something I did.

I close the door behind me and but her on the bed as I tuck her in. I unbotten my shirt and kick my shoes off as I take my shirt and pants off. I lay myself on the bed next to her, where she's still crying. She's not making any sounds though. Her crying is like she's choking on unspoken words; she's not crying out loud, but there are in between sharp breaths stopping her from speaking up.

This new feeling was unwelcomed and unappreciated. It's like suddenly I'm in love with her or something, which was something I forbade; something my father forbade. 'Love makes you weak son, once they find out you love someone, they've found your breaking point, they've found out how to destroy you'.

I never knew who 'they' were, until the day my father foolishly went against his own words. He fell in love with my mother so carelessly and look where that got hum. I guess he was trying to warn me because they killed her, right in front of his eyes.

They spared my father, hoping his own mind and imagination would consume and kill him instead. They were right, he died two years later. 'Too much stress' the doctors said. They were wrong. His love's death was his death. But only after his guilt consumed him.

I've never had a problem following that rule; every woman I've ever met was like a clone of the woman before. Stupidly in love with my money, my presence and for some reason, my title as a mafia leader.

I look down at her, my heart is aching for her. I need her to speak with me, say anything, tell me she hates me for almost losing her. Tell me she hates me for pulling a dumb move like that.

I know it was dumb, beyond dumb, but seeing the way his touch affected her made me angry. I hate seeing someone else touch her, I hate every man who's ever laid a hand on her.

She looks up at me with her swollen, puffy eyes through her beautiful natural thick and long lashes. Her eyes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen, brown eyes with spark which is enough to light up a whole room. I look down at her in awe.

Her wavy volumed dark brown hair lays on her bare shoulder as she snuggles into the pillow. Her eyes shift around the room a bit.

''What's wrong, Eleodore?'' I ask, still confused about this entire thing, but eager to know more. Her eyes meet mine again.

''Nothing, it was just a panic attack, I think'' she shrugs as if it's nothing. I know this goes beyond that, I know she's hurt from something, I just don't know what.

''Alright. What's your favorite color?'' I ask again. I try to change the topic to something more in her favor. I don't know why, but I really want her to open herself to me.

She looks at me as if I just threw a bomb at her, confused by my sudden interest in favorite colors. I don't blame her, it's a shitty question.

After a while of staring she speaks up. ''Pink.'' She says flatly. I kind of expected something else than pink. She didn't seem like the type of girl who thought pink was a pretty color, she seemed more like the dark green or orange type of girl. I almost scoff at my own reaction.

My eyes shift from her face to her breasts. God. I've never felt such an attraction to a female before, I've never wanted to kiss a girl like I want to kiss her. It's like my lips are begging me to kiss her, to consume her anger and sadness, to wash it all away. But I don't. I don't step over the line. Her breasts almost fall out of that tiny dress.

That dress. It's been on my mind for days, ever since I saw her in it. The material wrapped around her curvy body while still exposing way too much skin. It was like she was trying to kill me with that dress, and she doesn't even know.

''What about yours?'' She asks while wiping away a tear. I smile a bit, because I know she's a little bit comfier now than she was two minutes ago.

''Red, I think''.

''Red? That makes sense, you like to kill everyone who annoys you.'' She says, supressing a laugh. She was right. Most people annoyed me, I just have the advantage of doing something about it.

''I guess that color comes with the title of a mafia leader.'' I joke.