Adonis | H.S

chapter thirty-five: absence

Harry wasn't sure what was real and what was a nightmare that his own brain tormented him with. An assortment of guilt and anger and grief riddled his mind, his hands shaking as he stood in his foyer.

He'd seen the report on the kitchen counter. Seen that she'd seen it. She knew what he'd done.

And it was only once he'd scared her off that he knew just how much he relied on her. A curled fist swung out to a priceless painting, a hole in the canvas appearing to mirror the one in his heart.

He knew he'd done the right thing. It was what he should have done months ago.

She had already been caught in the crossfire because of him. And he had been selfish to fall for her as he had. Because he knew from day one that his fascination with her would cost them both something dear.

So, that morning, after he'd taken out his anger on one of his many enemies—one he was sure was after her—he decided to let her go.

He knew her. His stubborn little Venus. She would have fought for him, like always. Strained to see light in him that he knew wasn't there. If his act of selflessness—or what he told himself was so—had been apparent to her, she would have stayed.

So, he did the one thing he knew he could do.

He scared her.

Made her realise how dangerous he was. How being with him was a death sentence. She deserved so much better than the mess that he was, and he knew she wouldn't see that until his questionable morals had been put on display.

Willa whined uneasily, sensing Harry's distraught emotions, able to see that his chest had been ripped in half.

"I know, sweet pup." He looked down at her, his chest heaving. "I know you liked her. I did, too."

Willa huffed, carrying the toy that Scarlett had gotten her into the lounge, wanting any form of comfort she could get while her master was in such a state.

His phone rang, and he answered it blindly, walking into his office, which had been trashed during his rampage. "Did she get home safe?"

"Yes," Xander spoke tightly through the phone. "She got a cab."

"Good." He hung up, dropping his phone into his desk as if it had burned him. She knew the kind of monster he was now. Knew that he had secrets he didn't care to share, knew that he took lives like they meant nothing to him.

He couldn't stop seeing the look in her eyes when he yelled at her. Told her to go away. Told her the things he enjoyed doing to his victims.

The sheer reality was that he couldn't protect her, and he lashed out.

He was petrified.

But he knew she would be safe this way. Safe without him. People would squash her just to get a rise out of him, and now he could return back to his lifeless self. A shell of a man who knew no remorse and had no place in any lover's heart. Not that he deserved it.

And so, he shed the coat of soft goo and heart-warming emotions that had formed around him since he'd met her. Back to the cold, hardened, barely-feeling man he knew he could be. He didn't know how to be a lover. Or whatever he was to her.

He would keep his head down, keep painting the Venus he knew, and forget about the one who had been gracing his canvas as of late.

Miss me, please.

God, if only she knew how much he needed her to miss him. He felt like he was missing a limb. His entire fucking heart.

The H ring sat on the counter still. It would be a long while before he could stand wearing it again. The heaviness of it would weigh him down. Maybe he would never wear it again. No, it belonged to her now. It wouldn't feel right because it would always be hers, much like a large part of his very being would always be hers. He removed the S from his finger with a sharp grunt of pain.