My Ruination

Chapter 14.

~Maahira~

It was a particularly violent night. The storm raged aggressively, the rain bashing against the glass windows and the gusts of winds recorded to be as fast as 107 mph. A tornado warning had been issued earlier this evening as the storm swept in from the Atlantic Ocean.

Usually people rushed to the safety of their homes, locked up all the doors and windows and enjoyed this little reprieve from a busy life with their families under the candlelight. But not in this house.

It was 2:45 am in the morning. I stood before the open window in my room in a black satin sleep shirt and shorts, watching the thunderstorms crack the sky in vibrant shades of violet as the wind lashed the pouring rain at me, partially drenching me. It had been 36 hours since the incident. 36 hours to collect myself but I was still feeling just as distraught as that very moment.

The slightly wet clothes and the cold breeze actually helped my mind differentiate between the time in store and now, keeping me from dissociating or having anxiety attacks. I refused to let something like this break me and leave me at anyone's mercy. I needed to heal, yes, but I needn't feel desperate and helpless all over again to heal.

The cops hadn't been able to catch the robbers but they did take a statement from everyone present at the time. The paramedic gave me the first aid I needed and they offered me the contact of a registered therapist to talk about my trauma but I had respectfully declined. I didn't need to talk about it. I couldn't sit around and discuss how helpless I felt or how I pitied myself. Because I did not.

I had this inexplicable fire burning inside me now, a sense of rage so strong it threatened to swallow me on the inside. It was flaming gloriously, growing and bidding it's time to explode and vent out. And when it was going to explode, I am not sure I can pretend to be as nonchalant as I have been doing now.

Zaeden hadn't returned from Birmingham. Or maybe he returned but he hasn't set foot in this mansion yet. The lady, who had been subbing in for Neerja temporarily told me that she and Darsh are still at Birmingham but she had no idea about Zaeden. So I have been locked in this prison alone, with all the men guarding the gates and walls of the compound which about a mile away. Markov, too, kept hovering above me from the shadows like I was some suicidal maniac.

Zaeden didn't return.
Zaeden doesn't care.

I tugged on my hair, tying them in a braid and securing it with a rubberband, giving my restless hands some activity to do so. I don't understand why it bothered me so much that Zaeden does not care like it wasn't already obvious enough. We weren't in love or something. Infact, I don't think he had possibly love anyone other than his son, not even himself. Besides, he had just lost millions of dollars and the thieves were still roaming with facing any repercussions. He had much important problems to deal with, anyway.

So why does it keep feeling like a dagger had been taken straight through my heart? It doesn't matter. It shouldn't. I crossed my arms, tucking my palms under either of my elbows and breath in the scent of fresh earth infiltrating my nostrils when a loud metallic clang echoed through the silent, empty night. I jerked my shoulders in surprise and snapped my head to look at my bedroom door.

What was that? No movements occur near my door but I knew that I hadn't dreamed of a ghastly sound like that. It was like something metallic hitting the marble floors. I pressed my foot on the carpeted floor and tiptoed towards the door, soundlessly opening it and stepping out of my room.

I don't think someone could intrude the fortress-like mansion with the men standing at every nook and corner like guard dogs but what if someone had managed to? Or what if it was one of them? The corridor was dark and undisturbed, all the other doors shut close so I headed towards the staircase. I slowly climbed down the stairs, hoping I don't trip and fall or make any noise to alert the person. The power was purposely shut down to avoid short-circuit so the light emanating from emergency lights installed near the perimeter would have to do.

I reached the second-last step when something cold and hard touched my feet, or rather, it was lying around and I stepped on it. I sat down on the step above it and turn on the flashlight of my phone. It is a sickle. A smaller, much less sharper version of a sickle. Not just that. An entire box of tools is strewn open, lying in the corner and half the tools are missing. A bead of water trickled down my neck to my tight nipple.

Now, a perfectly logical explanation would be that something on the property has been damaged and the men have taken the tools to fix them. But what kind of mechanical purpose would require pruning shears, axe, saw, and bolo at the same time. And that to in this storm?

I lowered the flashlight and take the sickle in my dominant hand, slowly and smartly stepping around the staircase, through the landing and living room, heading straight for the main hallway. I took shield behind a wall and turned off the torch and watched, squinting my eyes. There was someone standing under the chandelier, smack in the center. The person was holding a sickle too, much sharper and longer one, and they were heaving. I could see the rise and drop of shoulders and inflation and relaxation of chest rapidly and judging by the outline of the figure, it was a man.

I don't think he is any attacker but then, why would he stand here so patiently armed and draw me out here. I walk towards him, my arm at the ready, undoubtedly the person watching me but as soon as I take two steps forward, I know exactly who it is.

I hate how intuitive and aware I become of his presence, even when he is only visible to me like a shadow of the darkness itself. Goosebumps rose on my skin and my nerves shivered vehemently as I inched forward, potentially lowering my weapon. I am about four steps away from him but he still does not acknowledge my presence. But his amber eyes are trained on me, watchful and alert as I approached.

"Zaeden, why are you..." Someone turned on the dimmed chandelier over our head and an inaudible gasp left my mouth. He was covered in blood. Red splattered across his chest and his neck, the rest camouflaged by his black shirt that is rolled upto his elbows. There is an ouroboros or a snake eating itself tattoo below his right elbow and above the wrist and currently, the snake's eyes are stained with red. His hair is a ruffled mess and his beard is overgrown, giving him a sharper edge.

He looked the reincarnation of Death itself, the Satan who dimmed the threat of tornado outside and every other calamities to nothing before his aura. My stomach twisted like all my organs were reshifting and the vibrations travelled down between my legs. There was so much my eyes were trying to communicate to him at the same time but I was sure he couldn't interpret them. Or so I thought.

Because Markov shoved a body on the floor and my eyes widened with horror. It was some man I had never seen before but it does not take a genius to figure out who he was. His throat was slained open and small surgical tapes were sticking parallely on the wound but in a way that seemed mockerish, like trying to defeat the whole purpose of bandages and medical tapes.

His fingers were cut off, so were his wrists, his chest and every inch of his skin I could lay my eyes upon with useless little tapes sticking to his wound. He was bleeding all over the pristine marble floor, no doubt dead and after I had taken an eyeful of his sight, Markov dragged the body out.

Zaeden suddenly stepped closer to me, bringing his blood-soaked hands to the cut on my throat that was caused yesterday and rubbed his thumb over the cotton pad held to my throat with small surgical tapes so gently, I would have moaned if I weren't so shocked.

The dead body was none other than the man who had held me against his blade yesterday and cut me and Zaeden brutally murdered him, also covering him with bandaids and medical tapes, recreating my small wound on his entire body.