Blueprint

Part 16 - Ruthless

"He shouldn't get to do that, yes. But I think informing the authorities makes the most sense? If Ernest is ensuring his client's success in this case, and you're representing that client, what exactly did you do to make him so angry?" I inquire assertively, standing up straighter, my legs swinging over the sofa, feet touching the floor. Harry moves away, eyes widening slightly at my forwardness. He wasn't expecting that. Neither was I. But my breath had been taken away from me, and all the fear that my brain could inflict on me was used up in that car with Ernest. Now, I was simply confused.

Shaking his head, he sternly argues, "That's not for you to worry about. Axel is going to be with you at all times. This isn't going to happen again."

Pursing my lips, I narrowed my eyes at him and insisted, "No. That's not necessary. How well did that work before?"

"Athena."

"Don't," I remark haughtily, standing to my feet. I'm standing still for a moment, blinking. The force with which I was hit was making its lasting effect. I was obviously angry, but I was feeling so much at once, I didn't truly know how to react to the reality of everything that happened. The first step was accomplished; I was already afraid, scared, and horrified by the memory of Ernest's promise. I didn't want to see the second.

Keen on leaving, I looked around for my bag. I notice that this isn't a room I've been in before. I see a bed that compliments the red shade of the sofa. This appeared to be a guest room in what I believed was his building. Behind me, as I'm reaching for my bag that was set on the large bed, I hear Harry snap, "Athena, you should listen to me for a second."

He stands straight up, and I turn around, instantly retorting, "I should, hm? I listen to you all the time, Harry. Ernest just threatened to kill me. And the first thing you wanted to do was to take care of him. What kind of business are you and Yung involved with? If that's what we can talk about, maybe I will listen." I was not turning back on my instincts this time. Ever since he upgraded his security, with weapons, I was certain this wasn't just a simple, high profile case. This was something extremely important to a very powerful man, and that was concerning me. I was caught up in it by sleeping with one of the lawyers on the case.

Harry watches me place my bag on my shoulder, and I stare at him with wide eyes, beckoning him to answer me, but he remains quiet. I'm defeated and discouraged by his silence, understanding that his refusal to speak and even refute my claims only proves that I was correct. And he told me...he promised me that he was going to be honest with me. This was him keeping his promise. If he couldn't lie to me, then he would say nothing at all. I take one more glance at his face, wondering if he would attempt to stop me from walking away, that he would give me something. But he didn't. And I took that answer.

. . .

My mother was in the kitchen when I arrived at my house. Her hair was put together messily into an unrecognizable updo, and she held a large wine glass up to her lips, the deep crimson liquid at the bottom of the glass leaning towards her mouth. I peer into the kitchen carefully, watching her grab the wine bottle and lazily pour another glass full. I raised an eyebrow at her blatant behavior, only because she always outwardly expressed her dislike for any kind of alcohol. And to see her drinking it was pretty indicative to me about where her mindset was. I was unsure of whether I should approach her, but assumed that I could lie about my injuries and not be questioned repeatedly because my lie would be enough for her right now. She was clearly fed up with everything else.

And I didn't think too hard about what kind of lie I would come up with. Even as she saw me, she didn't really focus her sight onto the injured portion of my face. I'm completely prepared to defend any accusations she may have in mind, but surprisingly, she says nothing. Another sip of her wine, and she leans back into her chair and stares off at the wall across from us. Attentively, I take a seat next to her and ponder about what I wanted to say. If I even wanted to say anything. But my body moves on its own, automatically and involuntarily without my permission. I take one of the empty glasses by the bottle and pour myself some of the crimson-pigmented drink.