Let's meet a new(ish) character - you'll know what that means by the end of this scene ;) ...


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Scene 10: Night

A.D. 2015


No night had ever felt so goddamn dark. He fυcking hated it, hated his brokenhearted self, and hated most of all the sad fact that he had a goddamn heart. Hated the tall drink in his hand because it didn't numb the pain. Hated the ring that he kept turning over in his stupid fingers, again and again. The diamond ring that he'd been set to give to her, that one night so long ago, if only she'd been able to admit her love for him. But there was nothing to admit. There'd never been.

More than a year had passed since then, and not a thing had changed. The sole difference was that this time, tonight, she was the one who'd said goodbye. He hated himself for having let her back into his life, after having kicked her out that night, and even more so for having held onto the ring all this time. As if it had ever made sense to propose to the dark rose, let alone to consider it ever again.

Well, fυcking hell. None of that mattered. He knew better now. Axel took a deep swig of his drink and shoved the ring into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone as he did. Dialed a familiar number. Made his statement as soon as Jett answered. "It's done."

The sack of shit replied in his obnoxious accent. "So you've found her weakness, then?"

Axel stared down into the bottom of his glass. "She has none."

The fυcker chuckled. "Oh, I don't believe that for a second."

"Doubt all you want, Jettison. But I'm telling you now that if she even has a heart, it sure as hell isn't beating for anyone."

Jett chuckled again, and Axel could practically hear the motion of him condescendingly shaking his head. "Tsk-tsk. I know what this is, Golde," the cheeky son of a bitch stated. "This is you heartbroken, licking your wounds in some dark, sketchy bar, all alone, drowning your sorrows in drink, till the next slut walks in whose cheap sex might help you forget just how badly you're hurting."

Axel downed another bitter swig.

"You've finally realized that Atria just doesn't love you, and your stupidly oversized ego wants so desperately to believe that this means she can never love anyone," Jettison went on. "But that - dear Golde, you poor lost soul - that's just a pathetic delusion, not a plausible professional conclusion. So if you think this job is over, if you think you're done, then think again."

Setting his empty glass down on the bar, Axel signaled to the bartender for another one, muttering into his phone in a tone dripping with hatred and exasperation. "When I say I'm done, Jettison, I am seriously fυcking done."

Jett sniggered. "Right, and you think you can get away with that because you took some measures to protect your sweet old mum."

"That I did. Now, I know you're good at being a sick, twisted little shit, Jettison, but somehow I doubt you found out where she's hidden," Axel asserted. "If you can tell me where my mother is, I'll listen. But till then? Don't try to make me your bitch ever again."

He promptly hung up, mind turning to strategize as to how he should go about killing the shit-eating bastard.

The lanky, loser-looking guy behind the bar came to refill Axel's drink before vanishing into the backroom. Aside from him, Axel was now the only soul left in this joint. It was past closing time, he knew, but this was probably his thirteenth drink or something, so the bartender was no doubt counting on a big fat tip to finish off the night.

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