“Hope.” This time the voice is Benjamin’s, and it’s so soft it breaks through my haze. Nothing like the tone he usually addresses me with. This reminds me of our time together at his house. My house.
I turn to him, hand shaking slightly. His eye is bloodshot, red and purple marring his cheek where Quinn must have landed several hits. “Give me the gun, Hope. Hand it over.” His words register, but I don’t want to lose the grip on this opportunity. I could end everything now. Squeeze my finger and put a bullet in Quinn’s head. Turn around and get Nathan, too. But do I really want them dead? Is everything working towards killing? Ruin and pain were what I was striving for when I first set out on this path. I needed it, still do.I've been polluted with such hatred that I’m now standing ready to pull the trigger and kill someone. Two someones. My brothers.
My eyes narrow at all of them, Benjamin included,as my toes press into the floor beneath me and I consider his request. If I give up the gun, I may end up hurting more than I ever wanted to, but surely that would be better than murder? My head shakes, confused about what's best to do.
End it. Don't.
I look into Benjamin’s eyes, seeing the man at the beach house, the one who almost loved me for a day and night.
“It's all right. Give it to me.” He reaches his hand to me slowly, creeping closer and smiling as if he's trying to temper me down. “Hope?” It's such a nice voice, calm, relaxed. “Come on, baby.” My brow furrows, knowing that this isn’t the way I wanted it all to play out. I don't want anyone dead, not really.
Hatred or not.
The tension finally seeps from my shoulders because of his hypnotic words, and I steadily lower the weapon and look to hand it to him, but he snatches it from my grip.
My body tenses immediately, anticipating the sharp slap to my cheek, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a strange, beguiled expression covers Benjamin’s face, something I’ve not witnessed before.
“Sorry,” I mutter, tearing myself from the spot I’ve been rooted in. I rush to leave, and all but run into Emily, not noticing her until now. She doesn’t say a word, and I step around her and head to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I fall behind it, crashing back against the wood as I suck in air that refuses to cooperate and fill my lungs. Darkness creeps at the edge of my vision again, but I fight it away. I stand and tilt my head to the ceiling, pulling in slow, deep breaths to get myself under control.
There’s no way in hell I’ll allow myself another blackout like earlier. Yesterday? Hell, I don’t even know what day it is anymore. Did I really just think about killing people? My head shakes,hands trying to steady the buzz inside it.
I listen for a few moments to see if any footsteps approach. Benjamin wouldn’t usually come after me for any reason. There has never been a reason other than sex, but then again, I've never threatened another man’s life in front of him before. What do I say now? That I thought he was in danger?
I need to calm down. Think.
When my breathing eventually evens out, I head to the bathroom. The light illuminates my wild eyes and the mess that I’m in. I pride myself on always being put together, not a hair out of place. Well, seems that stopped last night. I'm a mess. Dark circles rim my eyes, my hair untamed and straw-like, and the thin cami top I’ve been sleeping in leaves little to the imagination.
With a new wave of determination, I change into the goddamn jeans Benjamin keeps going on about, and a shirt, before running the comb through my hair a hundred times. I need to get a grip, pull myself together. It's not surprising Quinn said that stuff out there. What I'm looking at in the mirror is nothing like me.Who the fuck is she?If only he knew.Not that he will until it's too late.
With all the knots banished, I tie it in a loose topknot, brush my teeth and add a little balm to my pale lips. It’s far from my usual self, but hopefully I’ve lost the crazy girl look.
I step out of the room, waiting for sounds before proceeding to the kitchen. The clock on the cooker reads seven in the morning, and I’m surprised to be greeted with the sight of Emily busily getting coffee and breakfast things together.
“Good morning,” I offer, suddenly affronted by another woman in my kitchen.
She doesn’t respond right away, but simply carries on pouring the hot water, humming to herself, before she walks up to me. The stinging pain I had been waiting for from Benjamin, sears across my cheek.
“Don’t you ever point a gun at my husband again.” The threat sounds strange coming from her. This small, delicate flower that I’ve seen and spoken to suddenly has thorns that are sharp as hell. I grip the side of my face,glaring at her.
“He deserved it.” The words won’t make sense to her, but they do to me.
“Well, next time if you feel like making a threat, at least make it count. You can’t show any weakness. Not in this world.” Her eyes dart from me and she goes back to using my kitchen.
I stand, watching her as she pulls a batch of what I think is pancake batter from the fridge and starts to ladle it into a hot pan.
“Take the coffee through. They’re in the office, but I suspect they’ll eat in the dining room. It will be about ten minutes,” she snaps, dismissing me with a blank stare and unsettling me further.
I take the tray with the coffee through, pushing the door open with my backside and then turn into the room. The three of them are all slouched in the chairs around the low coffee table at the far end. Worn out and certainly worse for wear, bruises all over their features. Except for Nate. He’s a little more together than his companions and smiling for some reason.
“Would you like me to get you some ice?” I offer to all of them as I set the tray down.
“Ice? You want to give me ice now?” Quinn scoffs and turns away from me,disgust in his eyes.A thick depression, like a fog, mutes them all after that. It hangs heavy, filling the atmosphere with animosity, as if they’re all spent from their fight earlier.
“Coffee,” I say to no one, turning to leave the room.
Benjamin seizes my wrist before I can move. He looks up at me, searching for something. My face masks into bland and unreadable, just as I've trained it to do. Just as he's trained me to become all these years.
“Breakfast will be ready soon,” I mutteras I tug my arm from his hold. My voice is timid, and I hate it. I hate what this night has made me, what I’ve done to myself.
