Page 8 of Dubious (Darkly Ever After)
Alaric’s words were so thick with emotion that they hung above my head like a bomb. My heart accelerated with fear, knowing that once it detonated, it would decimate the world around me, leaving shrapnel in its wake and replacing the life I knew.
With the inch of space between us, I grasped for a reply. I held his brilliant blue gaze, swallowing the jagged lump in my throat. “Excuse me if I’m a little suspicious of a grown man I don’t know.”
Alaric laughed, a boisterous sound that echoed beyond the trees surrounding us. “Fair enough. To be honest, you should be wary of me.” He rose from the bench and dropped his cigarette on the ground, pulverizing it with the toe of his black leather loafers. He bent, picking up the demolished filter before placing it in his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I asked, befuddled by his action.
“Just because I’ve decided to kill myself by smoking doesn’t mean I want to kill the planet in the process.”
“Well, that was unexpected,” I whispered.
Alaric leaned down, his face directly in front of mine. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“I can’t judge anything. I barely know you.” I leaned back, needing the space between us before I became intoxicated with the liquid pools of his eyes and the scent of tobacco, peppermint, and musk.
Alaric smiled, pushing past my boundaries, something I should despise, but I found the invasion welcoming. I visibly shivered. My skin bloomed with goosebumps as his warm breath hit the shell of my ear, and he whispered, “Well, then, I think you should get to know me.”
He didn’t wait for me to respond; he just smiled and walked away.
I wipe the remnants of tears off my face. I’m sick of crying about things I can’t change. This sense of helplessness is a noose that restricts my ability to breathe. I’m frightened that it will eventually snap and pull me under, leaving me hopeless, surrounded by darkness.
My heart jumps at the knock on my bedroom door before it slowly opens. A flash of shame hits me at the hope that it’s Alaric to tell me how sorry he is. Maybe fall on his knees and beg for my forgiveness. But it’s not Alaric. It’s the person I least expect.
Asher.
The bed shifts as he flops onto the mattress, making me bounce. I’m unsure if he’s trying to lighten the mood or make me perversely aware of his sheer size.
Asher is a large man. My friend, Isari, would call him thicker than a snicker. He leans back on my bed and smiles as he takes in the princess motif decor. I realize how girly it is, with the pink comforter, frilly white curtains with lace applique, and the bench covered in stuffed animals.
“Your room is deceitful, you know that? It gives a man the illusion that you’re a little girl living in a fantasy world of fairytales and happily ever after.” Asher turns to me with a snide smirk. “Based on those puffy eyes, the illusion is laced with reality.”
Where Alaric makes me sweat, Asher makes me mad. His gaze is electrifying and dangerous, revealing the twist of a small boy and a deranged serial killer. He’s arrogant, with no filter, and no care that his words are bullets that decimate as they leave his lips. But under the sharp tongue is a soft soul strangled in darkness.
ChapterFour
Asher
Ella’s been crying. I don’t like how that makes me feel, and discomfort twists inside me.
People usually cry without crying—a grotesque squinting of their eyes, jutting their bottom lip, and incessant whining. The most amusing part of the scenario is that the entire time they're playing victim, not one tear falls from their pathetic eyes. Women have mastered that shit. I can’t blame them, I guess. They’ve been allowed to get away with it for years.
But looking at Ella, I know that her red, puffy eyes, the dampness on her pillowcase, and the tears drying on her face are real. Her pain isn’t constructed to win sympathy she doesn’t deserve.
When we first moved here, I thought Ella was the same as any rich girl. My perception of her was based on my lived experience with pretty, snobby blonde girls who made it clear I didn’t belong in their society. Scars left behind as a poor kid too smart for schools in the slums but not good enough to fit in with the upper crust.
“Don’t wallow in your sorrow so long that you allow those deluded by their power to have a hold over you.”
Ella stares blankly at me as if my words are a cluster bomb of confusion. I lean forward, allowing my fingers to brush her soft hair and holding my tongue to let my words settle.
Her eyes shut. “You don’t need to pour salt on my wounds.”
“Stand up. Yell at him. Tell him you won’t break simply because he told you to. Take the pain, humiliation, and grief and swallow it, burn it, pulverize it until it’s a small ember that fuels your right to persevere.”
“Who’s side are you on?”
I smile as her nose scrunches and her eyes slant in suspicion. Pride blooms within me, something that doesn’t happen often these days. Even when broken, a lioness dwells inside her, tearing down the facade she’s been forced to create. Ella is a survivor, and as much as Alaric is willing to walk away from her, I’m not. “Alaric’s side, River’s side. Your side. But most of all, I’m on my side.”
The corners of Ella’s lips lift with the sweetest smile, confirming that despite her fragile appearance, she has what it takes to burn in the flames with us and come out on the other side.