Desperation

Rain lashed against the windows of the study, contrasting with the silence that had descended upon his mind—his soul. Lukas stood next to the cool pane with his hands in his trouser pockets as he waited. And waited. And waited for the person he knew would show up any minute.

When the car lurched to a stop out front a half an hour later, he sighed. The figure rushed up the front stairs and burst through the door. It banged, and it was only a matter of seconds before the one in his study did the same. He remained standing even when the woman strode into the room. Out of their own accord, his gaze found hers long enough to see tears streaming down her grief-stricken face.

He refrained from rolling his eyes as she flung herself into his arms. Her whole body trembled as she sobbed into his neck. “Lukas. It’s my brother. He… he—”

“I know.”

She had a death grip on his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh. For the briefest of moments, it reminded him what the prick of pain felt like. Reminded him of emotions and the fact that perhaps he should at least appear to care.

“How do you know? It only just happened.”

He frowned at her with pity. It was only then, that she noticed his lack of response. He wasn’t consoling her. His arms weren’t wrapped around her like they often were, and his face remained impassive at her obvious devastation.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He pried her hands from his shoulders and pushed her away a step.

“You are quite smart, darling. I’m sure you can figure it out in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice was cool and detached, even to his ears.

She was hiccuping, confusion marring her brow. “What have you done?”

The words were breathy and broken, yet he didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“I believe you’re beginning to connect the dots.” He smiled, just a quick lifting of the corner of his lips, but it was enough for her countenance to shift.

She was shaking her head now, over and over, as if trying to shake off the implications of his statement.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. Did you have something to do with it… were you there?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t have to specify which of her questions he was referring to, for the affirmation shocked her enough as it was.

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“Tell me what I didn’t do, Marinette.”

“You didn’t—” but she couldn’t get the words out.

He couldn’t stop the grin that split his face, and was almost elated at the fear it instilled in her.

“And what? You’re not going to defend yourself? Justify your actions? Plead with me to see the reason?”

It was no use. He couldn’t justify his actions in a way she would understand. There was no reason he could give that would make her trust him again.

So he took a deep breath. Focused on the stream of air entering his nostrils, down to his lungs, expanding his diaphragm, filling him with the oxygen that kept his heart beating.

Unlike someone else.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Luka.” A pause. “Look at me.”

And still, he remained stoic. Apathetic. Uninterested in her attempts to see the good in him.

That was, until she walked closer, using her hand to turn his head until he had no choice but to stare into the oceanic depths of her eyes. Eyes that were once familiar, but now filled with an emotion he had never seen directed at him.

“Why? Why would you do it?”

“Tell me,” he interrupted her, “tell me what I did, Marinette. I want to hear you say it.”

Her hand fell from his face. “You killed my brother.” Her voice broke, twin tears leaking from those beautiful eyes. “You slit his throat. You killed the only person who ever cared about me.”

She shoved him then, full force against the window, breathing heavily. “You killed him!”

“Yes, I did.”

He remembered it perfectly. The feel of the fraying pulse beneath his fingertips and the warm blood dripping down his hands. Oh, it had been everywhere, on his clothes, his face, crusting under his fingernails, tainting his soul.

She was pounding his chest with her fists now… with the same hands that had run through his hair and held his calloused hands. Her attempts were weak, though, half-hearted in light of her grief. Grief he’d caused.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Slapping her would’ve had less of an effect.

The tears were streaming now. “How can you say that?”

“Self-preservation, Mari, you have to understand that.”

“No. No, I don’t have to understand that! How could I? He was my brother.”

“And he was in my way.”

She was retreating now, her face leeched of all color. Her mouth was open, questions he didn’t want to answer forming on her tongue.

“You-”

Yeah, well, Luka didn’t feel like explaining this to her. She’d clearly thought him to be someone of virtue, someone who cared. Maybe he had been the knight in shining armor once, always doing the right thing… but desperation changed a person. It turned them into someone they didn’t recognize—someone better.

“Yes, Marinette. I killed your brother.” He was getting impatient now. “I walked into that room with a knife in my hand and murder on my mind. I felt his pulse fade to nothing beneath my fingers. I watched the light leave his eyes. I left there with blood on my hands and a smile on my face.”

Oh, that felt good. He strode toward her with a renewed sense of authority at the admission.

“How could you do this to me?” Her voice was meek as she stumbled away from him. The fear in her eyes set him ablaze. “I loved you,” she whispered.

He’d thought himself in love with her, too, until he felt the thrill of dominance and realized that mere affection was nothing in comparison to power.

He laughed at the idea. “That was your first mistake. Don’t let it be your last.”