The amber liquid burns in the back of my throat, and I relish in that burn as it settles into my stomach. Warmth pools and spreads out across my insides, and I take another drink, and then another, drowning my pain, my past, and a future I’ll never have in the warmth of whiskey.
It would be so much fucking easier if she saw me as a monster, as the fucking man giving her a death sentence, but I’m not even doing that. I’m saving her, setting her fucking free, and when all this is over, I’ll be nothing but a black stain on her heart, a dark memory from her past that she doesn’t want to remember. My grip on the bottle of whiskey is hard enough to shatter it, and I swallow around the bile that rises in my throat at the memory of losing my sister.
I saved Violet to make up for failing my sister, but I didn’t really save Violet. I didn’t fucking save anybody. She loves me. She fucking loves me, and that’s not saving her, that’s condemning her to a life she’ll never be able to escape from. Everyone who ever loved me is either dead or wishes me dead. I destroy anyone who gets close to me, and I’ll destroy her, too, if I don’t let her go.
“Roman…” I called out for my brother, but he wouldn’t look at me.
He hated me as much as I hated myself.
“You killed her, Ivan. You killed our sister.” Tears filled his blue eyes, and I swallowed around the guilt and shame that coated my insides.
“I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.” I pleaded with him to understand, for anyone to understand. I was so alone, so broken, that parts of me wished it was me who had been struck by a car that day instead of Mira. I deserved to die, not her. She was young, beautiful, and had a long life ahead of her.
“All you had to do was be a brother.” Roman shoved against my chest, and I let him. He pushed me, his fists slamming against my chest. We were both the same size now, and if I wanted to, I could probably stop him, but I didn’t want to.
I wanted to die. I wanted him to hurt me.
“All you had to do was watch her, and you didn’t. You let her die, you killed her…” Each word came with a punch, and I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears started to fall.
“It should have been me, Roman. It should have been.” At my words, the punches stopped, and I blinked away the tears staining my vision. Roman looked me straight in the eyes, my little brother, the last person I had in my life to protect.
“I hate you, Ivan. I hate you,” he snarled, and I knew he meant every single word he said.
When I come to, there are tears on my cheeks and my entire body shakes with anger and sadness. It’s been years since I cried, since I fucking let the feelings unravel inside me, but vowing to help Violet, seeing her struggle and be attacked, brought those feelings closer to the surface.
“Fuck her,” I growl, chugging the rest of the whiskey in the bottle. I’m angry... so fucking angry. I’m on the verge of exploding and even through the fucking haze, I know I still want her. Even when I shouldn’t, I still want her. I want her to love me, because I want to love her, too... and maybe in some way, I fucking do.
I don’t know. I let the whiskey burn me from the inside out, drowning out my emotions. Every single fucking thought fades as the alcohol takes over my body. I throw the bottle against the wall, listening as it hits, shattering into a million pieces in various directions. I grab the next thing I see and toss it against the wall…
I didn’t save her... I didn’t… Like a tornado ripping through a small town, I destroy my apartment. Nothing matters. Nothing. I grab a bottle of vodka and start chugging it. It burns my insides and makes my eyes water but I don’t care. I just don’t want to feel anymore.
A gasp fills the air… and I know who that gasp belongs to.
“Go the fuck away,” I growl, keeping my back to her. I don’t want to see her face, the pain in her eyes. She broke us. Ruined this fragile moment, a moment I gave her because she begged for it. I should have known better. I should have kept my dick in my pants.
“Ivan.” Her voice cracks something inside of me, and I hear her small footfalls moving behind me. What the fuck is she doing? Why isn’t she listening to me?
I whirl around, anger pouring out of me, like lava erupting from a volcano. She’s picking up all the shit I’ve broken, the shit I wanted to break. She’s trying to fix things that can’t be fixed and for some reason, that makes me angrier.
“I said to fucking go away.” I stumble over to her, feeling pieces of glass imbed into the bottoms of my feet. I feel the skin slice, but I don’t feel pain. I feel nothing. I am numb. Broken.
Violet gazes up at me, her bottom lip trembling, fear taking root in those deep blues of hers. I can’t image what she’s thinking right now, how she’s feeling?
I tell myself not to care when I grab her by the arm and force her to stand, failing to notice the broken glass shards in her hand. My movements jostle her, and when I hear the cry of pain fall from her lips, I stop, releasing her instantly. Our eyes meet, and we both look down to her hand at the same time where a piece of glass has pierced through her skin and is now sticking out.
“Shit…” Within half a second, I am completely sober. At the sight of her blood, anger is replaced with worry. Blood starts to drip from the cut, sliding down her wrist and onto the hardwood floor beneath our feet.
“I’m sorry,” she barely gets out, her eyes misting over. Fuck, she’s going to cry again. I’m such an asshole. She just wanted to help, and now she is sorry because I hurt her.
“No, Kitten, don’t be sorry.” Picking her up by the hips, I walk her to the kitchen. Shoving shit out of the way as I go, I sit her on the kitchen counter. Her fragile body starts to shake, and I know I have to do something. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Please don’t move.”
I walk over the broken glass, not caring about anything but Violet in this moment. I walk into the bedroom and then the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit. I jog back into the kitchen and see her body swaying, her head against the cupboard behind her.
“You still with me, Kitten?”
“Yes.” Her eyes go wide as they drop back down to her hand. Her face is pale, and she looks like she might throw up. “Why did you destroy your house?”
I want to laugh. Even when she’s hurting, she’s still trying to figure me out, trying to piece me back together.
“Me destroying my house is the least of your worries right now. I need to get this glass out of your hand and stitch you up.” I’m focused, determined. I’ve cleaned many wounds in my days. I’ve given many stitches; hell, I’ve stitched up myself, but I’ve never done this for a woman before.
“Stitches?” She starts shaking her head. “N-no, I don’t like needles. I think it will be fine. I don’t need stitches.”
“Shhh, Kitten, calm down. It’s going to be okay.” I cup her by the cheek and look deep into her eyes. She’s terrified, worried out of her damn mind, and I have to make her feel protected, secure.
“Breathe, just breathe with me and it’ll be fine.”
When she nods her head, to let me know she hears me, I release her and open the kit, pulling out everything I need.
“I’m going to pull out the glass and then I’m going to clean the cut. I want to see how deep it is before I start sewing you up. This isn’t going to be like pulling a band aid off. I can’t do this fast and quick or I might widen the cut.” I hold onto her wrist with a death grip, afraid she may jump off the counter and run away. With a steady hand, I start to pull out the glass, slowly, very slowly.