Today, I was happy, but I don't think anyone could tell. It was under the surface and mixed with anxiety. I'm not used to the combination, it's truly odd. But, I was simply focused on the task at hand.
Perhaps, it just feels like that to accomplish a mission - the pleasure of great achievements, and at the same time, the fear of grave consequences.
Any skill can be for good or bad, for defense or attack, to bring war or peace - cunning is the same. There are times for declaring one's full intentions, and there are times when fine words are twisted into vileness. And so I took what I could do, this gift to deceive, and I used it to protect myself and my family. It was just so easy to be cruel and then the damage was done, remorse and misery ahead.
So many times I wanted to undo things, but couldn't.
There are good and bad versions of winning. I was aiming for the good one, but this was my victory; a painful, sad, and desperately awful form of success. I expected to be eaten up by guilt, knowing how bad the aftermath of what I did. But, I chose to do this. It wasn't like I didn't calculate the possibility of the worst... Still, coming to this house was like voluntarily walking into a beast's den, existing to be devoured in the end.
There was a scream from deep within that forced its way from my throat, as if my terrified soul had unleashed a demon. All I felt was anger - to myself, to these people, to everybody. It would be safer and easier to choose not to stay, and I knew I was hiding the truth from myself of how much this had everything to do with my pain and the scars that just wouldn't heal. All I had to do was walk away for a while, but every step I took was a path to fear, and being afraid was just a part of the course.
When fear grabbed me by the tongue and dried my mouth, I didn't panic anymore. I'd been there before, I knew the feeling, and knowing it made it less scary. Fear could only hold me back, and stop me from reaching my goals. I couldn't say it would never come again after everything that happened... Just, it felt like each victory got a little easier, or that I just kept becoming stronger.
But, I didn't know Marvel was such a spiteful individual.
Every time I took a step forward on my investigation, he could always find a way to torment me with every unimaginable method.
Maybe, he enjoys seeing me in despair.
Marvel had shaken me, not with the chaos of rage, yet the brunt of a cruel method designed to bring my self-esteem to zero, to shatter my sense of self-worth. After that, I was expected to rebuild all the relationships from all sides, make any sacrifices necessary, and then recreate the peaceful atmosphere, still against that critical and cynical wall of sneering superiority that had become a particular part of who he was. I had a breakdown, crushed into a person barely capable of surviving was on him, yet the credit for rebuilding myself belonged to me.
I guess that's what it takes to mature and grow, so I can protect myself and those important to me. The breakdown was so long ago. I'm one of the lucky ones - I survived. From this place far from feeling safe and well, I'm glad it happened. I'm glad I went through that hell.
That was what I thought.
But, then, without any notice, Marvel dragged me down to taste another hell. This time, deeper and darker.
I guessed life had no color for him. No shades of grey, either. It was all black or white, right or wrong, legal or illegal. He could be the perfect pawn to conquer the underworld, but I didn't want him as a weapon. I don't have a fragile ego or anything. I just can't trust anyone without a visible weakness. It makes me wonder if it all is just a facade over something less stable... and less honorable.
I started to see the real things that caused his action, not the things I believed I was anxious about, or the things that made me scared. It took a while to get accustomed to it, but I had learned my lesson.
Now, instead of being part of the problem, it was the reverse.
When the frustration built and I thought I might explode, I took a deep breath. I didn't let it take me down. I told myself that everything will be alright. I reminded myself that I am a good person, I do good things, and there is a world full of good people out there. I believed that I'm still worthy of being a good person, receiving good treatment from others, and gaining respect and appreciation for what I did.
Today, I've let it go.
Into the ashen night of a billion stars, the sky was black tranquility; the kind that only wanted to hold the stars and help them to shine all the brighter, holding them until dawn. Frost grew over the window of Marvel's bedroom, ice crystals crunching on the pane and the bold greeting of breeze would surely follow in the morning, yet watching my breaths rise as new white-puffed clouds, there was a very cold night.
I was kneeling on one knee while Marvel was sitting on the couch, leaning against the backrest of it. His jacket was lying on the floor, dirty with different spots than black. He closed his eyes as I was wiping off blood spatters on him with a face towel soaked in lukewarm water. I threw the towel into the basket soon as it was spoiled in red and kept replacing it with a new one.
I tried so hard to keep my hands from trembling, but it was the least of my problem since the silence was so severe I could even hear my heartbeat.
I bet Marvel also could.
"Sir, I..." I paused for a while to compose myself. "I've tried my best to wipe the stains away, but I can prepare a warm bath if you want."
Marvel didn't answer, but he finally opened his eyes. They were still the same eyes I saw in the execution room earlier, but even now, I still couldn't find the right word to describe the emotion they tried to convey.
After what felt like an eternity, his hand reached out to my face and I flinched, instinctively clenching the towel in my grip. It was pathetic how visible my nervousness was and that I couldn't even pretend to hide it.
He locked my gaze and I felt his fingers stroking my hair, putting the bangs aside to see my face properly and I already felt so unprotected, so prone to the possible harm, even though it was really not there. He caressed my lips and placed his thumb in between them. His silence was the most absolute command ever - he didn't need to say anything for me to submissively open my mouth.
I tried to hold back my gag soon as I tasted some dried blood when his finger touched my tongue. It was the most terrible taste that had ever entered my mouth I could barely stand it dwelling with my saliva, let alone swallow it.
But, when I believed he did that to test me, I played along.
Marvel rose from the backrest and slanted closer toward me. His characteristic musky scent was soon replaced with the smell of a pungent metallic stench of blood, and the fact that I knew it wasn't his own made it even worse.
It didn't need long before he discovered the provocation when I was toying with his finger in my mouth. He stared at me for a while and suddenly pulled his finger out, indifferent to the fact that my teeth grazed his skin a little. Before I could anticipate his next move, his face had already become so close to mine, that even our foreheads touched. Before I could react to any of his proposals, the warmth of his lips had met mine.
Marvel's hands had locked my motion the moment they gripped around my face and his inescapable kiss served me to stop in my track. I staggered in surprise for a while, but instead of backing away in discomfort, I undid my clenching hands and leaned forward, putting my arms around his neck to kiss him back.
The cold night gave us even more reason to draw closer to one another, to feel our natural warmth. I was thinking about the possibility of another rough handling, so I prepared myself. But, to my surprise, Marvel was kissing me gently.
I'd been kissed by him before, but it was...
I never quite figured out that the warmth of his lips was more of their softness. Though his lips were warm, it was the feel of them that sent my mind into a sensual state of intoxication. That was why I reached toward his face and touched him lightly before the urge to kiss him took over.
It was still the same person, still in the same room, but everything felt different.
Who is this man?
The Marvel I knew was someone who liked to make a sassy comment and created a derisive sneer to mock others or the stuff he wasn't interested in. As much as he didn't feel sorry afterward, he just didn't care as much.
But, as if his mouth were sealed with an unseen cover, he didn't say anything. Not a word of scorn, not a word of sarcasm, not a word at all. Although, he behaved as usual.
Is he doing this to seek comfort after what he did? Or even trying to forget it and hoping the time will bury everything with each passing second?
Either way, why do I even ask, knowing I am also doing the same?
Although, if it were that easy, I could have erased that scenery from my memory already.
With a kind gesture far from harm, Marvel slowly pulled my jacket down my shoulders and loosened the tie around my collars, undoing the buttons on my shirt. To my surprise, despite all that had happened tonight, when I found out what he intended to do at a time like this, I wanted to lash out, have a tantrum, and beat him down to the ground. I wanted to vent, letting my anger out, but when I thought he might do this on purpose to test my morality, I stayed still with a bitter smile.
He really wants to strip me from humanity and pull me straight to the bottom of hell, doesn't he?
And so, I, being helpless and cunning the most I could, while ignoring my dignity, pulled him and started all this.