CHAPTER 9
SWEETNESS, LOVE AND AGONY
-Two years ago-
The headline news of the Apollon Town's newspaper, Winston Wellington, had died on the bed of the Apollon hospital—after being beaten brutally last night at the gas station on lostwood street.
I killed him.
I put the paper down on the counter in the kitchen, shocked. My ears turned numb and rang like a high-pitched siren in one tone, and then I couldn't even hear my own heartbeat. My head started to spin. Even my face was looking straight,
"Sweetie—Sweetie," my father called me, but I couldn't turn my head, so he blocked my sight. He held my face, "Baby—sweetie, are you alright!?" He asked or shouted at me I didn't know.
"Zia—Zia!!" I was sure he shouted this time. I shifted my eyes to him to see his dark blue eyes—then, the sight I saw was smeared by my tears. "Baby, what's wrong!?" His veins popped up on his forehead, and his thick eyebrows were tight together.
My tears dripped, dropping down on his big, rough hands.
"Father—I'm sorry," I said,
"It's okay—it's okay—baby," He held me in,
Then, my mother came in and quickly touched my head. "What's wrong!?"
"It's okay, sweetie—it's okay," My father kept soothing me without knowing what terrible things I had done.
My mother's hands also patted my head and ran her fingers through my hair, "I'm here," She whispered.
That evening, my parents had some talk about something—about the news and something that I hadn't tried to pay attention to. I decided to sneak out to see with my own eyes. Before I left my house, I noticed my mother, with her dark hair contrasting with her skin, sitting with my father as if she were a painting. But her face looked so worried. I hoped it wasn't because of me. I noticed her being off these past few days—not quite herself. I ran through the woods and headed to the hospital. The sun is setting, the orange and red light mixing together in the sky, burning the cloud, like it's burning my mind the same way. Before my eyes witnessed the crowd in front of the hospital building, I was out of the woods, crossing the street and pushing through people, strangers, and familiars. The sun was gone from the background, and only the spotlight from the building shone through, seeing Wellington's family crying. Her mother was weeping, shedding her tears so loud—louder than the crowd's gossiping. I shifted my eyes to the body that was on a stretcher, which was covered by white fabric,
It was true.
He was dead.
As I watched the victim, who I was the predator—killer, suddenly my mouth was covered by someone's hand, and I was dragged away back into the woods, and no one noticed it. I screamed inside and tried to turn around, but I couldn't. My sight of the crowd started to disappear, and far away enough, I was released. I quickly turned around, and about to raise my fist, I halted after seeing the man in front of me. It was Zygmunt.
"HA—what?" I panted and was scared.
"I'm sorry, " he said, and his expression was hectic and frantic. He stepped closer to me, held my hands, looked at me, and said nothing.
I shook my head lightly, confused about his behavior, perhaps because of the man that I murdered. "It was me," I said,
"No—Zia," He pulled me in closer.
"They will find out it's me, Zygmunt."
"No, no—I took care of it—I already took care of it."
"How?"
"Look, Zia, I do not have much time. I have to go."
"What?"
"I had to go…" He said with his eyebrows rose up, his face was full of his indignity or mine,
"You're going to leave me now?" I was upset. "During this time—What—H–How?" I stuttered in a shaking voice. Then he held me in his arms, held my face, and kissed me. His lips were full of passion—eagerly, intensely.
"I'm sorry, I don't want to leave you, Zia, but I had to—" He said,
"Ha—wha—" I was stunned by his kiss, my first kiss.
"I already took care of it—no one will know—you're okay, Zia—you'll be fine, I promise." He was holding my face up to look at him the entire time.
I held his waist, and my tears were about to run down again. "Zygmunt—where are you going?" I asked,
He said nothing, rubbed my cheeks, and looked at my lips, "I'm sorry, Zia—you don't have to worry about that shit."
"How? I was the one who—"
He put his lips on mine again and moved them slowly, opening his mouth and using his tongue to touch mine as well, and then he pulled away, "Ha—it never happened—it never happened—understand?"
I stared at his silver eyes, longing and suffering about something, and then I nodded.
"Zygmunt—how about your wound?" I asked softly,
"I'm fine—Zia—I'm fine because of you." He said, looked, gazed, and moved as if he was so in love with me.
And only last night was just our first and our last intimacy.
"I gotta go," He said,
"W–Why?" I asked,
"Everything will be fine." He said and tucked my front hair behind my left ear, and he ran his fingers through my hair, "I must be the least favorite human by heaven, but—at least they despair my little time so I can be with you—"
I didn't understand at all,
"I should have talked to you since the first day I met you, " he whispered. He pursed his lips and kissed me one last time in his warm arms, under his heaven kiss, and then he took his kiss and himself away from me, from the woods.
I never thought the first kiss was full of sweetness, love, and agony.
---
My heart is beating so fast,
"I think I'm gonna go," I say,
"Hey—hey," he says and runs to me, grabs my hand, "you can't go outside,"
"Can you let me go, please?" I say with my head straight to the back door,
"Why?" he asks, pulling me into him lightly, but I stay my ground. "Why? Do you imagine me to be someone else?" he asks as he steps closer, but I avoid facing him. "Or—are you disappointed that it was me?"
I slowly turn to him and realize how bright his eyes are. "Disappointed?" I repeat, "Heh," I shake my head, "All this fucking time, Zygmunt." I turn to look at him directly, "You fooled me—and played me," I step toward him, my face almost against his chest. I exhale on his chest and see how his heart is beating under his broad chest, and he's not stepping back. "Disappointed in what? Because I don't know you anymore—have I ever known you, to be honest? What the fuck is the point of doing this to me? Stalking me—Scaring me—and then saving me—and playing with me like I'm just a doll."
He breathes on me, listens to me, and just stands against my body without any movement.
"And you announced yourself to Merides—like—it was your first time—acted like I'm a fucking stupid!" I start to lose my mind.
His fingers on both hands start to feel my palms beside my body, and I raise them up, avoiding his touch.
"Ha—and you—told me to break up with Tytas—for what? You want me to be with you? You're in love with me—don't want me to be with anyone else—is that all true? Zygmunt—ha," I pause and huff like I'm out of air.
I've never been this kind of angry before, even though I have; I'll never ever show it like this—my heart is throbbing; it's a different kind of rush; it's not an angry rush that I'm completely mad and hit someone. It's an extraordinary rush; my stomach is full of storm—hurricane—and fucking silver lining in his eyes, making me want to—scream and cry.
Then, I push him away, but he doesn't fall back. He's too buff to fall from my tiny push.
"I started to—open to you—" I look at him, "I start to accept—the way you are because you must have your reason—that guy—must have his reason to do this to me—he saved me—he's crazy and psycho but at least he wasn't acting like a fucking saphead like other guys around here—and it's you, you are the fucking same—Zygmunt," I look at him angrily without caring what he will think of me as an emotional, stupid girl.
He holds both my arms, and I push him on the chest again—and again.
"You see me as a fucking fool—is that how you see me? Like a fucking doll so you can push me back and forth—and play with whenever you like—hic—I thought you were different—hic," I start to cry,
He moves his hands from my arms to my back and holds me in,
"No!" I cry and push him, and hit his chest and try to get away,
He grabs me and wraps his arms around me, "I'm sorry," He says,
"Let me go!" I jump and squeeze myself to get out, but his arms are too strong to escape from.
"You can't," he says,
"Hic—I don't fucking care!" I scream,
He carries and walks around the sofa away from the door. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry," he says,
"Hic—Hic," I cry, then slightly stop moving.
"It's true—I'm sorry," he loses his grip and turns my body to him. "It's all true," he whispers. He holds my face up and sees my tears run down my cheeks, but I see his eyes are full of shame.
Then, he kisses me.
He holds my face and my waist—close enough that I can feel his heart beating. His lips are soft and rough, and my lips start to follow his kiss like a fool.
I feel the tip of his tongue, and I get the chill over my body.
And I surrender,
He pulls his lips a little, "I never see you as a fool, my Zia—even I see you as a doll—but you are my baby doll, my one and only doll for me—and the psycho man that saved you, stalked you is also me—the same me—Zygmunt—your Zygmunt, Zia," he says along with his breath the deep voice runs through my mouth down on my throat and I swallow all of it—rough and tough but it's real.
He wipes my tears and puts his lips on mine.
As his hands wrap around my body and his tongue wraps around mine,
This tensity moves my feelings away through his breath,
"Ha," I gasp before he's about to kiss me again. I take a breath and pull my lips out,
"I didn't play you," he says. I hate myself, and that makes you feel like this," he tilts his face down to see my face as I head down.
"Ha—then why?" I ask him as I close my eyes.
I can't wrap my thoughts at this moment. His arms wrap around my waist as if our bodies are one.
He holds my face up as he purses his lips about to kiss me,
"Ha—" I gasp as I huff.
"I want you to know the real me—the possessive—obsessive—me," he rubs my cheek, "the side you don't know—how crazy and insane I am—when it comes to you."
"And you just couldn't come to me like a normal person?"
"Heh—I wish that too, but," He holds me more gently, "I wasn't ready—I was selfish—I wanted to know you—more prepared before I approached you." He explains.
I sigh and try to control my breath and my brain. My body is getting calm, and I feel the warmth in his arms. I push him away from me lightly so I can breathe. He gives me a little space, and eventually, he sees that my consciousness is down to earth, back to my body, and then he lets me go.
"You guys—are crazy," I murmur. He stands still and says nothing. "Why do I attract all the psycho men?" I mumble to myself.
"Perhaps you—"
I quickly glare at him, "I talk to myself." I say,
"I see, heh," He pauses and then chuckles lightly. I glance at him and glance at the door, and then he walks to block the view.
He uses his silver eyes on me. "You'll be safe here," He says as I stare at him. He approaches me slowly, "I won't do anything—" He says,
I wipe all the water on my cheeks and eyelashes, and I walk around his body, decide to sit on the couch, and rest my back and ass for a while. He grabs the same mug and gives it to me from behind, "For now," He finishes his sentence. I exhale as I close my mouth and take his warm chocolate.
What the fuck is going on with my life?
I ignore his existence, but my eyes glance at him from time to time. He slowly sits next to me on the couch.
"How long will I have to be here?" I ask,
"I just saved you from that fucker. Now, you really want to go out?" He asks back,
I roll my eyes and look at him,
"You don't want to be with me that bad?" He asks again, teasing me.
I sigh, "I thought it was you—that fucker you talked about." I say.
He stops his smile immediately, rests his arms on his lap, and stares at me, "What did that motherfucker do to you?" I raise my hand to touch my neck lightly and put it down, and he groans again, "What the fuck did he do?" and without a second, he gets up and about to pick up the helmet.
"What are you doing?" I ask,
"I'm going to haunt that fucker." He says upsettingly without looking at me
"He has a gun," I say.
"I know how to handle the gun, Zia," He says,
"With what? Your fucking helmet?" I ask; he sighs heavily and is about to take another step,
"Stop, he didn't do anything—I already destroyed his balls," I say, and he turns his face to look at me. "If you know, this isn't the first time someone sneaks up on me," I say as I raise my right eyebrow. "It feels like it's the unexpected hobby of my life now," I mumble.
He clenches his jaw, puts down his helmet, and looks up at the ceiling.
"Can I take a shower?" I ask, and then Zygmunt looks at me immediately, "I just got back from the hospital and ran to the street barefooted," I explain,
He stares at me without a blink—Didn't he hear or ignore me?
"Can I?" I ask again,
"Yes—better use the second floor," He says,
I get up and wait for him to lead the way, but he looks hesitant for a second and leads me upstairs. I follow him quietly, watching his firm butt in front of me. On the left side, there's another hallway, which he turns to, and I turn to look at the right side, where there is another hallway a few doors away. Then, Zygmunt stops himself and opens the door for me.
"Here," He says, "A new towel is over there,"
I look inside, and it's clean—well,
"It's yours?" I ask as I look around and notice the towel in navy color.
He puts his right arm on the wall of the bathroom door's entrance; over my head, I look up at him and notice his head almost hits the edge of the top of the door.
He looks at me back, "It's new." He says,
"So, it's yours," I repeat. He says nothing, only glares at me. I can't help but smile in the corner of my mouth and get inside. "Can I use your shampoo?" I ask,
He quickly licks his lips, "Mine is yours." I stare at him, "Whatever you want—they are yours." He says, "I'll give you something to change." He then walks away.
I am startled.
I look around again. It seems this room hasn't been used, or he has cleaned it so well. He comes back with a black sweater, and I take it without a fuss.
"Thank you," I say. He stares at me like he wants to say something, but I decide to close the door since his lips aren't moving, and I don't want to stare at his fine lips and whiskers for too long.
I sigh a long way to this rollercoaster ride.
"Fuck…" I curse and start to take my clothes off.
"I'll be here—if you need anything," Zygmunt says behind the door.
What?
Right in front of the door?
I say nothing and hesitate to turn on the shower, and I slowly turn it on and, move my naked body and get poured in fresh, clean water.
I glance my eyes to the shadow underneath the tiny gap in the door, "I'm—" I raise my voice a little and see his shadow move closer to the door, "I'm not a kid—" I say as I look at his dark figure movement, "I can take my own shower, Zygmunt." I say
He doesn't say anything, but I feel his little laugh in my head. "I'll be downstairs." He says,
And then, I watch his dark figure fade away. I sigh once again, and I put my head against the wall.
Walking downstairs slowly, creepingly, as if I am so scared that the owner will find out that a stranger is in his home, but only that the owner knows that stranger is in his house—and the owner is Zygmunt, and the stranger is me. I wish my dad was here—I haven't texted him back for a few days since I was too busy at the Hospital. I haven't told him I work there and how my life has been wonderfully fascinating. His black sweater covers my body from shoulder to fingernails and neck to knees. It's strange wearing his clothes.
As I put my foot on the last step, Zygmunt coming out from the kitchen, I pause to look at the guy. I once wore his clothes and heavy jacket, and it's still in my room.
He stares at me without blinking.
This is awkward.
"I made you dinner." He says,
"Dinner?"I repeat, looking at him and glancing at a plate on the kitchen table. "You made dinner?" I repeat again.
He smirks, "You?" I ask,
He steps back, giving me the way to get into the kitchen. I love it when the dining table is in the same room as the kitchen, or at least there is no door in between. Noticing the macaroni on one plate, I turn to look at him. He slowly walks to the oven, takes out another plate, and puts it on the table before me.
"Mash potatoes?" I ask,
"Your favorite." He says,
"What about yours?"
"I already ate." He says,
Then, I sit down on the chair across from him. I look up at him and hesitate to take a bite.
He chuckles in his throat, "You doubt me?" He says in a deep voice. He lays his hands on the table and leans toward me. "I'm hurt."
No, I am hesitant because you're here—watching me.
"I don't doubt you, Zyg—munt." I almost call him in short form.
I take the fork and start to eat, "Thank you," I say. I try my best not to look him in the eyes. It's funny when I wish to see his real eyes behind that black shield so badly, and now, I see his—totally and utterly right in front of me, striking right back at me clearly. And now I'm shy about admiring—not even just a glance.
"I'll be in the living room." He says,
"You…" I say, and he pauses, "You can sit here—if you don't mind." I say,
"If you don't mind—hehe," He repeats what I say and smirks again. He pulls the chair out,
"You're back to being polite." He says and puts his ass on the chair across from me.
"I always am polite," I say lightly and put his macaroni on, which I guess he bought from the convenience store, but it tastes so good.
"Not with me." He says as he glares at me. I glare at him back and take another bite. "Hmpt," he makes a tiny sound, "So…you forgive me?" He asks,
"No—" I say,
"No?"
"No."
He keeps staring at me, but his eyes shift slightly down, and he leans his body forward. I pause my fork in mid-air, watching his action, and then he raises his right hand, holds my jaw lightly, and uses his thumb to wipe something on my upper lip and down to my lower lip. I gaze at him, speechless. Then, he slowly goes back to his seat and puts his thumb inside his mouth—he sucks on the tip of it.
"By any chance, you know why that bastard got into your house?" He asks,
"Huh…" I try to call myself back, "No, it could be anything—burglar, I don't know. Because he was kind of making a mess inside my room—like searching for something—he probably slept on my bed, too." I say and he exhales a long breath, "Or probably tried to rape me," I say,
"Why do you act like it's not bothering you?" He asks,
"Well—" I put my fork down on the plate, "It wasn't the first or second time. I was kidnapped—twice by a different man. And you stalked and watched me outside my house at night—I don't know, what do you think?" I glare at him. "Thanks to you, I guess, I have immunity," I say and look back at my plate. "I'm full,"
I get up and walk to the kitchen area to the fridge, take out a water bottle, take out a clean glass, pour the water, and drink it. I put it down in the sink and walk past him without a glance, but I know that he's watching my behavior and that I act like it's my own house.
Then, I head to the living room and rest on the couch.
Well, I'm pretty upset to think about it.
While I rest my eyes and brain, I hear the plate against the silver sink and the water running down a porcelain plate, and everything stops. Then, I feel the couch is sunk in beside me, but it doesn't bother me at all, and we sit together in silence.