Delicate Oath

Seventeen | Mirrored Past

Augusto Cyrus

I hurt her. It didn't occur to me the damage I did until it was too late. Her unconscious body laid there for what seemed like hours. The marks on her neck healed already as the outline became more clear. I couldn't stop caressing it. My mark was on her and it was a gorgeous site to see, but how it happened wasn't so romantic.

She wasn't ready. What was I thinking? I wasn't- that's the problem.

"You messed up real bad Augusto. Do you understand that when she wakes up, she's going to be terrified of you?" Lilian scowled, she shakes her head at me. Her eyes haven't changed from disappointment since she walked into the room.

She was right, and that pained me. It hurt to know that I was going to cause her fear when she woke up but a part of me was glad. She could leave me alone and the emotions I feel for her would disappear. My kingdom wouldn't potentially suffer.

Maybe this is better that she is.

Are you so sure you want that?

No, I don't want that. But I also know it needs to happen. Stupid mate bond.

Hey you asshole, I'm right here. I could feel his eye roll.

Rolling my own eyes, I sigh and leave the room to do my own thinking. Even though I knew he was right.

~~~

I walked into her painting room. Her scent still lingered within the room; something I could never find myself to get tired of. The ease it brought me made my thinking come clean. What I did was wrong. I don't want to be like my father but I couldn't help it. One mention of the scar on my face and the anger rose within me. A topic I never wanted to talk about but I knew with her, I could. I needed too now. The damage was too far done to not.

Grabbing the canvas I previously worked on, I blob out some paint onto a pallet. Different sizes and types of brushes cover a portion of her counter leaving only a small strip of the wiping clothes.

What is each brush used for?
Wait.
Why is this one slanted?
Why does this one have more bristles than this one?

I needed her to teach me. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

Dipping into the grey paint, I did what she told me. The darker colors in the places of shadow, light grey or white in the highlighted places. Everything seemed so easy around her. Painting was extremely hard but the way she did it herself, the way she talked about it seemed like the easiest thing in the world.

I needed to be the man she needs. She is my wife, my mate. I'd never thought I'd have one from the things I've done but I guess things are unexpected. I started to paint outline of a girl. My girl. The one I've treated like she was nothing since the beginning. I've treated her like my father treating my mother. I was brought to be his replica, his mirrored being.

I was brought within the family of the Cyrus's. My father and mother were mates but the most damaged kind. Since the age of 6 my father would always say to me "Son, mates are just someone you fuck and leave when they give you an heir. Love is a waste of time." He would say it every time before hitting my mom. Bruises covered her arms, torso, chest and face. That's the reasoning no one ever step foot into this castle, the reasoning why she would never go out unless makeup; hid her bruises.