IS IT SPELT FORTY OR FOURTY-- AM I GOING INSANE FOURTY SEEMS RIGHT??? But autocorrect disagrees???
Chapter Forty-Two
Mykel had gone mad. There was a killer on the loose in the very building he was set foot in--but he could not, for the life of him, care. Not with the walls trembling and the shiny chandeliers above chiming as pieces of jewels and minerals collapsed against each other. Not with his siblings' frantic shouts ringing through his ears.
Get to the safe room.
If he was being truthful with himself, Mykel did not care if he went to the saferoom when the building caved in on itself or not, nor did he care if he was in the saferoom when Garcia finally decided to show their gluttonous face. He was too far from the exit to make it out in time, especially with an armed murderer on the prowl-- and for fuck's sake--
"Where the hell are you, Rannia?" Mykel grit out angrily under his breath, tearing through another group of panicking people and snapping his neck back and forth, trying to find her in the crowds. What he'd give to see that face again. What he'd do to have her in his arms. It was okay, to die here, if at least she was with him.
She said she'd had a surprise for him, and what kind of sick surprise was it? To make him scared for her wellbeing? If that was the case, it was working. He hated how his heart was opening and bleeding with feeling--but God what he would give to feel that pain again.
He was sure he'd torn through at least ten pairs of bodies when the ground shook harder than before as another blast--a closer one, rocketed through the walls and sent bits of ceiling flying in cloudy spits of dust. He tasted the plaster before he smelt it. Falling against the nearby pillar, his hand made contact with the smooth stone and he steadied himself. His forehead was lined with a thin layer of sweat. Baby, just wait, I'll find you. He wiped it off with the back of his suit sleeve, throwing a layer of slicked black hair back so it wasn't in his face. Spitting to the side, he continued. Down the hall, he spotted the women's restroom. Something pulled him in his gut towards it; his legs, they moved on their own accord; his heart, it followed too.
More screams erupted from behind him as people ran in disorganized circles to try and get out. Another bomb went off. He reached the end of the hall and skidded to a stop, using his momentum to slam the door open. Behind it, hand extended, was a pretty woman in a pretty dress. His breathing paused as he saw her, relief roaring through his chest at the sight of those wide doe eyes.
"Rannia," he managed breathlessly, not giving her a chance to respond as he grabbed her and pressed her roughly against the wall, one hand on her waist and the other against the wall beside her head. She stared up at him, blinking once, processing his disastrous state with those keen, calculating eyes.
"Why'd you come to get me, you should be getting out!" She exclaimed, trying to push his body off of her. He returned by pressing his front flush against hers, grunting out contentedly as her body morphed against his, just as he remembered it. Such a warm feeling in a cold, desperate world.
"And why the fuck are you in here, huh? I was fucking looking for you," Mykel replied through gritted teeth, face taught with anger. But the way his head dipped into her neck said otherwise; the way he breathed in her scent causing his shoulders loosen and his lips meet her warm skin-- it was anything but anger.
"You know, it's wrong to be so beautiful," He stated in a low voice, pulling back and lifting a hand to lightly trace down her cheek. The faintest of smiles lined his lips. Rannia's chest tightened at the sight of the kneeling lion. She had to keep from bursting into tears right then and there. It's wrong, what I'm doing, isn't it? It's so very wrong. And if it is wrong to be beautiful to you...
"If I'm so wrong, can you please kill me?" She questioned softly, voice almost a whisper. He tilted his head to the side.
"Kill you, darling? Why, I'd kill myself," he replied. "If it is wrong to think you beautiful, then I am the greatest sinner of them all." Their eyes linked tightly together as if bound by rope. They forgot the war outside. They forgot the bloodshed following their feet.
But could you love me, if you knew what I was? Mykel asked himself.
And could you love me, if you knew what I was all along? Rannia asked herself.
Both thought their answers to be no.
No, I would not love you.
"Rannia, I--" His words were cut short as a nearby blast sent them rolling to the ground. They fell together, the girl tangled in the monster's arms. He skidded to a stop against the wall, landing a hard blow to his shoulder.
"Fuck," he grunted, squinting and blinking to try and see through the dust. Rannia coughed into his chest, clutching his lapel and waving at the air around her face. He held her close and got to standing. "It's not safe here, there's an intruder. We don't have time to get out the nearest exit--"
"Where's your family?" The girl questioned suddenly, breaking off Mykel's sentence.
"They're heading to a saferoom underground, in the basement." He cast a glance over his shoulder as if checking to see if Garcia had appeared.
Fool, his brother's murderer was right in front of him.
"Then we should go there," Rannia urged, pushing him slightly forward. He hesitated, looking down at her with a lost expression.
"And what? Wait it out there until the police arrive and we have to explain who we are and what we're doing here? You're a smart girl, answer that one for yourself." He shook his head, features dark. The darkness from inside his soul was leaking into his skin, making even Rannia's skin prickle as she touched his cool forearm.
"You're...you're all cold," she muttered.
He looked down, brows pulled together. "I feel fine."
She pulled her hand away from his cold skin and looked out the open bathroom door. Outside, the hallway leading back to the main gala was mainly untouched. A few cracks were spread through the walls, but their escape would be safe as long as another bomb didn't go off.
"I know what we have to do," Mykel said suddenly from behind her.
"What?"
"I want you to go to the saferoom. There's these small arrows carved into the walls of this place, not visible if you're not looking for them. They'll point you in the direction of the basement. When you get there, close the door."
Rannia's brows pulled together. Her gut lurched when she realized what he was suggesting. "You're coming with me you dumb fucking--"
"No," Mykel grit out firmly. He grabbed her arm from behind. His cool skin made Rannia's breath catch, and when she peeked back to look at him, his pupils seemed darker than normal. "I'm going to find this Garcia, and then I am going to kill them for all the goddamn harm they've caused my work."
And not your family? Mykel... Rannia's eyes softened a little.
"My priority is you, Rannia."
The way he was looking at her made her chest sob. Her eyes remained dry, and her lips unwavering, but her fingers did wind themselves around his hand.
You're making me want to betray my father, you idiot, she wanted to scream at him. The words laid at the tip of her tongue, burning like citric acid. And she bit down, she kept the pain. Silence was the secret killer.
"Fine, I'll go without you," Rannia spat out reluctantly. She threw his touch off of her, not able to bear the feelings it arose. "Just don't die, you brat."
She could kill them all except him, right? Surely that'd work.
But he was the current heir.
She imagined the flash of breaking pain that would slice through Mykel's eyes if he found out who she was. It made her chest tighten and her lungs gasp for air. Without another word, she ran away from him. Like a fucking coward. Tears started to line her eyes as she ran, not needing to look for the etched arrows in the walls; of course she'd completely memorized the entire layout of the building, Lord knew what would happen if anything but herself got in the way of her mission.
Sarcasm, it's for when you're hurting, isn't it?
"Nia, I know you're frustrated, but taking it out on me or your mom isn't going to help anyone," her dad would say, a look of disappointment falling over his features. Rannia would freeze in her rampage, chest falling up and down rapidly as her fist slowly unraveled and dropped whatever item she'd been using to break things. Glasses, plates, tables. Whatever her fury would burn itself on.
"Oh, like I care," she'd snap back, or something of the sort.
"You're angry, but sarcasm is for when you're hurting. Let the tears run, my precious girl. Holding them in is what's hurting you."
And her father's face? What it would look like if he found out she'd chosen his rival's son over their family's revenge? It would be worse than that, worse than whatever face he'd given her before.
The sight her mind created was fleeting for a moment, and though it was a flash, it made her stumble and she fell to her knees on the floor. The entire gala was empty by now. Most people had found their way out. She listened with hollow ears as the sound of her knees falling to the ground echoed through her ears, again and again, again and again.
She may have been a fucking masochist but this was too much.
The pain will stop when your tears run cold.
Really, dad, is that how it works?
She stood, legs wobbly, resolve undetermined. She was falling apart at the seams, and all an outsider would see would be a pretty girl in a pretty dress, covered prettily in dust with pretty little tears running down her pretty cheeks.
Maybe if the tears don't work, blood will have to do.
You said you'd die for me, Mykel?
And so love me one last time.
Then, lurking in the back of her mind as she hid that little girl deep inside her head and let Garcia rise to the surface, she heard something. Muffled as it was, the voice spoke:
Rannia, is lying all you ever do?
(a/n: i meant to post this last night but forgot. oops. it's not perfect or edited. i'm literally posting this while doing my leftover french homework from two weeks ago ://)