13.
1130 Words
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The temperature inside the car was colder than the temperature outside the car. Even when it was raining outside, like never before, the temperature inside the car was enough to pass chills down my spine. I was scared. Mr. Hades Black's silence and glare was enough to make me tremble. And the fact that I was drenched in water didn't help my case.
Mr. Black didn't mind that I was ruining the seats of the car he had asked for. It wasn't his car, or, at least, that's what I was assuming, considering how he always used his bike for travelling.
"Turn the heater on, Derek!" Mr. Black ordered the driver, who was quick to turn the heater on. His eyes were on me. And now that I realized, I was shivering. And he not only noticed me shivering from the cold, he also took action to make sure I didn't feel colder than I was already feeling.
"Thank..... thank you, Mr. Black."
"Strip out of that shirt." He said instead. His voice was demanding, authoritative, and my eyes widened at his words. His absurd words. And as a reflex, my hands covered my front torso from his gaze. Why would he ask me to strip out of my clothes?
"Excuse me?"
"Strip out of that shirt, Lazarus. That shirt is drenched in water. And wear this." He said, tossing me a hoodie, of his size.
Even when I was taller than him, he was stronger than me. He wasn't buff, but he had more muscles compared to my lean body. Biting my lips, I started to unbutton my shirt and threw the hoodie over my head. Much to my satisfaction and happiness, he had his gaze away from me.
We were both men. Males. But changing in front of him or anyone was not something I was used to, or felt comfortable with. As a child with lots of house help and staff working for my father, I wasn't allowed to move out of my room without decent clothes. Dad never allowed me outside unless I was wearing a t-shirt or shirt with pants or jeans. Decency was something he never let me compromise with.
"I'm done."
"Good. And just because I offered you my hoodie doesn't mean you're off the hook for what you did, Lazarus." He said to me, but he didn't have to. I knew beforehand that he wasn't going to show mercy to me.
But something confused me. Like, why did he ask the driver to turn the heater on? I snitched on him, filed a complaint against him. He should've let me die of the cold. He should be happy to see me suffering. But instead, he asked the driver to turn the heater on. I gave me his hoodie. And it smelled like him. Not that I randomly take a whiff of him. But his cologne hits my nostrils when he comes closer to me, sometimes to threaten me and sometimes to offer me food.
"So you are going to hurt me because I was scared of you? You are going to punish me for being a responsible citizen?" I asked him boldly, after a minute.
I held my face high and stared right into his eyes. They were beautiful pools of gray. Like his world revolved around the beauty of gray, like colors that were unknown to his mysteriously gorgeous eyes. But the colors of his eyes had absorbed every other color around him. His eyes were as powerful as his aura, if not more.
His eyes told tales I had never heard. A tale of a villain portrayed as a hero. A tale where he fought every day but the land beneath never once seeped with his blood. He was the hero of the world where right and wrong don't exist. He is a villain when looked upon, but a hero when his eyes are held high, like wearing a crown. He was the hero of numerous lives because the tales he narrated spoke of his bravery, costing the lives of many, screams of innocents. He was the cruel hero.
"I won't be punishing you for being scared, Lazarus. I am aware of having a personality that often scares the person in front of me. But I'll be punishing you for being disloyal to me. Loyalty is what I reward, Lazarus, not betrayal."
His words sliced me into half. He was nothing to me. Not my friend, not my lover, not my family. I am not bound to be loyal to him. Not even by a bit. But his words made me feel a remorse that was not even legit for me to feel. He was just my room-mate, a paying guest to me. And not to mention one of the deadliest assassins in the world.
"I don't remember sharing a bond with you, Mr. Black. And when I don't share a bond with you, how am I obliged to be loyal to you?" I asked him instead and he just chuckled in answer. And he wasn't finding this funny. His eyes gave away that much.
The silence that fell in between us was long, troublesome and scary. I had no idea what he was thinking of and planning. I had no idea how cruel he could think and how many experiments he could perform on me. My anxiety was soaring as high as it could.
I removed my wallet and looked inside for the banknotes. They were all wet. It looked like banknotes could easily tear apart. And a frown formed on my face as I looked at my hardwork getting washed off. The sadness in my eyes didn't miss his observant eyes. He was staring at me, looking at expressions, trying to read me from within.
"Tell me one thing, Lazarus. You are not poor. You are the son of one of the country's leading businessmen. And yet you are working two shifts to pay your bills and coffee fee. Why? And as far as my search for you has led me, your father doesn't hate you and neither does he have any affair. Why are you living away from him and working separately?" He asked me and I smiled at his question, shaking my head.
"What made you an assassin, Mr. Black?" I asked him, looking at his chest. I had no courage left to stare into his impassive and unforgiving eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"A sore nerve, no? And guess what, Mr. Black?" I asked him, this time staring into his eyes. Bold of me, I know. "We all have our own stories and spots that hurt when being touched."
- Writer
