I never had a father, per se.
A father figure? Sure, you could call that.
But I've seen that man more on TV than in real life.
The only moments he appeared were when I screwed up.
He almost took pride in disciplining me.
"If you're useless, you could at least be obedient" - a pretty sample of how my father was with me.
But I thought I was doing good.
Got a job as the youngest member of the Parliament.
Passed laws in the best interest of the people.
Keep the secret about being an omega buried deep under rugs.
I don't expect my father's approval.
I'm aware it's more likely a zombie apocalypse would come earlier than that.
So I keep my Freudian yearnings to myself.
But this-
My own father selling me out?
I just can't wrap my head around it.
It's logical- yes.
Using the disappearance to pose grief and gain voters, but a reunion would spike the analytics even more.
So how come he left me for dead while I can still be a useful pawn?
There's something more to this-
But does it really matter?
Is there any excuse that could make me forgive him?
I seemed to lose sense in my hands.
I am squeezing them too hard around myself.
I'm cold.
It could be because of the rain.
It could be loneliness.
I thought I was used to it. Isn't it funny?
Even when I was starved for a week- abandoned in that padded white room, my father was there.
In the back of my mind.
Not comforting.
My father was never a comfort.
But it's what I had.
And even if he hated me- at least I had him.
Use me.
Lecture me.
Despise me.
But don't dispose of me like that.
Don't leave me so alone.
I feel tears rolling down my cheeks.
Strange, I don't feel like crying. I can't control my body, it seems.
Killian tries to pull me in for a hug.
I pushed him away.
Were the arms of a killer the only comfort I could afford?
Should I accept it?
It's cold. Freezing
But I can't see Killian no matter how much I want.
I just saw Lior begging for mercy as the bullet got through him.
I see my own responsibility in him.
Lior ended up like that because he was my friend.
So Killian and I-
Two criminals.
Yet, I can't seem to shake in disgust at the thought of him touching me with the fingers that pulled the trigger.
I can smell the fresh blood mixed with rain.
So that leaves me alone.
Isolated.
Unwanted.
A curse really.
We arrived at the motel after a long drive in silence. The drops of rain violently smashing themselves on the car were the only thing that broke the silence.
"A room please"
Killian talked to the front desk.
We were both wet, bloody and had that traumatized look of a man returning from the war.
He pulled an impressive pile of money to pay.
The suspicious look of the receptionist disappeared in seconds. Almost as fast as she withdrew her finger from the panic button.
I guess money can really answer questions.
I don't wanna be in the same room with him, but the thought of being alone-
Of the fear of whatever is lurking in the shadows.
Of the abandonment.
Too much.
One room is good. At least for tonight.
My body moves on its own, dragging itself in Killian's shadow.
I can't pinpoint the timeline: the end of the drive, the walking to our room- just everything since Lior.
My head is overflowing with his whimpers.
With the gore of his exposed lungs, his skin tighten in the form of wings, the pool of blood, vomit and piss under him.
It's imprinted on my eyelids, forcing me to see it even with closed eyes.
"Luther"
No.
Don't say my name like that.
You don't deserve forgiveness.
And neither do I.
I feel his palms cupping my shoulders. Tight.
I can't move- not closer, not further.
I can't hug him. Search for comfort. Shatter myself into his arms.
But I can't pull back either. Shout. Yell. Accuse.
So I'm just standing- barely.
He looks at me.
The whites of his eyes were losing ground to the redness of the corners. His gaze was focused, but glossy.
Not teary, but-
His lips were trembling. His voice was hoarse.
I can feel him shivering.
His cold hands still on my shoulders are burning, leaving imprints. My skin is peeling itself to escape his touch.
At least that is how it feels.
"Go take a shower. We'll talk after."
I don't want to talk at all.
I don't want to be here.
I don't want to be home.
I don't want to be at all.
But I nod and go into the bathroom.
I don't dare to look in the mirror.
I'm scared of seeing the one staring back at me.
My hands are bloody, muddy, and dirty.
I have dead maggots under my nails.
I start rubbing, but the more it comes off-
It's not enough. It's filthy.
I'm filthy.
I should never have started the riot.
I should have just-
I can't speak. Or think.
I keep gulping my words, my whining.
If I acted nicely- let Emiliano get the blood and stayed in his apartment.
I could have convinced him to free Lior.
He would have done that for me. Wouldn't he?
He wasn't that bad when I was captive in his home.
He got the food I liked. He listened to me without getting angry. He even let me cry into his arms at night.
No matter how much I denied it or how full of snot his Victoria's Secret satin shirts were in the morning-
He was there, comforting.
"LUTHER"
I hear Emiliano yell.
He snatched the scrub out of my hands. Fast. Too late still.
Seems like I scrubbed them so intensely, I peeled my skin off, leaving my palms with nothing but raw, bloody meat.
I didn't even notice.
It's all so numb.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"
I look at Killian.
His once beautiful face was contorted with pain and regret. He looked like a madman, not the heir of Akna Pharmaceuticals.
His words are echoing in the bathroom, hitting the marble walls, boomeranging loudly back into my ears.
"Do this to me. I killed him. You did nothing. You are the victim, Lu. Please, I'm begging, stop this!"
"You might be the executioner, but I was the one sentencing him to death. And that's so much worst…"
"No."
"If I hadn't befriended him- got close to him."
"He would be dead anyway. He's been a dead man walking since meeting Emiliano."
"No- he would have survived. He was a survivor."
"Everyone died in that prison, Luther. He would have been just another dead body we threw aside or walked upon on our way out"
"At least it would have been quicker."
I hear myself yelling- my voice breaking.
I thought I was talking normally. So why do I hear myself crying out like I'm in a soap opera?
Pathetic.
"Who knows how long he's been staying there, hang like that? Eaten away by bugs while still breathing?"
He force me into a hug. I struggle to get out, but I can't breathe.
No strength in my arms, in my legs.
He's rubbing my back.
I can hear him holding back his tears in his throat.
Just for a moment-
A selfish, fully egocentric moment-
Can I accept this comfort?
After all, it could be the last one I ever get to experience.
But seems like not.
Exactly before crashing into Killian's arms, someone starts banging on the door.
Loudly.
To the point of busting the door out of its hinges.
Whoever that person is, they are desperate.