I knew I should have gotten out of the chair and had him go in there when she started to stir, and like the torturer I am, I sat there listening to every pain laced word filter out of her mouth. Her words slamming deep into my soul, ripping me apart. Since then, I’ve been stewing in my own misery. All kinds of guilt and anger weighing me down.
I went along with her thinking I was him while listening to the hell he put her through all over again. Nearly jumped out of the chair to let her see me, begging to be her savior when she made a comment about my knife. Her suffering became its own ghost that will plague me the rest of my life.
Guilt cutting me so deep it had my insides spiraling with a crazy out of control need to remind Ivy what we had. The problem is, was, always will be I’m too fucked up. A man full of evil when everything about her is good.
“She’s not ready to see me yet,” I exhale. Been pacing the floor outside my bedroom, refusing the urge to go into my study and watch her yet again on my security cameras while Doctor Hanson’s daughter, Ellie, takes care of an irate Ivy. The woman screaming and hollering my brother's name, asking her if she’s one of his whores all the while mixing it in with demanding answers. Answers I can’t quite give her yet. Not until I rein my shit in.
I heard and felt the spice she used to shake around whenever she was angry wanting to pour out of her. Pretty sure the remaining drugs, the confusion of where she is, and why, held most of it back. That, plus, she’s frightened.
Hearing her speak the way she did. Expecting to be tortured, made to do things forcefully alienated me. Left me reeling about what needed to be done. Made up my mind the second I walked through that bedroom door closing, her cries behind me, it was time to make a call I never intended to make.