Chapter 12 - The Hovering Fear of Him
As he approached her, she tried to keep her face unmoving, forcing her eyes to twinkle with delightful expectation instead of being flooded with the absolute dread that was consuming her.
What was he going to do? What was going on here? By the Sun, what was he going to do?!
Was he going to… no.
He wouldn't. He would never.
But, still, was he going to hit her?
No. Haron would never do that. He would never hit a woman. He knew their strengths were different, that was why he had made all her Punishers women.
He would never hit a woman and on top of that, Haron would never hit Ismena. He loved her and his love would not permit that.
Those were his words.
But still, when he was close enough and he raised his hand towards her, Ismena felt like the end was here. She prepared her body to receive the hit, while looking right at him, while still maintaining that gaze of delightful expectation.
But instead of the hit, his hand came down gently on her shoulders.
"I love you."
What? But then she shouldn't be surprised, it was like Haron to tell her that he loved her every time even when the time was wrong.
Which, nowadays, was every time.
"As do I."
He frowned.
What? What had she said wrong?
As do I?
Maybe it was because she had not said 'I love you, too'. Maybe she should have said that instead of As do I. But she couldn't do that now, could she?
Oh, the Sun—-
He walked away from her and though she knew it was wiser to stay quiet, the fear shimmering in her veins had forced her to say his name. "Haron?"
He did not answer. Instead, he stopped by his chair and grabbed a box from beneath it. Then he started to approach her with the box.
What was going on?!
He had never done this before. She didn't know how to act. She didn't know the response he wanted. This was new. Everything he had done so far today was new.
She wasn't prepared for any of this.
"I want to go with you to watch the beast when he dies."
A risk.
A stupid stupid risk!
But she desperately needed to know.
Was he dead?
Haron did not say anything but he did not take his gaze off her either. Then he stopped right in front of her and just when she was starting to doubt if he had even heard what she had said, he said, "Do you?"
So, he wasn't dead.
That… ah… she didn't know.
Something just didn't feel right.
"Of course. He deserves it. They all deserve it for what they've done to us."
A small smile played at the corner of his lips and that made her feel a tiny sense of relief. But it was gone too quickly, as if he had remembered something.
Probably what he wanted to talk to her about. She didn't want him to remember that. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good. Then was it about what was in the box then?
Her heart skipped a beat.
Had he brought one of his turtore objects that he used on his prisoners to her? Did he want to use it on her? Did he feel like she had committed a crime so great that the Punishers were not enough?
When his hand held hers and pulled her out of the chair, she obeyed. She expected him to lead her away to somewhere… anywhere.
But he didn't.
Instead, he went behind her. The fact that he was out of her line of sight almost made her spiral, but she controlled herself, but still felt hyper aware about everything.
She could hear the way his boots pressed against the tiled floor of the dining hall, the faint aroma of food was still present in the air, the silence of the room felt too loud for her ears and her breath felt too warm against her upper lip.
She shifted her weight from one foot to another just to give her mind something to do.
Then he touched her and even though she had prepared herself for it, her hyper-aware state made her freeze beneath his touch. She felt him move away the long purple scarf that she had used to cover her back all day.
It was a backless dress. She couldn't have worn anything else. It would only have made her wounds worse to stifle them of air.
He pushed her to lean against the table, her front pressed against the wooden furniture. Then she heard the box click open.
She waited in expectation of whatever was in the box. Every second felt too long and while anticipation with fear almost choked her to death, her mind began to create different terrifying images of what the box held within it.
So when the cold ointment ran down her back, it was jarring even though it was nothing but something to bring her relief from the pain she had been experiencing all day.
Her eyes slipped closed, a sigh of relief slipping through her parted lips quietly.
It was just her back.
He wanted to treat her back.
But he had said they had to talk. So despite how relieving this treatment was and how expertly his hands moved from years of practice, she couldn't let herself feel completely at ease.
Then he was done and she heard the box click shut.
She tried to stand but he kept her there.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
A silence dragged through the hall.
Then he made her stand, turned her around and made her sit on the table.
"I love you," he repeated.
What was going on?
"I love you, Haron."
"And I hurt you so much—"
"You did not hurt me."
He dragged in a breath, closing his eyes briefly. The golden glow from the candle chandelier above softened his features.
A trick.
An illusion.
Haron, right now, was nothing but dangerous.
"I know what you are doing, Ismena," he said when he opened his eyes and she fought the fear in her lungs. "Everything."