Pain and Choice

4.1 ***

Hamilton acknowledges that he is invading Zeno's privacy by stealing the spotlight that he has craved. He has no control over what he does, and he hasn't visited him in almost a month as a result.

To escape the regret, he would perform extreme workouts, such as punching boxing sacks, strict pull-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, barbell back squats, and sprinting on his running machine, as if he were destined to compete in the Olympics. Succumbing to the painful workout until he feels like he is drowning in his own sweat is some way to punish himself for doing what he no longer has control over.

Hamilton is used to the smell of hard work; the scent of metal in his workout room at his first entry, sweat after and during a series of workouts. After all, his life was a routine; he would do these exercises and then go to work, to the welcoming scent of papers and ink as they met. The woodwork and the scented detergents used to clean his office were things he was used to, but recently, he has been enjoying this new routine added to his list; a matter of the heart. He had never done it before.

His gym is constructed of an unusual, matte grey metal, with a hard rubber floor and thick, grey padding. A modest exercise bench is located in the centre of the room, and other equipment that can suit his demands during exercise is situated in a suitable position around the perimeter of the room. In the corner of the room, near the door, there is a small table with a land line phone and a phone book at the centre of the table. The phone book is well-worn, with pages that are creased with page marks. The phone is an old-fashioned rotary phone.

The cold metal grip on the exercise equipment would cool Hamilton's hands and let him know he was in for a good workout. He'd glide the cold steel across his hands, flexing his forearms with each movement. The floor is firm and solid, and it feels wonderful under his feet as he lifts a barbell that seems to weigh more than most cars. Its weight is familiar and comfortable and helps him to lift it up, upwards to the ceiling, and then, with a mighty thud and a grunt, back down to the floor.

Even while working out, he can't get the notion of Viola out of his head, and it's bothering him right now. With each push-up, his breath becomes harder and heavier, and his face exhibits obvious displeasure. By the end of the set, he's snarling with each passing minute, his muscles begging for a break from the strenuous activity. The image of her face, her eyes, and her brief smile won't leave him alone. He can see her, smell her, feel her. She's haunting him, and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

The abrupt ringing of the landline eventually causes him to collapse on the ground and ponder what he is doing. This isn't like him, and he doesn't like who he has become. He knows he needs to quit and return to his normal life, which revolves mostly around the competitive family business in which he has many adversaries waiting for his failure.

This has to be something important, or else no one would use the land line only to talk to him.

He closes his eyes for a few moments, laying on the ground as he turns around, facing the ceiling, trying to understand why he is torturing himself to this point. He does not choose to be in love with her. Besides, she doesn't seem to like anyone, so he may be exaggerating things at this point.

The land line, once again, shrills loudly, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scrambles to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to calm himself down. He takes a deep breath before he picks up the receiver, bracing himself for the news that will come from the other side.

"Hello?" he says, wiping sweat from his brow with a tan towel.

"Mr. Miller?" says his assistant on the other end of the phone. She seemed unsure. Martha is typically serene, but there's something unnerving about her voice today, as if she's worried.

"What is it, Martha?" Hamilton asked, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Her voice's unease delivers an ominous message. He could see she was worried about something, but he couldn't figure out what. He had specifically instructed her to leave him bewildered today. He was certain it was the source of her displeasure.

"It's your aunt," she whispers, but then she screams as he listens to his aunt's voice in the background. It's clear it's a mess over there, but the situation and the shrilling sound make him smile.

"I'll be there in some minutes," he assures her and hangs up the phone. He looks around and walks out.

He muses as he exits the gym, walks down a corridor, and enters a study room. He grabs his cellphone from the desk and dials George.

The phone rings once, twice, and then George picks it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Hamilton. I got the message," he smiles.

"I bet you do." George appears to be in a good mood, and Hamilton can tell. This was something they had been expecting based on what they did to her. "I got to be honest with you, your auntie is crazy here. She's already throwing things and wrecking the place," he explains to him.

"It seems it will take more than a minute for me to be there. Knock her out if you have to, but calm her down." Hamilton orders.

"Yes, boss," George's voice is assuring. After all, it's been a while since they have been hoping to see her in this state; hoping to get back at her for coming between them and Zeno.

He understands George would do what he thought would please him the most, and he is not worried. She had crossed the line with them, and she had this coming her way.

He exhales deeply as he walks out of the study and into the living room. His footsteps are heavy on the plush carpet, and he can hear the low hum of the TV in the distance. He takes the stairs two at a time as he walks to his bedroom. He starts undressing on his way to the shower, peeling off his sweaty shirt and trousers. He wants to be there as soon as possible. The hot water beats down on his tired muscles, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. The soap is fragrant and lathers well, and he scrubs himself clean. He steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He feels refreshed and ready to face the day.

He purses his lips as he parks his car in the area assigned for him alone, looking out at his security personnel who are waiting for him. It's no surprise they're unsure how to approach any of his family members. He never lets on that they are harsh to him. He is overly private because his trust circle is small, albeit it appears to be shrinking these days.

Even if he doesn't want to be in his office today, he can't let this opportunity pass him by. He hadn't expected his aunt to show up at his office and throw a fit. After all, he isn't known for taking days off, therefore this is something that should happen.

As he looks back at his own head-to-toe reflection in the elevator mirror doors, he tries to imagine the scene in his office. He's dressed all in black, with black boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt that shows off his biceps, as if to emphasise that he's the security instead of his two guards who are in the elevator with him. His silky dark chocolate brown and textured quiff hair is still moist; in the most unusually subdued manner, the lingering trails of his fingers' brushing lines are showing, and his five o'clock shadow beard is growing longer than usual. Overall, everything appears to have a role in his sapphire blue eyes standing out. His stance is imposing, and he knows that his presence commands authority and respect. His eyes are piercing and seem to miss nothing as they survey his surroundings. His jaw is clenched, and his mouth is set in a thin line. He looks like a man who is not to be messed with.

He chuckles as the elevator bleeps smoothly open; the floor is crammed with as many employees as possible, all of whom are busily trying to clean up the mess. There's a woman with a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the larger chunks of glass into a pile. A man with a vacuum is diligently working on the smaller shards. His aunt didn't miss a single glass partition on the frames, and the floor feels more open than usual. The light shines in through the windows, casting a bright glare on the clean floor since they have lost their shatters.

"Mr. Miller?" He gives her a friendly smile. Martha, his assistant, rushes up to him, a frightened expression on her chubby face, and she smiles back.

"Martha," he replies, as he nods to her.

"We’re almost done here," she says, tipping her head to the right, her large eyes pleading with him like the cutest puppy in the world. He can see the sweat beading on her forehead, and he knows she's exhausted.

"I see," he says, narrowing his eyes at her. "You may breathe. We all need a little bit of turbulence in our lives from time to time," he smiles at her, revealing his complete set of white teeth.

"Well," she exhales, a relaxed smile on her face as she glances down at herself. It's uncommon to see him amicable with anyone, and even stranger to see him dressed casually. Everyone in the building is talking about him: how handsome he is, how serious and well-preserved he is, and how strict his work demands are.

He nods and says, "I thought having a see-through glass wall was open."

"Well," she responds, "our glasses have snow symbols on them." He smirks, and she swallows hard, tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear. "Um," she adds, "she's in the conference room." Her little lip quivers at his big smile.

"Thank you, and." He came to a halt as he looked at her. "Take a day off," he winks at her. "You deserve it." He turns and walks away down the hall, his shoulders straight and his back ramrod straight. He looks from left to right, taking in the sights and sounds of the office around him. The conference room is down the hall and to the left. He can hear the murmur of voices and the occasional laugh.

"… end of him," his aunt’s voice pours into his ears. It’s clear that it's the laughter of disappointment.

The scenery some feet away from the conference room is funny. It's clear George disapproved of being in the same room with her; George is the subject of his aunt's high-pitched voice; her face is red and blotchy; her eyes narrow in anger. It seems as if her voice is like a knife, slicing through the air and into his brain, inside his head, tormenting him. Hamilton smiles, looking at his cringed reaction.

Just as George realises that he is here, he walks towards Hamilton in silence, ignoring her non-stop banter, and he can see the hurt in her eyes.

"In case you need to know, I hugged her and smoldered her with love. She wouldn’t choose it even if it was the last thing to jeep her alive," he whispers, making Hamilton chuckle impulsively.

Hamilton walks around the oval, long table, pinching his bottom lip as he glances at her. He takes the seat directly across from hers. She isn't herself; there is fear on her face, as well as disappointment. Her hair is messed up, and it's clear she's been weeping; her tears flow down her cheeks, erasing some of her makeup. She looks like she's been through a storm, like she's been to war and back.

"You look like someone from hell," he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and she gasps in disbelief. "Oh, come on, Auntie," he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this not the game we've been playing all along?"

She pauses before saying anything. She leans forward on the table, her furrows deepening as she looks at him in contempt. "I could have lost my life," she says flatly in a whisper, her voice shaking slightly. "I was so close to losing everything. I was almost killed."

"Yes, well," he says with a shrug, "you're still here, aren't you?"

She looks at him for a long moment before she speaks again. "You're a monster," she says quietly. "You're a monster, and I will never forgive you for what you've done."

"And you think I'd beg?" His smile fades away as he shakes his head in a ghostly existence. "Let this be a warning," he says as he leans in closer to her. "I am done playing."

"Is this some sort of vendetta against my brother, your father?" she asks.

"You do realise I only take the deal from you, right?" He ignores her guess and she shakes her head.

"How did you do it?" She shakes her head at him as the flashback of a bold man has her on her knee at gun point. "Inform them I have fake stones and it turns out my real ones are replaced with one."

He stands up as he sarcastically shakes his head at her. "Is that what you did? Do you show up with counterfeit merchandise?" He purses his lips as he walks to the window to gaze out, and she sits back, frightened, looking at him. "That's bad for business," he says as he turns around and tucks his hands into his jeans, putting strain on his muscles.

"I was right about you from the start," she whispers. "I told your father to beware of you." That fool thought it was okay to have you around even if he didn't really want you. I knew you were bad news, but you're something much worse." She abruptly stands and begins walking past him, but he clears his throat as he rubs the palm of his right hand over his straight nose.

"Then, you all shall embrace the monster you raised with hate," he utters through his teeth. She pauses for a moment as she contemplates saying something, but she also admits that what he just said is true. She squeezes her eyes shut to clear her mind of her guilt and continues her exit from the building.

When he sees her walk out, he turns to look out the window. He grips his right forearm as tightly as he can until he feels enough pain to snap him out of his rage. His knuckles turn white from the force of his grip. He doesn't always show his anger, but in order to disguise it, he would surreptitiously inflict pain on his body. At that moment, all he wanted to do was hurt someone-anyone-as much as they had hurt him.

Hamilton is silent as he gazes out the window of his tower office at the panorama of the city. He's only wondering, guessing how many secrets are buried behind the walls, and how many of them have the potential to harm lives. Minutes stretch into hours, and he shakes his head as he stares down at himself, finally feeling the pain in his hand and fatigue on his body from the stand. His grip was as tight as a cable tie. He closes his eyes as he realises how hard he has been on himself, observing the spurt of blood and the blackening sin created by the hold as he relinquishes it.

He turns back, gasping, and purses his lips as he notices Ben standing calmly. George is sitting on a chair behind him, and they are both perplexed by his character.

"I didn't know you were here," he says gently, then walks up to a chair and takes it.

"I was nearby and heard what happened," Ben reasoned to himself.

"How is Zeno doing?" Hamilton asks, trying to keep his hand out of sight.

"He's OK. I guess he likes complimenting me on what I'm doing with the cave."

"He loves what he can accomplish by himself," George says, as he thinks about Zeno. "I'd like to break the news to him." He looks up to Hamilton, as if asking for permission. He wanted to let him know how they handled Hamilton's aunt, how they made her pay for coming between them. Perhaps he wanted to get his reaction.

"He is your friend. You don’t need permission from me to visit him," he says gently, after a few moments of thought. "However, before you go to him, make sure Demetri is aware of tomorrow's meeting."

"For the night, right?" George inquires as he leaves his seat, looking at Hamilton, and receives a nod in response. "Adios," he says as he exits the conference room, leaving Ben and Hamilton behind.

"Do you want me to handle her?" Ben clutches his hands behind him, and Hamilton smiles, looking at Ben.

"She's been handled enough," he says. "However, I'd like you to call Martha."

"Sure," he says, and Ben nods as he tries to leave the conference room.

"I should be returning to my flat soon." He expresses himself frankly, as if to let him know he expects her to make the customary arrangements, however now. He nods and goes out of the room, like he always does.

It amazes Hamilton that Ben always has a deadpan expression on his face, almost as if nothing surprises him. He has never questioned him; all that happens is that Hamilton orders the jump and Ben simply addresses it. He is the one making calls to Martha and ordering for the lady of the day, which Hamilton would expect at his flat. Martha would send them to his flat, fully prepared for him the way he needed them. After the evening is over, Ben then drives the lady back to Martha's place, completing the payments on Hamilton's behalf. Hamilton can't recall how exactly he started doing this with Ben.

He wonders if Ben ever wonders why he does what he does—chooses a new female companion to accompany him when he needs one, and they arrive at his flat in a specific appearance. He wonders if he ever wondered why he had to pay them so much money. However, Hamilton would dismiss the concept because such occurrences are uncommon and he is generally preoccupied.

He gets up and walks out of the conference room, only to see the busy floor occupied by maintenance workers attempting to repair the partitions. He passes by them and towards the elevator. His thoughts have shifted away from his family problems and onto Viola. His heart is racing as he contemplates whether he will ever be able to bring her to his place.

Naked French windows let in the light of the day, shining on the worm-walnut flooring. Unlike his mother's white walls, adorned with pictures of his mother and himself, his walls are empty and specious. A portrait of his mother hangs above the mantelpiece, and seeing that reminds him of how hard he tries to place each memory of her in the details as it was painted. His mother's small apartments were filled with furniture, making home feel warmer, but his flat is a little more simple, carrying her never-dying memorabilia in places and in ways.

There are some details in places that remind him of his childhood home, and he never forgets. This luxurious life, touched with something from his past, may be a slight reminder, but the serene silence and privacy remind him of the tough life path he is on.

He walks quietly to the stars on his right, pausing just as he reaches the aisle leading to the bedroom to hear the main entrance door click open and then shut. The sound of slow footsteps indicates who might be present. He continues down the stairs, just pausing to glance at the lady entering the living room. She removes her shoes and coat as she approaches the sofa facing the French window and lays them over the sofa's back pillow. She shakes her hair with both hands as she moves to the French window, tangling it up even more.

She clearly hopes to wait for him in a pause that will provide her with the grandeur of glamour, even if it means he will only see her from behind at first. She keeps shifting her leg position as she attempts to find something seductive. He laughs at the drama he's watching but clears his throat, alerting her to his presence, and she fully stops moving as she listens intently to his footsteps behind her.

Her breathing becomes heavy as she listens to him approach her, her anticipation palpable. She swallows hard and closes her eyes as she feels him approaching her from behind her. She pinches her bottom lip tightly as she attempts to gauge his height, but the instant she opens her eyes, she sees a fuzzy reflection of him in the French window.

It's as if he's a ghost; all she sees in the reflection is a very tall and muscular man dressed all in black, peering down at her. His presence makes her feel inadequate. Fear generates a demanding pull in her belly, as she fears having him touch her in any way. It is as if she can’t decide, but there is something about him that scares her just as it makes her feel like she needs him all over her.

He covers the gap between them with a single step and stands silently looking over her head to the city in the distance. Perhaps it's the light, but he can sense her anxiety from the shaking as she breathes heavily, and her rigid frame says it all. Her unkempt hair, chipped nail paint, and the nightgown with a strap off her shoulder are his memories of his mother around the time she began pushing him away from herself, aiming to make it easier for him to slip into his father's embrace. He remembers her from when her discomfort was worsening and she couldn't keep up her appearance.

His left hand slowly grasps her nape, and she gasps and closes her eyes. His lengthy fingers wrapped around her neck, making her feel the firmness of his palms. He's not hot; his hands are a little chilly, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, and his fragrance, with a hint of tobacco and other things she can't figure out, smells mighty good, to the point where she'd forget about it. She opens her eyes as she yields to the beating of her heartbeat in her ears. Actually, his fragrance is driving her nuts, increasing her need for him.

He slowly pushes her to the window, and she presses her palm against it, attempting to maintain her balance. Her heart races as she feels his body heat against her back. He slides his left foot between her feet, splitting her legs, and she yelps in surprise. She pants through her clenched teeth as she looks down between her legs, where his black logger work boots are firmly planted. His antiseptic left arm travels down her west and comes to a halt when it nears her pelvic area, slowly dragging her dress up her thigh. She has nothing underneath and is willing to meet his requirements.

"Are you scared?" he inquires, only to be met with a head shake. She enjoys feeling his body when his speech sends a vibration to hers. His voice is low and husky, and she can feel his breath against her ear. She can tell his body is stiff because she feels a significant tenseness in his muscles. Her antiseptic left arm is like a snake, slithering down her waist. She feels trapped, but not in a bad way. She feels like she's about to embark on an adventure. His hand feels rough as it travels up her thigh, and she gasps as his fingers brush against her most intimate area. She is about to speak when he presses his hand against her mouth, effectively silencing her. His eyes are dark and full of desire, and she can feel her own desire mounting. She melts into him as he slightly bites her neck, and she knows that she will never be able to resist him.

He wants her, but he's still thinking about Viola, a woman he's never met fully. He will not be happy if he goes ahead with it. He lets her go and takes three steps back as he looks at her in wonder, and she remains still, playing the role she believes he might want.

"Dress up," he says, and she moves cautiously. "Turn around and look at me?" He commands her once more, and she carefully turns around, lifting her dress strap to her shoulder. He waits for her until she gathers the courage to look up at him, which takes some time.

She carefully raises her gaze to his towering stature. He appears to be the result of something working overtime to shape him. Her large green eyes glare back at him, and he looks down at himself before returning his gaze to her.

"What are you staring at?" he inquires, and she lowers her gaze. "Oh, no," he sucks his teeth, and she glances up again. "I'd like you to respond. Genuinely. Are you scared of me?"

"No," she answered gently. He gives her his full attention as she swallows hard and clears her throat. "I thought you were intimidating, but this," she laughs as she rolls her eyes, emphasising the premise of their meeting. "The keys to raising temperatures are excitement and terror. I thought you were frightening, but after seeing you, I see you also need someone. Despite appearing to have everything," She shrugs her left shoulder and draws a fading line with her lips. "We're all humans," she says as she closes her eyes. Returning his gaze

"We are," he responds with a nod. "Thank you," he says to her. "There will be a car waiting for you with the promised payment. I must be somewhere else," he says to her quietly.

She tucks her hair behind her left ear and nods as she walks past him, takes her coat and shoes, and walks out of the flat. He turns around shaking his head as he quietly listens to her close the door behind her.

"Oh Viola, I need to see you now," he utters to himself as he walks to the door. Whether this will work or not, he knows he should get to her and find a way to be closer.