Chapter 8: "The Storm"
1714 Words
POV: Dual
Maya:
The villa sounded like it was breathing. Maya wasn't sure it would keep doing on.
They sat on the floor of the interior hallway with their backs against the wall and their knees almost touching. The only light came from a single candle Rosa had left in the canvas bag—flickering, desperate, throwing shadows that looked like monsters.
The wind was screaming.
Not howling or blowing but screaming like something alive was trying to tear the roof off and climb inside.
"How long will this last?" Maya asked.
"Hours." Julian's voice was calm. Too calm. "Maybe longer."
"You've done this before?"
"Twice. When I was a kid."
"And the villa survived?"
"The villa survived. I can't promise the same for your nerves."
She laughed. It came out strangled. "My nerves are fine."
"Your hands are shaking."
She looked down and noticed he was right that her hands were shaking.
Julian:
The power went out at 9 PM.
Not gradually or with a warning. One moment the hallway was dark except for the candle. The next moment the candle was the only light left in the world.
Maya made a sound which was small but sounded terrified. She covered her mouth with her hand immediately, like she was embarrassed.
"It's just the generator," Julian said. "It happens."
"The generator was supposed to—"
"Generators fail. That's what they do."
He stood up. He found the canvas bag by touch alone. His fingers closed around the bottle of whiskey he had put there this morning, when Rosa was packing supplies, when he still thought the storm might pass south.
He sat back down. He opened the bottle.
"What is that?" Maya asked.
"Whiskey."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
He took a drink. The whiskey burned his throat, his chest and part of him that had been cold since the moment she sent that resignation email.
He handed her the bottle.
Maya:
She had never liked whiskey.
She took a drink anyway.
It burned,she coughed but Julian didn't laugh instead his mouth twitched in that almost-smile she had been cataloguing for three years.
"Terrible," she said.
"It's fifty-year-old Scotch."
"It tastes like gasoline."
"That's the peat."
"That's regret."
He took the bottle back and drank it again. She watched his throat move. The candlelight caught his jaw, cheekbones, and dark blond hair falling across his forehead.
"Why did you bring whiskey?" she asked.
"Because Rosa packed it."
"Rosa packed whiskey for a hurricane?"
"Rosa has been through more hurricanes than both of us combined. She knows what matters."
The wind screamed. Something hit the east wall—a branch maybe, or a piece of the dock. The villa shuddered.
Maya took the bottle back. She drank again, It burned less this time.
Julian:
"The watch," she said.
"What about it?"
"Your father's Omega. You mentioned it on the plane. You said it belonged to him."
Julian looked down at his wrist. The watch was there he hadn't taken it off in years.
"He gave it to me when I was twenty-five," Julian said. "The day I took over the company."
"That must have been meaningful."
"It was a transaction. Like everything with him."
Maya was quiet for a moment. The wind screamed and the villa shuddered again.
"What did he say?" she asked. "When did he gave it to you?"
Julian closed his eyes. He could hear his father's voice cold and precise. The same voice that had told him emotion was a liability, that control was the only currency that mattered.
"He said, 'Now you know your direction.'"
"And do you?"
Julian opened his eyes and looked at her. The candlelight made her dark eyes look like honey.
"No," he said. "I never have."
Maya:
She handed him the whiskey.He drank while she watched his throat move again.
"My father had hands," she said.
Julian looked at her. "What?"
"His hands. They were—" She stopped and swallowed. "He worked construction, that was why his hands were always rough and calloused. He used to hold my mother's face between them when he kissed her."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you told me about the watch while the storm is trying to kill us also I've never said this to anyone."
She took a breath. The wind screamed and The villa groaned again for the third time.
"He died when I was twelve. A flood in our basement. He went down there to fix the pump, and the water rose faster than anyone expected, and by the time my mother realized he wasn't coming back—"
She stopped.
Julian's hand found hers in the dark. His fingers wrapped around her wrist then His thumb pressed against her pulse.
"You don't have to finish," he said.
"I've never told anyone that."
"Not even Priya?"
"Not even Priya."
He didn't let go of her wrist. She didn't pull away.
Julian:
The roof started leaking at 11 PM.
A drip at first which turned to a stream. Then water ran down the wall behind them, pooling on the floor, soaking through the blanket Rosa had left.
"We need to move," Julian said.
"Where?"
"The other end of the hallway. It's higher."
They stood up together without letting go of each other.
They walked to the other end of the hallway, sat down again and the candle flickered by this time the whiskey bottle was half-empty.
"My mother," Julian said.
Maya looked at him. "What about her?"
"She didn't die of a cardiac event."
Maya's dark eyes widened. "Julian—"
"She died by suicide. I was fourteen while Alex was twelve. My father told everyone it was her heart. He told us the same thing for ten years, I believed him."
The wind screamed and The villa shuddered for the fourth time. Water was leaking through the ceiling now, dripping onto his shoulder, and he didn't care.
"Alex told me the truth," Julian said. "Two years ago. When I was at my lowest, when I had driven away everyone who mattered."
"You haven't driven me away."
"I tried."
"You failed."
He looked at her, she looked at him and the candle flickered between them.
Maya:
Something hit the east wall.
Not a branch or a piece of the dock but something large, heavy and loud. The villa shook which made the candle go out.
Darkness.
Complete darkness.
Maya couldn't see her hand in front of her face. She couldn't see Julian or anything except the black.
Her breathing changed from fast to shallow. The way it always did when she thought about water, basements and the sound of her father's voice disappearing.
"Julian."
"I'm here."
"I can't—"
"Breathe, Maya."
"I can't breathe."
She felt his hands on her face which was warm and rough. His palms cupped her cheeks while His fingers pressed against her jaw.
"Breathe with me," he said.
"In."
"Out."
"In."
"Out."
She followed his voice and breath. The steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling somewhere in the dark.
Julian:
The terror was visible on her face.
Even in the dark, he could see it. The way her eyes were too wide, her mouth was open and her whole body was shaking.
He had seen Maya Reyes handle billion-dollar clients. He had seen her diffuse screaming matches between executives. He had seen her walk into rooms full of men who wanted to eat her alive and walk out with everything she came for.
He had never seen her afraid.
"The water," she said. "When the flood came—I heard him shouting and then there was silence."
"Don't."
"I need to say it."
"Say it."
"I was in the kitchen. My mother was at work while My brother was at school and I heard my father shout then I ran to the basement door, and the water was coming up the stairs,but I couldn't—I couldn't—"
She broke.
He pulled her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her then his hand pressed her head against his shoulder.
"I've got you," he said.
"I couldn't save him."
"You were twelve years old."
"I should have—"
"You were a child, Maya. A child."
She cried , and he held her. Water leaked through the ceiling and pooled around them on the floor.
And Julian Croft, who had not held anyone since his mother died, held her.
Maya:
She didn't know how long they sat there.
Minutes or even Hours. The storm was still screaming and The villa was still breathing but something had changed.
His arms were around her. Her face was pressed against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat Steady and Strong Nothing like the chaos outside.
"My mother," he said.
She lifted her head. "What about her?"
"Her name was Vivienne. She played the piano, read poetry and laughed like she meant it."
"What happened to her?"
Julian was quiet for a moment. "My father happened to her," he said. "He controlled her the way he controlled everything. And one day, she couldn't breathe anymore. So she stopped trying."
Maya reached up. Her fingers found his face in the dark. The stubble she had never seen before today.
"You're not him," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because he would have let me fall in the generator room, let me cry alone and have let the storm take me."
Julian's hand covered hers. His fingers pressed against her palm.
"I'm not him," he said. "But I don't know how to be anyone else."
"Then we'll figure it out together."
Julian:
The roof was leaking. The wind was screaming. Something was hitting the east wall every few seconds now, hard and relentless, like the storm was trying to find a way in.
But Julian wasn't looking at the ceiling. He wasn't listening to the wind.
He was looking at her.
Maya's dark eyes. Her tear-streaked cheeks. Her loose hair, falling over her shoulders, tangled and wet and perfect.
The storm was trying to kill them.
The storm was the least dangerous thing in this room.
Maya:
They both looked at each other .
The storm was the least dangerous thing in this room.
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END OF CHAPTER 8
- Writer
