The Hitman and His Consort

XLIX - Clarify

First Person P.O.V: ARTHUR DELAVINGE

Things died down from then on. Valya’s parents seemed to be consoling each other as they left. I don’t know the back story of this whole family feud, but it just looked like it's Valya’s fault why it ended up here. Maybe because he called his biological parents ‘sh*tty’. They must’ve been good friends if the Becking’s left Valya in their care in the first place.

Then again, I’m not in any place to pry and fix other family’s problems when I can’t even fix mine. My younger siblings are probably suffering back at home under the grasp of my parents. Paula, maybe not so much, he’s probably long gone in that household.

In the split second that I thought my plan of escape from the metal chamber wasn’t gonna work my mind drifted to them, I guess I was thinking along the usual lines of ‘Maybe I could’ve done better’ or ‘Maybe I could’ve done more for them to help,’ but I realized how selfish I was when I thought that even if I were to go back in time, I would do the same thing just so I could leave that house.

‘Man, I’m getting sappy, my bones hurt and I’m parched, I must be starting to get delusional,’

“So, what’s going to happen to me now?” Pierre asked in the silence.

We all threw a glare at him, every time I see his face I get this strong urge to beat him up. And I am more than certain that the others feel the same, for the most part, we just ignored him. Except for Valentin, he stood up, not to answer Pierre’s question but to head to another room, the room where Mr. Gabriel went to get a pitcher of water earlier. Probably the kitchen.

He came back with duct tape on his hands and, in a disconcertingly barbaric manner, he started wrapping the tape around the lower part of Pierre's head, not even properly covering his mouth and it had a haunting resemblance with that of a spade bit on a horse’s mouths where the reins attach to.

That’s definitely going to bruise. Valya did not hold back whatsoever. Reminding us again that he will not hesitate to harm someone. In fact, he was all for it.

‘Yeah, that’s scary and all, but my throat is killing me,’ I cleared my throat as I turned to Valya, who’s just finished his little wrapping session and tore the excess tape off,

“Valya?” I croaked out, my voice sounded so dry in an instant.

He turned to me with furrowed brows, “Hm?”

“Can I borrow your kitchen for a bit?”

“What do you need?”

“I just—huegh!—water, just water,” I replied, coughing mid-sentence and covering my mouth,

He nodded, “I’ll get it for you,” he offered. What? No, I stood up and waved him off, pointing to the other room he went to,

“No, I’ll do it myself it’s right there, right?” I confirmed, and he exhaled before nodding.

He doesn’t need to tend to me like I’m broken or anything. I might be a bit out of the weather, but I just need some water. It’s not like I’ll collapse partway on the way to the kitchen. However, given that their kitchen is huge and my strength was drained with trying to bear with the pain those f*cking doctors put me through in the short time we spent together, I did get a bit dizzy.

Still, I managed to find the cabinet where they kept their cups and headed to the faucet, filling it up and gulping it down in mere seconds. They must’ve given me something that made me this thirsty because that was not nearly enough. I filled it up again and gulped—

“Are you alright?”

“Pft—keugh! Huegh!...ugh—Valya, don’t just creep up to someone like that,” I spat, wiping the water I coughed out off my face,

He crossed his arms, “Are you sure you’re a killer with those lousy instincts?” he replied and I rolled my eyes as I took another gulp, the thirst finally subduing,

I faced him and crossed my arms too, “I am just not in my best condition, you act like I didn’t beat you the first time we fought,” I challenged making him smile, walking a few steps closer.

‘Okay… what’s this?’

I thought as I watched him watch me, his gaze glued onto my face again. What’s wrong with it this time? Is he going to comment about my face being weird again like how he did soon after waking up post-surgery? Because I am over that and I will show him weird if he’s so bent on making it a big deal—SERIOUSLY WHAT IS HE STARING AT?

‘He’s still looking… is there something on my face?’

I thought as I subtly pat around my face, there’s nothing. I furrowed my brows and looked right back at his expressionless face, as usual. “What’s wrong with my face this time?” I asked, expecting the usual lines of ‘same thing that was wrong with it the last time’ or ‘it’s weird again’

He just smiled as he exhaled, leaning an inch closer before saying, “There was never something wrong with your face in the first place,”

‘Excuse me?’

Is this another challenge? I let the hair-combing thing slide earlier because I thought maybe he was bothered by how messy my head was, but this is pushing it! Just right after I promised myself that I’ll stop reading into sh*t and not fall too quickly or not assume things—and he does this? The disrespect, how dare he. I could feel my stomach tingle and I had to cover my mouth again because that caught me off guard.

“Wha—why would you say that, why are you being weird?” I asked, averting my eyes away from him.

He didn’t reply for a moment, but before he did, he walked a few steps closer, “Arthur… are you fond of me?” he asked.

No. This has to be a joke. Valentin? This Valentin? Asking THIS question? Is he high? Is he drunk?

“Valya, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden, are you okay?” I’m not even flustered, I am worried.

He didn’t answer that question and yet again came even closer. It was mere inches between us, then to my further confusion and astonishment, this man, THIS man, cupped my face in his hands and forced me to look at him.

“I think I should inform you that I’ve recently realized that I am, in fact, obsessed with you,” he said like he was reading it from a script.

I laughed. He almost had me there. I didn’t think he had enough material from his hard drive, or something, to make jokes, but look at this. The build-up was ominous and stressful though, which fit his personality I guess.

“Hah, now I know you’re f*cking with me, that’s funny Valya,” I said, patting his shoulder and pushing him away a little, he’s still a pretty recent crush so I need to establish some distance before I cave in, but he didn’t remove his hands from my face.

“Valya… that joke’s over, isn’t it?”

“It’s you who’s only taking this as a joke,” he replied, now looking annoyed.

I scrunched my face at him, he can’t actually mean—“Oh sh*t were you serious?” I asked,

‘Ain’t no way he just said that with a straight face’

“I am, that’s why I asked if you’re fond of me, don’t you normal folk keep the things you like close?” he replied. The f*ck?

I peeled his hands off and frowned at him. There was a lot to unpack here. ‘Recently realized’? ‘Obsessed’? ‘Normal folk’? How did he end up with a conclusion like that? What the hell happened while I was gone? If this is not a joke, then it’s a sick attempt of making me uncomfortable. He says this right after I was kidnapped by an actual obsessed ex-boyfriend—is he dissing me?

“Valya, if you’re doing this to annoy me, you already did, can we finish this convo?” I hissed and his brows furrowed deeper, like it was me who’s testing the other person’s patience.

I was about to walk away but he held onto my wrist, “Why are so mad? I don’t understand—I’m not doing anything wrong, if anything I think I‘m doing the right thing,” he argued.

“I know people date to stay close to the person they like and I hold you on a higher pedestal than just a mere like,” he began looking away, visibly upset.

I don’t think I quite understand the sentiments behind this, what drove him to say this? “Valya, I think you’re misunderstanding something, first, obsession does not equal affection, and second how could you even say you’re obsessed with me?” I began, “That seems like such a hasty analysis, maybe you just like my company,” I reasoned.

But that only seemed to frustrate him more, “I don’t get this,” he started, “when I ask about what I feel no one gives me direct answers, and when I do know what I feel, everyone has something to say to prove me wrong,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know I like you, at least I do now… why are you so against it? If you don’t want me around, just say so, and I here I believed that you actually liked me,” he spat. Giving me a disappointed look.

‘He did not, how did even know that?’

I jerked my hand away from his grasp and grabbed his collar, this is going to be a bigger problem if we don’t finish it here,

“Look, I know that you have this thing where you forget that people actually need to have some discretion and tact, but okay, I admit that I did like you because, if you still haven’t got it, I have a thing for sh*tty men,” I started, making sure he’s listening closely,

“But I don’t want to be that person anymore,” I followed, shaking my head as I listened to myself, sh*t this feels awful, “I don’t want to be easy access to sh*t like that anymore, all this was because I dated someone who turned out to be obsessed with me, are you telling me to go through that again?” I argued, and he pulled my hands off of his collar and inched closer.

“So your strike zone is just men who’re borderline undiagnosed psychopaths and you don’t date the single one who receives therapy, you need to reevaluate your little gamepl—“

I punched him.

I really don’t know what else I could’ve done. I already slapped him once, and he survived a shot to his gut. A single punch like this shouldn’t hurt him, right? Because I wanted to do it one more time. I thought he was a man of few words, but he’s been running his mouth for a while now, ain’t he?

I could feel myself shake as I watch him move his jaw around, giving me a disapproving stare with an irritated smile, “Touched a nerve? This is your fault in the first plac—“

“F*CK! STOP TALKING! Those same f*****g dialogue over and over again! We didn’t even date!” I yelled to cut him off. I know just exactly where this conversation would go. It’s always like this. Maybe it is my fault for associating with scum.

Maybe if I didn’t go around thinking I could help or it would get better, it wouldn’t reach this kind of outcome. Why is it always like this? I’m so f*cking sick of this. I just wanted someone to depend on and rely on, someone stronger than me to pull me up when I’m in deep sh*t but why does it always end up like this?

“Why is it MY fault!? I didn’t tell you to be obsessed with me! I didn’t even personally admit to you that I like you! Why am I at fault for the thing you cooked up on your own?!” I yelled, shoving him back at every pause.

“What?! Do you think you’re suddenly special because you like me all of a f*cking sudden?! I dated men before you that are just as sh*tty if not subordinate to your f*cking nauseating personality!” I followed, pointing at his face,

“Of all the *ssholes I liked, you’re by far the fastest one to give me this truckload amount of sh*t… get f*cked, I’m done playing games with you,” I spat.

Just noticing that my cheeks were wet with tears and my throat is hurting again, not because of thirst this time. As I left the kitchen, I walked past Inka and Madeline, who were standing at the doorway. Inka pulled me in for a hug like she does whenever she comforts me, but instead of dread, I felt so relieved.

I felt so light and proud that I actually stood up against that kind of thing.

I didn’t know what happened after that exactly, but once I sat back on the couch, I felt so drowsy that I thought I was drugged yet again.