Chapter 55: Codename: Aconite Chapter Five

Seconds tick by when I hear the sound of rustling on the other side of the door, followed by the clicking of the door’s latch. The door creaks open slightly, and I rise to my feet. I tentatively peek my head in, moving slow and unthreateningly so as to not frighten her. As I step in I’m stunned, but not entirely surprised by the state of the room. Clothes ripped to shreds and scattered about, photographed portraits smashed and left in shattered heaps on surfaces and the fluffy white carpet covering the floor. Not only are the bi-fold curtains closed, but a sheet has been placed across them to ensure not a sliver of light enters this room.

As I take in the decrepit state of the room, my eyes fall on the frail figure huddled up in the middle of the bed, her covers surrounding her like a cocoon of protection. Her clothes hang from her body and even in the dark, I can see the still healing bruises and cuts on her face that appear only more noticeable due to her gaunt appearance. Her mousey-blonde hair looks greasy and knotted, around her eyes look worn and sunken but her eyes themselves… The light shining from the doorway gives me a glimpse into her eyes and it makes my blood run cold.

I’ve looked into the eyes of people as they took their last breath. I’ve seen the eyes of the dead. I’ve even seen the eyes of pure evil. But these eyes… their normal glimmering shade of topaz appear vacant while holding memories of horrors many couldn’t even begin to imagine. It’s almost as if I can see those horrors replaying themselves in her eyes, sharing their terror with any who dare to look. Reminds me of the tale of Medusa. A beautiful woman raped by Poseidon and punished by Athena. Well, I suppose that depends on the version you prefer. Funny that this beautiful soul whose eyes that once held such joy and are now filled with nightmares to haunt any who look upon her, would share her name with the Goddess who once created such a creature. Makes you wonder how much truth was behind the myth.

“Please close the door,” she whispers, and I follow her instructions.

“May I sit?” I ask, gesturing to the bed.

I observe her meek nod and step over, sitting on the edge of the queen-sized bed while doing my best to maintain distance for Athena’s sake.

“You can’t help me,” she says, holding her knees to her chest.

“Maybe not, but no one says you can’t help yourself.”

Carefully I unclasp the necklace from around my neck with a single black diamond pendant. “You know, in ancient Greece, they believed that black diamonds were the tears of the Gods,” I say as I hold the pendant out to her, “I want you to take this.”

She frowns in confusion, “Why are you giving me jewellery?”

“Because it’s not jewellery. Carefully hidden inside is a cyanide capsule. Attackers are usually so busy attacking or going for the clothes they pay no attention to the jewellery. Your father will hate me for this, but I don’t care. I’m giving you your last line of defence. Should you ever be in a life-or-death situation, you have two options. Take this and shove it down the throat of any bastard who dares try to touch you or use it on yourself. If you decided there’s no way out and you refuse to be someone’s victim again, then spare yourself the pain,” I say as I place the pendant at her feet.

She looks at it with deep curiosity, cautiously reaching out and picking it up between her fingers. “What would stop me from using it now?” she softly asks.

I shrug, “That’s your choice.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, “Father and Mother won’t even keep sharp objects in the room.”

I glance at the broken shards of mirror frames scattered about and make note of them in my mind.

“Athena, I don’t want to see you die. I want to see you get better. I want to see you thrive, fight back, and show everyone that they didn’t win. They’re dead and you’re still alive, but everyone has their limit and I’m not callous enough to dictate what yours is or should be. If you wake up one morning and decide you can’t live like this a minute longer, then you shouldn’t have to. No one should. I respect your right to make that choice, but I don’t think you will,” I say with a gentle smile.

She gulps audibly, “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re still here. You’re down and beaten but you’re still here. If you really wanted out, hiding a few sharp objects wouldn’t stop you. When you want death, you’ll get there any way you can, but here you sit. Sun comes up and sun goes down and you’re still here. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but that’s strength. That’s a fighter. Just making it to the next day is a victory. I’m in awe of your strength, Athena. Those men who hurt you didn’t even have half the strength you do, that’s why they’re dead and you’re still here,” I say confidently.

I watch as her topaz eyes fill with tears, and like a floodgate bursting open, she throws her arms around me and breaks into sobs that wrack her frail body. I carefully hold her close, stroking her unkempt hair, consoling her as she lets out all her pain and anger. Her hands fist into my shirt and I tighten my hold, hoping my arms can act like a shield as she unburdens herself on my shoulder.

I may be a trained killer, but I’m not heartless. I will never be alright with the cruel treatment of good people. I suppose it runs in my blood. The women in my family became assassins originally to protect women who couldn’t protect themselves in a society that refused to help. The first was my Great, Great Grandmother Besina. She murdered her father in order to protect herself, her mother, and her brothers from his abuse, and managed to turn it into a flourishing family enterprise. Not saying all my kills are noble – far from it – but at least they have noble beginnings, if that’s any consolation.

“How about I brush some of those knots out of your hair?” I gently ask.

She sniffles and nods against my shoulder. As she slowly detaches herself from me, I get up and find her brush on her vanity and sit back down on the bed. I pat my lap, encouraging her to lay her head there and she doesn’t hesitate. I smile down at her, pleased to see her relaxing around me. It’s wonderful progress since Dimitris said she won’t let anyone touch her.

As she lays her head on my lap and curls up in a ball, I begin brushing out the knots in her hair, starting at the bottom and working my way up so as to cause her the least amount of pain.

“Can you really teach me to be strong?” she quietly asks.

“I certainly can. It would take time, and you’d need to start eating again in order to get your strength up, but once that happens, absolutely. We will train as often as you want until you’re your own lethal weapon,” I say smiling down at her.

“Dad never wanted me to train,” she says, and I catch just a hint of resentment in her voice.

“A bad call on his part, but one that came from a good place. He loves you and raising you in this world he just… he hoped to keep the darkness of his world from ever reaching your light. He failed, and now you all have to live with that,” I say with a heavy heart.

“There’s no light left in me,” she says brokenly.

“I see a bit of it. I think there’s still hope,” I assure her as the brush begins to glide effortlessly through her hair.

“Will you stay a bit longer?” she nearly begs.

“Would be my honour,” I say warmly, pulling the covers over her as I place the brush down and run my fingers through her hair.

Before long, Athena drifts off to sleep, but I dare not move. For the first time in my life – excluding with family – my presence is bringing someone peace and protection. I’ve been raised in a world of killers and trained to be one. Taught to be even more ruthless than those around me to ensure no one would ever dare harm me, and yet here I am, sitting guard as my old friend sleeps, acting as her avenging angel just hoping for a few hours I can keep the nightmares at bay. Maybe if I can, she can finally start to heal.