Chapter 78

Maya's POV

I turned my back to the door and against freedom to check on the man who had risked everything to help me escape his brother.

My instinct wasn't in support of this sudden decision, but as always, I wasn't one to listen to any sense, especially the one that came straight from my head.

My blue off-the-shoulder gown clung to my body as it suddenly went damp.

What the hell is wrong with you, Maya? I scolded myself. Get a grip, girl; you'll say thank you and leave. It's manners, and Dora raised you with them.

Yeah, she did. I agreed with myself. I braced my shoulders at the door before knocking.

There was no response at all.

Was he in?  I wondered and knocked again.

His voice never came in. Maybe he wasn't in. I decided. or he wanted to be alone; with all that happened, it was understandable.

I turned to go when I heard a crash of glass against something hard. Was he throwing things? That was very unlikely.

I swallowed hard and opened the door, ready to apologize for intruding, when my eyes fell on him on the floor.

"Sir Derinem!". My blood ran cold as I ran to him, gasping for breath on the floor, hands to his throat. Each time he struggled to stand up, he knocked himself down.

His face was pale, and his breath became more of a whisp as he groaned.

I knelt beside him, hands on his chest, feeling his forehead and pulse—the hell, I had no idea what I was doing.

But I knew I had to act fast.

"What should I do?" I was almost screaming. It was enough death for today, and it wouldn't be Sir Derinem.

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, struggling to raise his head to my ear, and then he choked, "Find my inhaler."

My eyes widened when he suddenly let go of my hand. Sir Derinem was asthmatic! Who would have known?

Springing into action, I searched the cupboard. His groans were loud in my ears, quickening my heartbeat as I explored the wardrobe. But still nothing.

Pulling the sheets from the bed, I still found nothing.

I calmed myself by breathing in. If I was an asthmatic patient, where would I keep my inhaler?

My bag is undoubtedly close to me. And since Sir Derinem didn't use a bag (yeah, funny), it had to be...

My eyes fell on the clothes he wore yesterday, on a chair. I ran to it, searching its pockets, almost screaming for joy when I found the inhaler.

I went to him, holding him against me and pushing the inhaler into his mouth.

"Inhale, Sir Derinem," he gasped, breathing in, and I pressed the top of the inhaler, hearing as his chest pushed, which soon went normal, and his breathing became stable.

My breath was heavy like I just ran a marathon, and I felt the sweat pouring from my head down to my chest and disappearing into my gown.

I looked into his face as he was beginning to regain himself, and seeing me, he immediately began to get up, his hands helping him.

He stood up, staggering, looking at his inhaler in my hands, and snatched it back, going over to the bed and dropping it at its head.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be leaving?" He asked me, his voice drawling, "I told George to get you out!"

I swallowed hard, standing up. Why was he so angry at me? Or was it me?

"You need to rest; you look terrible, sir Derinem."

"That's not what I asked you, Maya." He growled as he walked towards me. For the first time, I was scared of him; his brown didn't seem so enticing anymore. He was close to me now, fingers closing on my shoulders and shaking me, "Do you somehow have a knack for getting into trouble?"

I blinked when the smell of alcohol coming from his breath hit me—that was what all the drawling was about then. "You're drunk!" I whispered.

He released my hand and staggered back his face in confusion, "No, I'm not," then he rubbed his forehead and muttered, "Goddamnit, I hate my life."

I bit the sides of my mouth, forcing myself to leave his space; he didn't look like the same person, and this person was as dangerous as maestro.

But I couldn't leave. Because behind that danger was helplessness.

I saw him pick up the cup and spring into action, snatching it out of his hand and pulling back.

He angrily glared at me: "What the fuck are you doing?"

"That's enough drinking for today, Sir Derinem," I said with a voice bolder than I remembered.

"Give it back, Maya!" He ordered.

With my heart thudding, I smashed the cup on the ground, turning to face him, and I suddenly didn't like what I saw.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He clenched his fist, thudding towards me, his teeth gritting. I never saw so much anger in one person before.

So deep. So raw.

He stopped realizing it as it dawned in his eyes, then turned his back to me, going to bed. He sat on the floor, knees up, glaring at the bottle but not seeing it.

I pulled closer. Looking at his shattered frame on the floor, the urge to save him pulled at me.

From what? I still did not know.

"How did I mess this up so bad?" He muttered, "How did everything go wrong?"

"It's not your fault," I said in the dimly lit room. "I can't say everyone makes mistakes because you did nothing."

He laughed, sparing me a short glance, "You don't know me, Maya... You don't know what I can do."

I felt like I was talking to a child when I said, "I know you like to blame yourself for things you have no power over, and that shouldn't be."

"Maybe if I had pushed her out, this mess wouldn't be..." he waved off. "You don't get it."

"We are talking about Leona, and I know that."

He looked at me with shock, wondering how I knew everything; instead, I shrugged.

He took a big gulp, his eyes on the bottle again, and said, "Your flight is gone, Maya; all of this went to waste."

I felt for him; the organ in my chest bled for him, suffering without anybody knowing. It scared me, knowing he would have died if I hadn't come in.

I walked to him and sat on the ground before him, wrapping my hands around his and the neck of the bottle, pulling it away from him until it was out of his reach.

Then I put it behind me. When I looked at him again, he stared back at me, and my heart began racing.

I wasn't using my head; I had to be possessed.

I placed my hand on the side of his face so that the tips of my fingers were in his hair, my eyes staring deep into his brown.

He looked caught off guard, his expression changing in seconds.

I leaned in, and he watched me, still unsure. I whispered loud enough so he could hear me, "I think you're okay."

When I kissed him, I knew I always wanted to do that, and when he kissed me, it was all I ever wanted.

Was I taking advantage of him in his state? I didn't know. After all, it was supposed to be a kiss. Besides, he might not even remember it.

Not until he held the back of my head, lips trailing across my neck, pushing down the sleeves of my gown, whispering my name, and breaking down my walls.

Slow moans and hard breaths fill the room.

It was when I woke up later beside him, hearing his regular breathing and tracing his childlike countenance with my eyes, that I knew it wasn't a dream.

As I tiptoed out of the room with my torn dress and my heart thudding against my chest, one thing was sure: I was going to keep this with me until I died.