As the guards welcomed Jude back into his mansion, the antique grandfather clock in the hallway chimed.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
It was midnight.
Jude addressed the guards closest to him, “Layla, inform the chefs that I have returned and that I am expecting a hot meal in less than forty-five minutes. Adam, tell the maids to prepare a bath, and a set of clean clothes for my guest and I.”
The two guards bowed respectfully. “Right away, Master Malakai,” they flatly replied in unison, before scurrying away.
“You’re going to eat at this hour?” I wondered, skeptical, “Isn’t it a too late?”
Jude looked at me as if I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “It’s never too late to fill an empty stomach.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, Jude was lying face down on his bed, clutching his belly.
“Urghh,” he groaned into his covers, “My stomach. It hurts. I think I ate too much.”
No kidding. I had forgotten that he had a vociferous appetite. That boy could endlessly stuff his face with food, and never gain a pound. It did not apply to me, but I was acquainted with some people who would inflate like a balloon, if they so much as breathed the scent of freshly baked, 100% gluten-free bread.
Life was full of surprises, huh?
Jude had pounced on the food as if he hadn’t eaten in months, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.
“You want some?” he had asked me, through a mouthful of meat and grapes. Obviously, I had refused. Watching him eat would cut anyone’s appetite for weeks on end.
Shaking the disturbing memory away, I stretched my legs on the couch he had in his room. I had to begrudgingly admit it was comfortable enough, with its soft, fluffy fabric. Although, when I had demanded to room in one of the guest chambers, Jude had flat out refused, stating that he “needed me around him at all times” and that if I defied him, I would regret it.
It was as if I was dealing with a spoiled child. Jude had grown up with money sticking out of his ears, so maybe he did not understand that his riches or superiority could not charm some people. Maybe he was not aware that people like him were the ones who gave the rich kids a bad reputation.
“About that coffer,” I said, snuggling inside the blanket, “When are we going to go see it?”
Jude groaned in pain, curled up as he hugged his stomach. Ha! Good for him. I guess there were no spells against stomachaches.
“We’re going to get to work first thing in the morning,” he answered. He rolled onto his side, his back facing me and belched. “Good night, Damian.”
I did not reply.
Somewhere down the halls, I heard the clock announce two in the morning. It was difficult to fall asleep, despite the long day. Maybe it was due to the fact that I was lying less than ten feet away from the devil.
“Jude,” I whispered, “Are you still awake?”
No answer.
I stood up and tiptoed towards him, careful not to make the floorboards creak under my weight.
Glancing down at him, I realized that he had fallen asleep. He looked so tiny and serene, with his hands curled into fists, his legs brought up towards his chest, the blanket flipped on the side. So silent and peaceful.
It was rare to see him like this, appearing defenseless and innocent.
I poked his cheek. He did not react. Great. I waved my hands in front of his face. He did not flinch. Excellent. I traced the contour of his face with two of my fingers. Zero response. Perfect.
Now was the perfect moment to end this, once and for all. As quietly and as carefully as I could muster, I took one of the pillows near him and lifted it above his head.
This is it, Jude, I thought, You’re leaving this world tonight. Goodbye.
With no hesitation whatsoever, my hands lowered themselves, ready to snuff the life out of him.
“Stop!” he screamed. I shrunk back, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp when I fell backwards. Terrified that he was going to get me, I prepared for the worst until I noticed he had not moved a muscle.
“Why are you doing this?” he mumbled, “Leave me alone!”
Oh. He was having a nightmare. My heart was palpitating against my chest, and I inhaled and exhaled several times to calm it.
God, I can’t believe I was about to smother him. Without a plan, a cover-up, a story or anything to protect me from being pinned down.
It hasn’t even been a day since I promised myself I would cooperate with him, and already, I had been thisclose to committing murder, as well as signing my own death warrant.
Get a grip, Damian, I thought, You need Jude’s help. You need him for whatever comes your way later.
Exactly. I should not stain my hands. Not now. I would have to do it after everything was over. After everything had calmed down and when the opportunity arose.
It was either me or him. Short-lived freedom or long-term imprisonment. Besides, I reckoned I would be doing the entire world a favor.
Jude continued to murmur some incomprehensible jargon under his breath, sweat running down the side of his face. He thrashed his head around, clutching his blanket desperately.
“N-no,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “Not you too…Don’t leave me.”
This guy was a serious nutcase. What had occurred in his lifetime, to leave him in this pitiful state? What exactly was going on? Why was he like this?
Figuratively speaking, there was no point trying to decipher these questions. Not when I was dead-set on eliminating him. Somehow. Someday.
Jude wanted to keep me a pet, a prisoner under his claws. He was going to continue threatening my friends and my family if I defied him.
I never wanted things to come to this, but the only way for me to regain my life back was if I got him out of the picture. As selfish as it may sound, I had to save myself. I had to end this mental persecution.
I started to walk back to the couch, suddenly exhausted to the bone.
“Damian.”
I stopped. Had he just uttered my name in his sleep?
“Damian,” he repeated in a mournful, desperate tone, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
I returned to his side and what I saw practically took my breath away: tears. Rolling down his cheeks.
Jude was crying.
“Don’t go,” he said, as the tears continued to flow down his face, “You can’t go. I need you, Damian. Please...I'm begging you...”
It was as if the world had stopped spinning. There he was, having I-don’t-know what kind of dreams, weeping his soul out. And here I was, witnessing everything as it unfolded. This was not a side of him I knew existed. This was not something I knew sorcerers were capable of displaying.
Raw emotions.
The whole time I had known him, Jude had never shown any genuine, human-like emotions. Never had I seen, or even heard him crying.
What is it, Jude? I thought, What is it that’s making you act this way? Why do you treat me like an inferior being if you want me to stay by your side?
“...I love you,” he whispered.
Quietly, I returned to the couch. I lied down and cocooned myself with the blanket, trying my hardest to block out his cries. For some unknown, inexplicable reason, my eyes were stinging. My nose was running.
And my heart was breaking.
Is it love when you act cruel and heartless? Is it love when you try and ruin someone's life, for your own personal gains? Is it love when you betray someone, double-crossing them in the most wicked, the most gut-wrenching way possible?
I would never, not even in a million years, bring up this scene. Here was another secret I was going to take into my grave. Here was a scene that had violently ripped the Band-Aid off my heart, who had nearly destabilized my vendetta against him.
If you really loved me, why did you torture me, Jude?
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