Julius Caesar 45 2. Smiling Snarls

"I did not kill Leonard." He stated, his voice steady and his eyes wide and unblinking.

I screwed my face in anger. "A murderer and a liar!" I a.s.serted sarcastically. "I was in love with a madman!"

I thought Julius looked offended at my words but obscured it under a hearty laugh. "And I am in love with a naive woman. Does that make us even?"

I clenched my jaws despite the fire erupting in my gut at his confession. "I am not naive. You are mad. That will never make us even."

He looked at me with a raised brow and a sincere smile through the hair that managed to fall over his left eye. He then tilted his head a bit before his smile just vanished and his eyes darkened. "But you are, darling. In fact-" He said, s.h.i.+fting in his place with a heavy sigh before his eyes darted up to mine and locked them in place. "-you're very ridiculously naive."

I scowled and pursed my lips into a thin line. I was offended by the freedom he gave himself to insult me. "There's nothing naive about coming here to kill the madman who killed my brother."

I watched him smile, but that, apparently, wasn't enough for him. So he laughed loudly at my words, glanced at me, chuckled more, then stopped to smile dreamily with a soft sigh. "Are you even hearing yourself, love?"

He directed his eyes to me.

"Yes. I am." I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes.

"Okay." His voice was deep, playful, and humiliating. "But I might have a question."

Heeding that I wouldn't reply, he continued with his despicable smile. "Why is your gun by your side?" He tilted his head. "Come on, love," he said with a weary sigh. "Come on!" I watched him lift his hand and wave it at me. "Do it! Lift my gun and point it where you wouldn't miss," he said with an impossible, lop-sided smile. "My head." He whispered the last part and tried stifling a possibly wider smile.

"I actually will!" I blurted the words and he tilted his head to watch my hand that carried his gun. But it was like my arm got stuck by the intensity of his gaze and the heaviness of his voice on my lungs. I couldn't raise it at him as my heart pound hard in my chest and my cheeks caught fire.

"Alright," he then muttered with a disappointed sigh. "I'll make it easier for you."

He swiftly captured my eyes and smiled slightly before swiftly getting to his feet. He then raised his brows and hands as if in surrender. He approached me casually, arms still raised, and I forced myself not to look at his bare chest. His chiselled torso. His prominent V-lines and unb.u.t.toned pants. But I looked and looked, and gulped and gulped.

I raised my eyes when his chest was a few inches away from my face. I had to crane my head to take a look at his face. At his taunting, beautiful smile. His teasing, dark-red lips. His pearly teeth and pointed canines. Then at his virid eyes, guarded by thick eyebrows and short eyelashes.

It was a guilty pleasure looking at him.

He got closer and I shamefully let him, his body's heat enough to make me sweat and falter. He then gently held my forearm and lift it for me as I stared at him do what he was doing. I was watching him being amazing. I was watching myself fall in love with the charms of a mad man. Again.

I shook my head and found myself holding his gun to his head. He then let go and hid his hands behind his head as a smile dared his lips to let it make an appearance.

Oh, and his arms' muscles are so hard to ignore, I thought. His strength, his intensity, his heat, and proximity were so hard to ignore. He stared at me, daring me to make a move with a playful brow raise and a slight smirk.

I stared at him speechlessly before he rolled his eyes and dropped his arms to his sides. "Alright, love," he sighed boredly. "Let me make it even simpler."

I continued studying him, my lips parted in antic.i.p.ation. He dropped his head so he could get a better look at me as I expressionlessly watched his features harden. He locked my eyes and I could see that any sense of humour or taunting was long gone. His breathing was fast and short, and close, as his hair cascaded down his forehead.

And I couldn't help thinking that if any of us leaned in just a bit, our foreheads would touch.

He is thinking, I also thought. Julius was thinking and I had no idea what about. And it irritated me that I couldn't comprehend him the way he did me. His mind, I thought, was a labyrinth. And only he could get through it without getting lost; because at that moment, looking in his eyes, I felt so lost.

And I remember wanting to be an exception to this theory. I wanted to get in there, in his head, and walk alongside him in the aisles and aisles of all his thoughts and memories. I wanted him to point out his thoughts and explain them to me in his deep, consuming voice. Slowly. And I'd wait until we were through it all. And I'd love it if he held my hand too. Because I didn't think I'd see light in this mind of his. I thought it was a dark, convoluted thing. I thought holding hands would somehow illuminate our way.

I shuddered at my fantasy and focused back on the situation at hand.

Julius looked completely serious with his thick, black eyebrows furrowed. His lips opened, and I wished they never did.

His voice was a low, steady rumble when he spoke. "I'm Julius Caesar. The person who killed your father apathetically. And who killed nineteen others just for the love of it. And I'm also the same person who almost killed his brother the day you confronted me with who I am. I'm a madman." He paused to check my expressionless face with hard, unreadable eyes. "I'm a murderer." He enunciated with a lopsided, empty smile.

Yes, his mind was indeed a sinister, ominous thing.

I felt sick.

"I do bad things. And I do them very well. And you're supposed to hate me," he continued with a short breath. "-and put a bullet in my skull without thinking twice. But you cannot." His voice hardened. "Because you love me. You love me and you hate it. You're scared of it. And every atom in you is ashamed of it. You're ashamed to have let your fingers intertwine with the same fingers I licked dead people's blood off. People I killed. You hate me but you can't help loving me." He licked his lower lip and closed his eyes as if searching inside his mind for something hidden, deep and forgotten.

And I remember that it was like I wasn't there. I was lost in his deep, hypnotic eyes. I was drowning in the silk that cloaked his voice, his every word, sigh, move. I was holding my breath without even thinking of my body's need for oxygen. I needed to exhale and inhale. But somehow staring at him being all s.a.d.i.s.tic and emotional, satisfied my needs. It made me forget.

And I was lowering my arm.

Julius had always been a closed book to me, I realized. He never allowed himself to unravel in front of me. He never talked about himself. It was always me. So breathing shouldn't be what distracted me from this, this moment. This moment of harsh truth.

So I listened with clenched fists.

"You cannot resist me," was what he told me breathlessly. "And I hate it that you can't." His voice was so soft when he whispered this. I remember. So soft that I had to close my eyes to feel it in the depths of my ears.

"I hate it because it's making it so hard for me to do what's right," he continued. "And just now, you were sure that I killed your brother. You were too sure. You were sure that I severed your blood. And yet-" His eyes closed in despair, then opened to glance at the lowered gun. "-you cannot kill me. You cannot harm me."

And somehow, his persistence that I 'loved' him and his need to be always right, irritated me. It irritated me so much. He shouldn't think of himself as my weakness, I thought. He wasn't allowed to think of me like that.

"You're disgusting," was what I spat at his close face as nonexpectant tears tumbled down my cheeks. And I was so shocked and was like- oh, wow, now you're crying, poor thing.

But he didn't look offended at my words. In fact, he looked sad. I'd never seen so much emotion written on his face like I'd seen it back then. I thought his face was a blank page when I first saw him. A very good-looking, blank page. And I thought that that was normal. That anyone smiling, laughing, talking would look like that. Empty. Echoing in their depth and vacancy.

But I saw children and adults smiling. They weren't like his smiles. They weren't lifeless. And I was afraid he was being fake. I even hesitated to go out with him when I did the surgery. I was scared he still pitied me. But it turned out that this lifelessness, this emptiness, emanated from inconceivable darkness woven in his soul.

It was tempting not to let my curiosity get the better of me at this moment. It was tempting not to ask for explanations and try to understand him. His darkness. This moment. This moment when emotion lit every line in his face.

How was he capable of doing this now? Showing so much emotion?- my thoughts hissed and I gulped.

"And you're wrong," I added bitterly, nevertheless, ignoring the tearing tug in my heart. "I do not love you. I hate you. I hate you so much."

And I did. I remember hating him so much at this moment. Hating him for this ugliness he withdrew from me. Hating him for his callousness and apathy. Hating him for being a fatal weakness.

So his eyes continued torturing me with the truth they carried in their deep-green buckets. The knowingness they held in their spiralling depths. I had to avert my gaze from the intensity of his stare.

"I wish you did." He stared at me with his s.h.i.+mmering greens, took in a shaky breath, and staggered away from me, stealing this warmth that once engulfed me and replacing it by a cold, cold blanket. A blanket of his absence.

I shuddered as I watched him hit the wall and look at the floor, his hair a black curtain concealing his face from me. He slid down the wall and sat like he did when I first saw him. Arms and legs sprawled and head bowed.

"Tell your Maxime," he muttered after a moment of silence. "Tell him that I didn't kill his brother. Tell him that it was my father's men who killed him. And that it was a mistake on my father's side. Tell him that my father thought that they had the doc.u.ments. And that I didn't get the chance to tell him that I had them. And that if he was ever planning on getting me killed," he raised his head to give me an overall glance. "-he better come and do it himself."

He dropped his head. "You, my love," he whispered, capturing my fluttering eyes and falling tears. And I swear my heart melted a bit. "-and your pathetic excuse of a brother-" he shut his eyes and turned away. "-are wasting my time."

His voice slowly lost its softness. It was suddenly harsh and demanding. It was like he flipped a switch inside him. "And I'd rather die than catch myself doing nothing. This is all ridiculous and useless to both of us." He looked at me. "And now," he continued. "Let me catch on the sleep I've been missing out on until someone releases me or takes me out of my d.a.m.ned misery."

And I thought, he was telling me to leave him alone. To get out of his face. And maybe, life.

I glanced at him one last time before I, angry at my uselessness and my humiliation, stomped out of this 'room', rushed past the guards, and ran up the stairs barefoot. I didn't stop until I was on my bed, panting, and choking on my tears.

I was sitting, staring at a huge, crystal chandelier and the crimson ceiling of the reception and thinking about Amanda and Bianca and their whereabouts when Maxime's deep, monotonous voice snapped me back to reality.

"He isn't dead." He said very slowly and I had to look down to meet his cold eyes. They were two sharp knives poking my chest with the obvious. "Why?" His voice was a controlled, almost angry whisper.

I let out a long breath that I didn't realize I was holding. "He isn't the one who killed Leo."

Maxime raised his eyebrows. "Glad to know you had a little chit-chat instead of killing him right off." His voice was mean and breathy.

My heart managed to skip a beat at his accusing tone. "I did not have a chit-chat with him." I hoped I didn't turn the colour of the ceiling. "I confronted him with the truth. He didn't kill Leo."

"Wait-" Maxime looked at me incredulously before chuckling with a snort. "You believe him? You believe a murderer?"

I averted my gaze, rubbed my left arm, and got up from the fancy, scarlet armchair I was nestled on. I then trod to a nearby huge, gla.s.s window that showed nothing but stretches and stretches of darkness. And I, suddenly, felt fear's claws pierce my heart and maul my skin.

Looking outside this window reminded me of being blind.

"It was his father." I found myself whispering as I brought my fingers to my mouth. "He thought you still had the doc.u.ments."

"So it's all still his fault, isn't it? Julius'?" Maxime's voice was strangled and I was scared to look at him. To see how much he detested Julius. To see how bad Julius was in his mercury-grey eyes. "He didn't tell his father that he had the doc.u.ments!"

"But it wasn't him who killed Leo," I repeated, closing my eyes, still not facing him. I let out a soft sigh as I heard him inhale sharply.

"This isn't enough reason to not kill him!" He exploded and I flinched slightly. I clenched my jaws.

I let my hands spread on the window's cool, gla.s.s pane. "I'm not a murderer, Maxy," I said, suddenly feeling angry at his persistence to kill him. "Killing him wouldn't bring Leo to peace. It'd only make me a murderer. Just like himself."

"Well, G.o.ddammit!" He was very angry. I could tell from his rough voice and how thickened his accent became. And I didn't blame him. He couldn't avenge his brother.

"Relax, Maxime." I reminded him as I brushed my chapped lips with my fingers. "We still have him. Locked. In the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Well, he is of no use to me." He muttered in defeat. "I need his father."

My eyes widened and my breath hitched. "How will you do that? Are you going to let Julius go?"

And I realized that I didn't like the idea of him not being here. It was like I wanted him locked here forever. I was oddly satisfied by his proximity.

"No, Samara, dammit, no." His tone was insulting but I didn't say a thing as anger built up in me. "We'll hold him hostage. His father should come looking for him. And you should tell him that. You should tell him that his father will pay the price. Torture him by letting him know that his father will be on the verge of dying. And all he will be able to do is sit there and do nothing about it."

I clenched my fists, took a deep, steadying breath, and turned to him. "How is his father going to know?" I glanced at his haggard appearance and surprised myself at the little sympathy I had toward him. It was nothing like the morning. I remember hating him at that moment.

He wore a black, crumpled, full-sleeved s.h.i.+rt and grey pants that were muddied at the knees. His hair was unkempt and his eyes fierce. His lips were curled into a snarl and I thought that maybe it was permanent. Maybe he was always snarling. Maybe he made an effort to keep his lips in a straight, una.s.suming line. Maybe it killed him to smile.

He's worse than Julius, was what I allowed myself to think.

"h.e.l.l, he'll figure it out." His snarl changed to a smirk and his voice was dripping in darkness and confidence. "Like he figured out where to find Leonard and I. He'll figure it out." He started pacing around in his dirty converse.

"I hope so." My voice was a broken whisper that stopped him from pacing. He turned to me and stared for a while.

"Maybe you should go sleep, sissy." He said and I raised my eyebrows curiously. "We have to wake up early for Leonard's funeral," he tilted his head. "You look beaten."

I stared more at his face, at the concern that printed itself on all his sharp features.

"I'm okay." I croaked and he stifled a smile.

"It is two in the morning, Sam." He chuckled and I almost frowned. "You need to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you." He wore a teasing smile. "With Julius." He drawled his name and I tightened my fists.

"You needn't remind me." I almost snapped at him but surely gave him a dirty look. "And I was going to sleep anyway."

His fake smile turned into a smirk. "Goodnight, Samara."

I glanced at him and almost bit my tongue to stop some words from escaping. I wanted to hurt him with them. And I wondered why and when did I suddenly feel so irritated with him and everything he said.

"Goodnight." I pressed, nevertheless and rushed past him.