Cruelly Fated - Book 4

Chapter 23 - Loss & Heartbreak

Jasmine

The room is dark, curtains are still drawn, and the lights remain off. The bedroom is a mess. Items, photos clothes are tossed everywhere. Broken frames and candles scattered on the floor. Releasing the doorknob, I raise my hands in surrender. Nothing makes sense. God, what is happening? My mind starts to race, and my heart is beating erratically. It feels like it's going to break through my rib cage. I stare back, terror filling my eyes. Opening my mouth to speak, I struggle in my frozen state. "Matt," I mumble, my voice barely audibly. I swallow excessively.

Narrowing his eyes, he's lost in the chaos of his mind. Clicking the safety off his gun, he threatens, "Turn around and leave!"

The room drops in temperature. The vigorous beating of my heart has the muscle ceasing to beat, and it plummets to the darkest pits of my stomach. Shaking my head, tears fill my eyes, "No," I mumble and continue to vigorously shake my head, "No!" this time, I sound more convincing.

Just yesterday, he was happy. He stood with the help of Petro and Stefano. He danced with me, laughed, and drank with pride in his eyes. Now he's irrational. The warmth is gone. Those blue orbs stare back, cold and empty. He doesn't blink once, and for the first, I'm petrified of Matt. I don't recognize this man. Sweat droplets cover his forehead and his eyes are bloodshot. Has he been crying? Has he slept?

I quickly scan the room for anything to aid me. I need to disarm him. My breathing becomes heavy, drying my mouth as I find nothing. Flicking my eyes up to meet his, he studies my every move. Matt demands once more, "Leave, Jasmine!"

His hold on the gun tightens, as does his grip on a photo in his free hand, "Don't ask me to do that. I can't leave you! Please put the gun down, Matt." I beg that my pleas aren't falling to deaf ears.

Shaking his no, he becomes aggressive and waves the gun forward. "Get out!" he bellows venomously.

"You're holding me at gunpoint." My lip quivers. Blinking repeatedly, I try to clear my vision. My body starts to shake uncontrollably. He's unstable, and I'm petrified.

Dribble runs down the side of his mouth, his eyes widen. It's as if he's only now registering his actions, utterly oblivious to the fact he has a gun pointed at me. My frantic state is evident as I keep scanning the room. I notice a little plastic bag smudged with powder on the bed, and I relive my worst fears, as fragments of powder are seen on the table as well. Where did he get the drugs?

"Your husband has cocaine samples in his safe. My guess is he gives new business partners a taste of the Morelli product." He answers the question in my head.

My body drains of its blood. I have no pulse. The gun barrel slowly shifts from me, and the cold metal now presses against his temple. Hysteria has my heart beating again. I can barely catch my breath from the panicked beats. Shaking my head vigorously, I beg as my tears cascade, "Please don't!" He's content and has no fear of death. My chest constricts as fear suffocates me.

Memories of my mother flood my mind. Her behavior under the influence is a vivid image that makes me sick. Sadly, I see glimpses of her in my brother. Matt remains apathetic. My once warm, welcoming, caring, and loving brother is wholly detached, stoic, and has malicious intent. Evicting the clog in my throat, I continue to talk to him, hoping I can save him from himself, "Don't do this to Summer. She loves you."

Squeezing his hold on the photo, his throat pulls in, "She needed her mother, not me." Nodding his head, he agrees with his thoughts, "They should have killed me!"

"Matt..." I halt, taking a cautious step forward. "We can help you overcome this, the death of Ebony, your paralysis. I promise you, Matt. I will help you." My features distort. I'm panicking.