Morphine (Complete)

𝟑𝟔

Chapter Thirty-Six

Solitude. How long had it been since she'd truly achieved solitude?

It seemed centuries ago, or, at least, far beyond her years. Her hands curled softly, tips of her finger ghosting her palm. She traced each scar riddling her skin; each scar brought back another memory, a time where she'd bled to restrain from following her heart. And where had that gotten her?

She stared blankly at Mr. Amir. He had yet to rouse himself, head still hung limply to his side, arms still restrained behind the back of the metal fold chair. Her gaze hardened.

It had gotten her nowhere.

Her ears alerted her of someone coming down the stairs. She turned her head to the side, spotting her second oldest brother, Dean. He looked the same as when she'd left--then again, she hadn't expected much to change.

"Dad'll be heading down soon," Dean told her once he reached the floor, propping an elbow against the banister. He offered a nonchalant shrug and looked at the bound man not three meters away. "That's really him?"

Rannia nodded, crossing her arms and refocusing on Amir. "Yeah."

"He looks...different than I was expecting?"

Rannia arched a brow. "The face you remember from years ago was actually his brother. He's dead now--as you probably know."

Dean's face darkened at the reminder of the memory they shared: flames, and through the fire--such utter darkness. "Yeah, I remember."

Out of all of them, Dean had the safest escape. Not to say he went without trouble; he'd escaped through the window and got shot in the leg by Amir's brother. Even though Dean had been a child at the time--just eleven or so--they'd been merciless. Their intention was to have no survivor nor witness; no one to inherit the Romero legacy, no one to stake revenge.

"Surprised you haven't beat the shit out of him already," Dean commented loosely, though the comment did anything but lighten the mood.

"Not my place," Rannia replied quietly. Part of her feared what she'd see when her dad came down. Another part of her-- a weaker, more tender wound to her soul, could not help but mourn for the loss the Amirs would inherit when this man inevitably died. She knew how tears looked on Romina's soft face. She knew how broken Carter's face became when he lost a loved one.

It is hard to love someone who you know hates who you are. No--for a masochist, it is actually quite easy. But loving them is pain, and pain is to thrive.

"How was it?" Dean then asked, breaking through the silence. He was referring to her time spent with the Amirs, of course. No doubt he was curious; anyone would be.

"It was..." Rannia trailed off, pausing as uncertainty flooded her chest. How had it been? It occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea what to make of her time under their roof. "It wasn't what I expected."

"Did you forgive them?"

Rannia startled, turning to look at her brother: completely and utterly horrified.

"What?" She exclaimed, appalled. "No, no. Oh fuck no, I could--never. No." She quieted down a little, entirely aware of the conflict tearing at her chest. She'd never considered it: the possibility of forgiving them. Forgiving what they'd done to her family. All it was for her was revenge. All it was for her was getting blood on her hands just as they'd done all those years ago.

"The only Amirs that actually hurt us is the guy who's already dead and the one in front of us." Dean shrugged. "Did the other members of their family actually take part in that? Are they responsible?"

Rannia hesitated. "Not exactly--"

But to make Amir suffer the most, they needed to take what was most precious to him, right? First, his pride. And then his family. Render it all to cinders and ash.

"But..."

"You sound like dad." Dean cut her off. "I'm not saying that you're wrong, it's just that you're almost more obsessed with revenge than he is. I never actually saw that night, what did they do to you?"

Rannia's face paled.

"It's okay if you don't--"

"No, Dean, stop." The boy stopped and looked up. His younger sister was pointing at the man tied to the chair. His brows furrowed, confused, until he saw what she was referring to. Amir was breathing faster than normal. He was awake.

The creaking of stairs both snapped their attention back again. There, descending with slow, shaky steps, was their father. He clung to the banister with weathered limbs. Both his kids looked away when his face came into view. Both thought they'd be used to the sight by now.

"Dad," Rannia choked out, the stronger of the two. Mr. Romero completely descended the stairs and the creaking came to a stop. The room once again filled with silence; all but the slight whisper of breathing and the buzzing of electricity within the walls.

"Leave us," the eldest Romero's croaky voice rasped out. They heard his rattling wheeze as he inhaled. It had been a while since he'd tried to move so much. His body wasn't used to it--and his scarred and tortured lungs were most certainly not an exception.

They couldn't look at him, his own two children. He saw how their gazes shied away, how their retreating steps were quiet as if to avoid his attention. He remembered the days when they'd lay lovingly in his lap and accept his warmth and comfort.

Rannia and Dean disappeared upstairs and closed the door leading to the basement as soon as they'd exited. Once the rattling of the doorknob turning quit the air, Mr. Romero adjusted his cane, turned in place, and hobbled over to Amir.

The air was as stale as the atmosphere--tense.

"I know you are awake," Romero said. Amir tilted his head upwards, still, his eyes remained closed.

"Look at me, open your eyes," Romero continued. His textured fingers tightened weakly around the handle of his cane. His limbs were burning and his chest wailed from having to work so hard. But nothing burned brighter than the flame in his dark eyes. Nothing burned brighter--not a fire, not the sun--

"Face me like you did all those years ago, old man."

Amir did open his eyes then, tiredly sliding open his lids and meeting a stare he'd seen far too many times to count.

"There, there," Romero cooed. He lifted his cane and struck Amir across the face with it, writhing in the pleasure it bestowed his torn body. "You liked when I hit you all those years ago, didn't you? Tell me, does it feel the same?"

For a man so cold, it was strange how he wanted the world to be set aflame.

(a/n: OKAY SO WHAT DO YOU THINK REALLY HAPPENED NOW THAT YOU'VE...READ THAT LAST BIT. I'm curious to read your theories. Plus, sorry for disappearing. I've got three more prewritten chapters, I just wanted to make sure the ending was heading in the right direction before I published anything. To be honest, I'm happy with how juicy this plot twist is

My first day back at school is tomorrow, and my workload is going to be packed. I have two sciences, accounting, and a french course :D I love math but french can suck my fine ass. I speak it well enough I don't need to memorize a million plays. I'm going to do well this year, as I'm finally not freshly concussed (still minorly concussed among a plethora of other health problems, lmao). I'll make you guys proud.

Anyways, as always I love you, stay safe.)