Liberation

Chapter Two

Like the sound of a solitary feather falling to the ground, the house is whispers-quiet. Despite the tranquility, my discomfort weighs heavily unrelieved. I got out of the coziest bed I've ever laid in, that couldn't bring me into a slumber.

I shoved my feet into my night slippers; the cold air that gushed over them disappeared, the instant they welcomed warmth. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I departed my room and descended the stairs.

I got to the kitchen entrance, expecting it to be empty, but to my surprise, I caught a voice, I backtracked. "—mare reliving it over again, I was in a situation today where it should've been triggered but I wasn't. Sometimes I feel like I'm making progress then I end up going backwards," they sniffled, hurt etched in their tone.

I peered around and saw Caesar 's defined bareback, he appeared to only be in sweatpants, stripped from the black jeans and T-shirt he wore for his arrival. I tugged the sleeve of my oversized sweater, feeling the fabric cling to my skin.

A cell phone to his ear as he gazed out the window, his jaw clenched, his other hand folded across his chest as he leaned against the island. A bowl of half-eaten cereal sat behind him on the countertop.

Seconds of silence passed over as he intently listened to what the person on the other end of the device was saying. His head nodded slightly like he was accepting defeat.

"Yes, the dark, certain smells, it's random I'm losing control again," the pain in his voice was vivid, even though from my angle I could only see his side profile, his jaw clenched tighter and he ran a hand through his dark hair followed by a sigh relieving of heavy frustration.

"They don't always work; It's like my mind is stuck in that moment, and I can't break free." He cast his gaze outside the window, clouding his eyes like a heavy fog.

"I've been feeling... numb, I guess, sometimes overwhelmed like I'm suffocating," the same pained tone as remained as if splinters of glass rest in his throat

"In three months," An accent tinged in his tone. Italian? It's obvious-the other person on the phone asked how long he would be staying in Moscow. He muttered 'Yes's' and a few 'Mh-mm' before he ended the call.

His gaze remained through the window as if he was lost in thought, his jaw unclenched and his muscles visually relaxed. I glanced at the digital clock on the wall over his head. Who was he talking to at fourforty a.m?

I exhaled, loosening my muscles as I prepared to enter the kitchen. I set foot in and as if he had eyes in his back he turned in a blink, his gun pointed at me. I walked right up to him unfazed, facing him at the curve of the island where the space to walk to go around to the sink was secluded.

His gun pointed right at my glabella less than a centimeter away. The room being half lit from just the light that was over his head cast a shadowy figure of him, the aroma scented with fresh milk and a sprinkle of a vanilla fragrance.

An unreadable emotion poured into his eyes as mine observed him. He's restraining himself. The pointed gun at my head didn't disturb me. I have been in this exact position numerous times and never once was I nervous or afraid of death. If anything I've succumbed to the conclusion that when it's your time it's just your time some would say fate.

I watched him intently, facial features calm. He's a few inches above my 5'8 figure putting him about 6'1 but that doesn't intimidate me in the slightest bit. Every vein in his arms visibly bulged in a matter of uncounted seconds as if he was fighting the urge to press the trigger, an emotion grew in his eyes as if he was not here in his headspace, the grip on his gun grew tighter. He fought the unreadable expression in his eyes, and he managed to withhold, his brows rose gradually as he just became conscious of his action and where he was; he steadily lowered his pistol. I passed him, and I felt his eyes piercing the back of my neck so I broke the tension.