Lost Will of the Dead [Book One] (On Hold)

VI : Quentin

Quentin Chartier woke up with a start.

His blue t-shirt soaked with sweat stuck close to his lean chest. Stray wet strands of his dark brown hair were glued to the sides of his head. His pounding heart defeaned his ears as his chest rose and fell in wild rhythm. His glassy grey eyes brimmed with tears trickled down the sides.

He took a shaky breath as he attempted to calm himself down. He rolled on his side and extended his arms reaching for the familiar warmth and comfort offered to him whenever he felt down or afraid. But, it wasn't there anymore.

And it will never be there again...

He rolled on his back and brought his arms over his eyes. He gritted his teeth and as quietly as he can, let out a low sob.

It had been five days since the fire.

Five days since he lost everything that mattered to him. Five days since he had escaped from that fiery mansion--unsure of how he survived. Five days since the body of his father was found crisp black. Five days, since the death of his beloved grandfather, Valentin.

And he blamed himself.

He was targeted. He was meant to die, not Valentin. For whatever reason, he didn't know. The only thing he knew was because of him, his grandfather was butchered and his father was left charred on the mansion floor.

It was all me...

It was supposed to be the three of them together forever. But now, he got them both killed in one night.

Miserable, Quentin threw the blanket off his body and dumped it on the floor close by. He sat up and vigorously wiped his tears away feeling silly and embarrassed.

There was a creaking noise behind him snapping him out of his trance. The metal apartment door swung open.

He whirled around to see Marius' wavy brunette hair peeked out of the door opening. The early morning rays of the sun bounced off his green eyes making them twinkle. Two medium sized brown paper packets were gripped by his hands.

"Bonjour, Quentin! Breakfast?" The newly arrived person cheered, grinning while raising both the packets together. He began trudging towards where Quentin sat but halted midway.

Marius scrutinized the sorrowful face and gave out a long exasperated sigh. "Did you wake up crying again?" He asked.

Quentin faced the other way and focused on the shower of light piercing through the draped beige curtains. He didn't want his friend to see him wrecked like this--or worry about his well-being either. So, he offered his best friend no response.

"Come on. We only have each other now," his friend began, "you can talk about anything with me, I don't mind. Just not about women--because this man won't give away his secrets!"

It was another one of those poor jokes his friend would throw out of nowhere. Occasionally, they would actually be funny. Often times, they were just created to lift the tension and brighten the mood--like now.

Quentin chuckled and whirled around to face his friend. "I'm not interested in women."

"I knew you'd say that."