Damn virtus a lil spicy

ily enjoy

Chapter Twenty-five 

Virtus's POV 

Literature is a poor distraction anymore. In fact, nothing distracts me. There is nothing that holds as strong a power than my fucking intern.

I lay in bed at night, and battle the urge to get up and slip my body in his bed. I want to feel him against me.

I'm completely losing myself.

There is no rational reason as to why I would be so captivated by someone like him. I've long let go of the hatred I had for myself for being so intrigued by him. 

If I can't choose who I marry anyway, if my life has never been my own, why not do whatever the fuck I want?

Uri moved in his bed. I turn my head and watch him attempt to fall asleep, but how could he? How could I?

I hate this feeling. He has ensnared me wholly, I am completely at his hand. 

Pathetic.

The memory of him yelling at me earlier at the venue, behind that hideous fucking statue. How he grabbed my shirt in his fists, and pushed me away. It was something nobody has ever dared to do before. 

He didn't ask me to stop, he demanded I stop.

His eyes had been red, his tie was undone. His whole attire was shabby and a mess. Someone had done something to him, but who?

The mere thought of someone touching him, taking advantage of the short moment I couldn't be near him; it enrages me. 

Last night's kiss was what I replayed over and over and over in my mind. Every time he pulls away, I'm more and more obsessed with it. I want more of it. I want a longer memory. I want it to continue for hours.

And his fucking words: "I wish I didn't push you away last night." 

I could have taken him right there. It took every ounce of control I had been taught since the age of two, to keep the blade on his neck, and not use it to cut every fabric of clothing off his body.

I feel my heart pound in my chest just laying feet away from him. This is exhausting, but ironically, I can't sleep. For the rest of the night, I'm stuck staring at the wall, trying not to think about everything all at once.

It doesn't work.

The next morning, Uri and I are in the kitchen, and I watch him want to grab more to eat, but refrain himself. He simply grabs a pear, and takes a bite, his eyes glued to the fresh-made toast and eggs, to which I want to tell him to eat. I have to refrain myself as well, though as much as I want to see him eat more, I don't want to mother him. 

Everyday the circles under his eyes increase. I have to sit and silently watch him starve.

It makes no sense. Why isn't he eating?

The phone rings, breaking me from my thoughts. Typically it's the maid's job to answer the phone, but the housemaids tend to steer clear from any room I'm in. I can't say that I blame them.

I push  myself away from the counter, and grab the phone to answer it.

"Virtus!" It's my father.

I try to sound as dismissive as I can, "What do you want? Alan?" I suddenly hear Uri choke on his pair, as if the sound of my father's name surprised him. 

I glance over at him, and he waves his hand indicating to ignore him, despite him coughing violently and punching his chest.

"I need you to come over right now." His voice doesn't sound urgent. He sounds drunk, at eight in the morning.

"No." I say and begin to hang up before he could oppose.

"Your mother came over today." That stopped me. My father was a very pathetic man, he's a drunk, and has been married six times since I was elected the next Bone Cutter. His downfall has always been women. The younger, the better. He's nothing to me but a pest that deserves to be squashed.

My mother on the other hand, was a monster, and she fucking knew it. "You didn't let her in did you? Tell me you didn't tell her where I live."

"You'll have to come over to find out." He hangs up first, and my heart stilled.

"Fuck." I hiss, slamming the phone back onto it's hook. If he told my mother anything, I would kill him. I would direct my fucking fingers right into his eye sockets. "Let's go." I say to Uri, who looks pale.

His voice is oddly hesitant, "Where are we going?"

I don't know why I tell him, but the words slip out. "We have to meet with Alan for a while."

"Oh," He follows me out the front door, "Okay then."

The drive to my father's place is treacherous. He wishes he could control my life, but he can't. His only power over me in any sense, is through my mother, who is a woman I haven't seen since I was thirteen. I hope I never have to see her again. 

My father hates my mother just as much as I do. It's mutual feeling, but that doesn't stop her from tormenting the both of us. 

She knows exactly what she's doing. She's a fucking bitch, and I fear her, and what I'd do if I ever saw her again.

If my father gave my mother my address simply because he was careless and drunk, I would kill him, and I wouldn't think twice about it.

"Are you alright?" Uri's voice breaks the silence in the car, and I turn my head from the window to him. 

"Are you?" He looks ill.

He shrugs in response, and I suppose I have the same answer.

We are quiet the rest of the way there.

As soon as the car stops, I get out, Uri struggles to keep up with me as I run up the stairs to the front of my father's house. I don't knock, I open the door, and let myself in.

My father was sitting on the couch, passed out with a bottle in his hand. Dorothy, his wife, ran out of the kitchen with nothing but an apron on. "Virtus!" She's definitely drunk too, as she runs over and attempts to hug me. I take a step back, not wanting her practically naked body against mine. The thought of touching a woman my father frequently fucks makes me sick.

She pouts, "You're just like him. A big brute."

"You're just like him too, doll.  A hopeless alcoholic." I kick my father's leg, attempting to wake him up.

"Leave him alone!" She shouts, "Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince him to drink enough to pass out?"

My father didn't wake up, which means he was definitely out cold. "Impossible." I said, "It didn't even take two hours to get here."

"I've been workin' on him all morning." She said as if she were proud, "That's what he gets for being a pervert."

I raise my hand, "I don't want to know."

She looks past me to Uri, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway of the living room. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Dorothy frowns, "What's that bitch doing here?"

Uri's eyes went wide, and I sigh, already having enough of this, "Leave Uri out of this. What did my father say to my mother?"

Still glaring at my intern, Dolly says, "Your father only said that to get you to come over. Your mother was never here."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" When my father wakes up, I'm going to chop one of his fingers off.

Her eyes snap back to mine, "I need to talk to you alone."

"No. We're leaving."

Her hands shot out and grabbed my arm, her long fingernails niggling into my sleeve. The mere contact made me dizzy. "I need to talk to you alone, please." She kept glancing at Uri, and as if paranoid, to my father, who was still snoring loud on the couch.

"Fuck, Dorothy. Fine." I give in, knowing if I didn't, she'd never let us leave without throwing a tantrum.

She pulls me into the kitchen, and shuts the door, leaving Uri and my father in the living room. "What is this about? I don't have time for this. I didn't even have the time to come out here, but I fucking did, and for nothing."

"You're father lied to get you here." She snaps at me, "Because he has an obsession with that girl of yours."

I frown, "Chelsea? This is about Chelsea? That's fucking ridiculous."

She looks at me like I'm the drunk and half-naked one. "I'm not talking about that Scott bitch, I'm talking about the bitch in our living room!" She opens the kitchen door and peeks out. Uri is standing in the same spot as before, but his eyes are glued to Alan, like he's terrified he'd wake up.

"You're not making any sense. You're drunk."

She slams the door, and pressing her back against it so I won't leave, "I want you to keep her away from my husband. Do you know what he asked me last night? He asked me to cut my hair, during sex!" She ran a shaking finger through her long, black hair. "Do you know how humiliating it is to have your husband ask you to shave your head to look like some other whore?"

I stare at her, "Are you talking about Uri?"

"Yes." She hisses, keeping her voice low, "Keep her away from Alan."

Her. "Uri's not. . ." I pause, considering it, and like a switch had flipped, the puzzle clicked together.

The one thing Uri had been hiding from me. The one thing they couldn't let me know. 

"You'd hate me." She said last night, and at the time, it didn't make any sense.

Everything makes sense now.

"He's obsessed with her, ever since yesterday. That bitch tried to take him from me, well the next time she steps foot in my house, I'll rip that youthful skin right off her bones." 

I latch onto her words, taking it in slowly, "What do you mean yesterday? What happened yesterday?"

"She pushed herself onto him." She spoke as if she were spreading some sort of wicked gossip, "Took her shirt off any everything while you, his son, was vowing himself to another woman on stage!" She cackled, "Have you ever seen such a piece of work? These bitches will do anything to get a bite of his paycheck."

The tears, her tie undone. It explain why Uri was so upset during the celebration. I wasn't stupid enough to believe Dorothy's story. I know my father well enough to know he pushed himself onto her.

And now they're alone in the same fucking room. "That's enough, Dorothy. Move."

"I'm not finished."

"I heard enough." My lowered my voice, not asking her to move, I commanded her. 

Her eyes widened, not used to be spoken in such a way. She scoots away from the door, and I open it.

Uri's eyes meet mine, and I see relief in them. 

It feels as if I'm seeing her for the first time.

I mask up any sort of expression I could have, and simply say, "We're leaving."