I shut my eyes and see the dead;
Broken bodies, dripping blood.

I feel the slumber pull me under;
Dreams of terror, blames of horror.

They say, "All of this is for you. Because our love is true."
But does that not make me the sinner?

- from Axel's notes

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☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

A lab rat's destiny is to die.

Cruel as it may sound, it is what it is.

Just how a chemical formula is destined to see through to its final form after the errors and trials and mini-explosions. But for the first time, I came across a formula which was destined to fail.

Were it not for the fact that the formula equation was made with such detail and precision, I would've been sure Michael knew I was going to steal the blueprints and intentionally swapped them with a fake one. But that wasn't it.

Not only did my lab rat perish the moment the blueprint's reaction saw its end, the entire counter where I'd set up the chemicals exploded into cinders and liquid. Like that was their final destiny. It was sheer luck Vicky's reptiles were encased in their glass vivariums, shielding them from the outside atmosphere and protecting them from the little explosion and the chemicals that were exhaled from it. Still. . .

Being reminded of my surroundings, I chance a glance around the yacht's open area. The same yacht that was cruising its way towards the island of Bali. The same yacht where Axel, me and Vicky are in—Axel had dragged his niece along despite her protests because he'd thought the explosion in the green house was done by an outer party who wanted to harm his family.

Vicky and I had let him be in the dark. Both of us did feel guilty, even if Vicky pretended to be indifferent about it. But it had to be done. And now Vicky had locked herself in her room in the yacht, ignoring everyone and doing Newton knew what on her laptop. While I was here, drinking like a drunkard and roaming the open area of the yacht in the middle of the night like a woman possessed.

I take a large gulp from the wine bottle in my hand, staggering bare-foot over the wooden flooring. Axel was sitting on a lounge chair, intently reading the hardcover copy of Pride & Prejudice, his brows furrowed in concentration as though he is a scientist observing a specimen of interest. I didn't know he was a Jane Austen devotee. I didn't know he read.

The moonlight makes his seated form illuminate with a somber light, his hair blending in the darkness, the strands almost looking ethereally silver. The sense of deja vu hitting me, I watch him read a few pages, while taking a gulp after gulp from the wine bottle in my hand. The mere sight of him was somehow more relaxing than the alcohol numbing my system. He was like a unique variant of chemical I couldn't stop myself from being facinsted by.

But then I notice him pause. I watch his lithe fingers shut the book, neatly placing it on the glass table beside him. I'm nearly intrigued whether he sensed my presence, but he doesn't look to his left or right, Axel glances up. At a night sky full of stars splattered like diamonds on deep marine velvet. And in that moment, grief washes over him like tidal waves of agony.

He looks like a heartbroken prince from a daydream. The kind of prince who was seeing his kingdom fall in front of his eyes and couldn't do anything but bare the pain of it. Oddly so, I find myself being attracted to the depressing charm of it all. I've always been a little malfunctioning like that.

Instead of pondering over my conclusion on how Michael and the secret society are likely planning an blast, given how the blueprints formula are made to create an explosion which might look like research at first glance to the medical investigators but is anything but. Instead of stressing about how dangerous it is going to be if I don't quicken my plan and execute everyone in the secret society before they decide to initiate the blast.

Instead of feeling dread over how I still don't know the three key members of the society, I let the last drops of alcohol rip me off logic completely and approach the beautiful man on the lounge chair.

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☘︎ Axᴇʟ Hᴇʀɴᴀɴᴅᴇᴢ ☘︎

My brother had a devoted admiration for constellations.

Heath would always be up on the rooftop well past midnight, gazing at the stars as though they speak to him in a language only he could understand.

I never understood him. Heath always radiated this aura of joy and affection, expressing them in such an open way, it never made sense to me. It wasn't particularly because I had never received love, infact I have. I've always received the all-consuming love from my parents, but somehow their love always left a bitter tinge, tainting the littlest of conscience I held.

Amidst their love, Heath's affections were so pure, it almost felt sacred. Forbidden. Unrealistic. I'd always try my best to ignore, but he found me every time, sticking to me like a mother cat would to it's just-born kitten. In many ways, I suppose he saw me as one, considering how I was a decade younger than him.

Eventually as years passed, I didn't particularly grow warmer but I wasn't avoiding him anymore. Those were the years I'd find myself silently leaving the confines of my room late at night while our parents slept. I'd sit with him on the rooftop frowning and feeling confused why I sought him out in the first place, while Heath adorned the stupidest smile on his face.

My brother would wrap an arm around my shoulder, pulling me against the warmth of his tall frame, and then he'd ask, "Will you look out for me if I turn into a star?"

I'd frown deeper, his questions often seemed absurd. Many times, I'd simply remain quiet and Heath would go on answering his own question and filling the silence, not even fazed by my ignorance. In a way, he understood me.

But there was that one time I'd actually replied to him, disturbed after the thing I'd seen in the basement. . .

"Aren't you a person? How would you be a star in the sky?" I remember how my tone was extremely cold for a boy the age of ten, but Heath was still beaming, sickeningly happy that I was speaking to him.

"Well, if I die, I'll become a star. And when you gaze up at the night sky full of stars, you'll find me there, looking over you. That way, you will never be alone." Heath had explained full of affection.

"Are you dying then?" The prospect had made me feel numb. For the first time, I'd looked my brother in the eyes, unsettled and distressed and confused by my emotions. It was the first time I'd realized that I didn't want him to leave me, that I'd miss him if he left. That I. . .needed him with me.

Heath's eyes had softened, his hand rising to ruffle my neatly set hair, "No, kiddo, I'll always be here for you." Because he often seemed to read me like an open book, after a single glance of my face, he'd asked in concern, "Now, how about you tell me what's really bothering you?"

I'd questioned in my head whether he was secretly a psychic, but for some reason I'd been tempted to keep speaking.

"There was a girl today. They didn't kil-" I'd caught myself at the last moment, remembering how my parents had made me promise not to tell their secret to anyone.

'We love you, Axel. We do all of this for you. For you and your brother. Promise me, you'll never tell a soul.' My mother had brushed the dirt from my cheek lovingly, while asking me of the promise. I tried not to focus on how those very hands were stained in blood, how the liquid left an imprint on my skin. And how when father had crouched down next to her, taking my hands in his, blood coated my palms too. I tried not to stress over how deranged they looked, even though their love was true, despite how wretched and twisted it truly seemed.

I knew I was to blame for what they did. For if they did those things for me, aren't I the actual culprit then? The guilt gnawed at me during the nights. Including Heath into that guilt felt like a betrayal of sorts.

"A girl? Who didn't what?" Heath was quick to catch on, his grey eyes observing keenly. That was the thing about my elder brother, he acted goofy all the time, but he was also insanely sharp.

"Our parents love us, don't they?" I'd asked instead, dodging my previous line of conversation. It was clear Heath caught on to how I switched the subject, but he didn't call me out or pressed on it anymore.

Smiling, my brother had put his arm around my small shoulders until he was giving me a side-hug, "Yes, they do. Too much at that." Heath's hug grew firmer as he'd paused, his voice dipping to ominous, "But you know what? If someone is good to you, it doesn't particularly mean they're good people."

I'd refused to acknowledge that his hug gave me a sense of stability. When I'd looked up at my brother, frown deepening between my brows, I'd questioned, "Are you not good then?"

Heath had adorned the most baffled expression to grace earth, "How dare you! I do no wrong! I'm an angel!"

"No, you're not." It had felt so foreign the way my lips had knotched up despite myself, a smile making up the corners of my mouth until I was grinning, "I saw you kissing a girl, even though Mom and Dad told you to stay away from women."

Heath's face had drained of color, "Are you spying on me, kid?" Even though he sounded shocked, his own lips were twisting in amusement.

"I was merely observing." I'd retorted matter-of-factly.

Heath had narrowed his eyes at me in jest, "Do not tell anyone about my secret girlfriend, or else. . ."

I'd raised a brow in inquiry.

But the next moment, I was tackled to the roof and my brother was tickling my sides.

I remember it was the first time I'd laughed genuinely in ten years of my existence.

...

The sound of a wine bottle clattering onto the glass table beside me, avert me from the remnants of the memory.

My surroundings become familiar with a rushing clarity-a night sky full of stars reflecting down on the ocean, dolphins moving in tandem with the waves and. . .the source who'd interrupted my thoughts blocking my sight.

The runaway hovers in front of where I'm seated on a lounge chair. My brows furrow when I gather how she looks half intoxicated. Hair a dishelved mess around her face, she stares at me, brown eyes peering down into obsidian greys with curiosity.

Normally, I hate eye contact as much as I hate someone staring at me. But for some reason, I find myself staring right back. She's in another one of those silk pajama shorts and top, the elegant gold material blending against her slightly dusky skin. There was so much of her skin exposed in those pajamas, I stop my gaze from lingering, stop my thoughts from wandering into uncharted territory.

From my previous experiences in the past months, I've known Eve drinks more often than I'd ever seen someone drink. And each time she's high on alcohol, she tends to be extremely. . .flirty. I'd always been sure to ignore her the best in such moments, but even I couldn't escape at all times.

Eve's palm presses firmly against the hard contours of my chest. Before I can register the situation, I'm being pushed back against the lounge chair and she climbs onto my lap, straddling me.

I sigh, even as all of my senses switch to high alert. She doesn't do anything particularly scandalous if I leave her on her own. Last time she was drunk, she'd barged into my study, swished away all the paperworks from the desk and slept on the wooden surface like the dead. To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. I'd left her there, making sure I didn't do something stupid such as stay back and stare at how peaceful she looked deep in slumber or carry her to her room and tuck her into bed. The next day, she'd complained non-stop about bone ache during breakfast while I'd tried to contain my amusement.

This time though, she seems to be in a much more mood to not let me leave. Her arms wrap around my neck, while her cheek rests on my chest. She settles against me comfortably like a koala clinging to a tree.

The strange tug in my heartstrings is uncalled for, pathetic even. But I can't bring myself to push her away from me for some unknown reason. Instead, I wound my arm around her waist to make sure she doesn't fall off me.

I feel Eve's lips tug upwards against my chest, and then she's lifting her head, peering up at me. Her grin widens when she notices she already has my attention, albiet I hone a blank expression on my face. One of her hand lifts from my neck to caress my cheekbone, "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

She's drunk. She's drunk. She's drunk.

I keep reminding myself of the fact, yet I can't help the discomfort shrouding me. Why does she keep calling me beautiful? I don't understand her.

"For genetic's sake, don't tell me you don't believe it." The runaway's head tilts to the side with a slight scowl at the bland look on my face.

When I don't betray a reaction, her scowl drops and she inches closer to me. It puts me on guard, not as much as her words do though.

"These eyes. . ." Eve's fingertips ghost over my eyelids as I shut them out of pure instinct, her touch eliciting a heat in my veins I do not want to acknowledge, "So dreamy." She mutters when I open my irises again, "Every time I look at them, it's like drowning in a storm I don't want to escape from. Almost sounds poetically romantic."

It does. I don't tell her though.

I let her hands map my features-let her touch my hair, let her feather her fingertips over the bridge of my nose, over the planes of my jaw. I let her do whatever she wants, assuring myself constantly that it's only because she's drunk and I'm mature enough to know her actions are a result of it.

It has nothing to do with the fact that I'd rather have her on my lap than stumbling around in the yacht in her daze, neither does it with the fact that somewhere along her ministrations, I start leaning into her touch. Savoring the soft caresses of her fingers while she rambles on about how it isn't fair I have better hair than hers, how she believes my features are so carved she is certain I'm a mannequin, how it makes sense since I did act like one most of the times.

Against my better judgement, my lips start curving at the sides little by little, until I'm smiling so wide I don't even particularly care about holding up the unbothered mask.

Eve pauses so dramatically, it has me opening my eyes in question. Her thumb halting on my lips, she stares with eyes so wide, she nearly looks sober. And then very slowly, her own lips tug up in the brightest of grins.

"You have dimples." Her hands hold my face firmer, eyes shining in delight, "You're smiling."

It's strange how instead of raising my guard again, my smile doesn't drop, only increasing, "Am I?"

"Yes. . ." Her thumb presses over my bottom lip, "These lips, they're so. . .kissable." She stares at them with fascination and something else which has my blood warming again, "Makes me want to kiss them."

It's as though my hands have a mind of their own—one of my arm tightens around her waist, pulling her closer. My other hand gently twines her hair around in a fist, tugging her head backwards so I can clearly gaze into those brown irises, "Miss Eve, perhaps you should shut that mouth."

The runaway's lips curve mischievously, "I could think of quite a few ways you could shut me up." Her thumb presses on my lip firmer, "Maybe you could kiss me or maybe I could. . ." Her other hand lowers from my neck, sliding down my body.

I grab her hand before they move south, while planting her cheek firmly against my chest, "You should sleep." I order around a sigh, even though my heart accelerates just by the thought of her previous words.

"But-"

I make sure she doesn't lift her head and start spewing scandalous words again by keeping a firm hold behind the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the bare skin of her exposed shoulder. My voice imitating intimidation, I whisper against the shell of her ear, "Sleep, runaway."

Strange that she is, instead of feeling intimated, a shiver slithers down her spine. She doesn't try to inch back again, but she does murmur, "You're sexy when you're bosy, Charming. Does things to me."

For both of our sake, she gives in and succumbs to much-needed slumber after that, dozing off in my arms. All those soft curves mold against my hard angles, yet the warmth of her body snug on mine enables a peace I haven't experienced in decades.

"Fille folle." My lips brush against the top of her head, my fingers caressing the length her soft brown locks, "Qu'est-ce que je vais faire de toi?"

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Why do you think the secret society is planning a blast?

Found any hints about Axel's past? What do you think of Heath?👀

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LET ME RUN BEFORE Y'ALL MASSACRE ME 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Last time I said I'd compensate, it took me a month to update again. So not gonna make any promises anymore🥲

But but, the ship is FINALLY sailing somewhere....even though there's like a lot of drama added along....

Next chapter, we're gonna be in Bali and there's gonna be a little gu-

OKAY BYE, NO SPOILERS. HAVE A GREAT DAY, TINY HOOMANS!