Page 37 of Dark Romeo

I could see Abel smiling from over my father’s shoulder. He knew I was stalling, fighting for some way not to do this.

“You know,” my father said, “Abel is not convinced that you’re the right one to lead this family after I die. As are most of my men.” He nodded to the silent figures watching us from around the room. “I know you could be. You have your mother’s nature, but you also have my blood running in your veins. You are a Tyrell, son. That means that you bow down to no man. You bend to no one else’s rules. You just need some…encouragement to earn your crown.” He grabbed my hand and shoved the gun in it, the barrel as cold as death in my palm. “Kill him. Or I have no son. And the first bullet in this chamber will be for you.”

I stared back into the face of my father, inches from me, both of us breathing the same acrid breath. In his eyes I saw the twisted, soulless gargoyle he’d become. I saw my future.

The life of a stranger…or mine.

An honorable man would lay down his own life for what was good, for what was right. A good man would take this gun in my hand and press it to his own skull. He would give himself up instead of taking away a life that wasn’t his to take. He would choose to keep his soul even if it meant he’d lose his life.

I wasn’t honorable. I wasn’t good enough. The emptiness of death, the eternal blackness stretched open in front of me, and I lurched away from it. I wanted to live. Him or me. And I wanted to live. My stomach knotted. I was a coward because I wanted to live. Forgive me, Mama.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” With those words, I signed my soul to the devil.

I turned towards the man in the chair, forcing my eyes to look past him, making his figure into a blur. It was the only way I could do this. He’s not real. This isn’t real. I’m not really here. I lifted the gun, my barrel pointed towards him.

I didn’t even know his name. I was going to take his life and I didn’t even know his fucking name.

The man sucked in air audibly into his lungs, startling me. I made the mistake of seeing him, really seeing him. My gaze locked onto his one eye that wasn’t quite swollen shut. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking on every word. “I have a wife…”

My hand shook, even as I tried to hold it steady. Fuck you, I screamed inside me. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I fought to hang on to any sense of justification, some sense of righteousness. He killed my brother. He deserved to die. I found myself hating this man for begging for his pathetic life as I hated myself for having to take it. Fuck him for begging. Why couldn’t he just shut up and die?

I needed something good. Where was something good to hang on to? Where was the beauty? Where was the goodness? Even Julianna had left me now.

“I have children.”

Children. He was a father. I was taking the life of a parent. The pain of losing my mother ripped through me. Could I do that to another child?

My gaze landed on his colorful socks peeking out from under the hem of his trousers. Bright blue with a cartoon dog on it. The kind of socks a child buys for his daddy.

I couldn’t. My hand holding the gun dropped.

I felt a barrel in the small of my back as my father stepped up behind me.

“Do it,” he commanded into my ear. “Do it. Or I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill you myself.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My life or his.

You have no choice, Roman. It’s self-defense.

“Roman,” my father’s voice softened, the anger slipping away and the cursed poisonous slither of disappointment slid into my ear. “Don’t fail me, son.”

My heart crushed in my chest. My finger slid into the trigger. All I had to do was squeeze. One tiny movement, that was all. That was all. I aimed the gun at the man in the chair. No, not a man. Not a human. Not a soul, not a beating heart. It was a thing.

“Please…”

My veins filled with ice. I let the darkness wrap her hands around me, soothing my ragged guilt with her numbness. And I pulled the trigger.

JULIANNA

____________

I sat alone at my dining table drinking a cup of tea, and listening to my mother’s voice fill the room, wrapping myself in her voice.

Abigail: “You don’t have to tell me your name. Let’s call you…Joan. After Joan of Arc. She was a strong woman, just like you.”

Joan: “I’m scared.”

Abigail: “I know. I’d be scared too. Take a deep breath. And remember why you want to do this.”

---