Half of the houses in Malus have been upgraded and are well taken care of. That’s definitely not the case with Aziah’s. The yard is overgrown with dead grass, the porch looks like it’s barely standing, and the paint is peeling off the walls. It’s clearly been neglected.
I slowly walk up the steps and debate on knocking. Doubting he would answer, I decide to just go inside. There are dark curtains over the windows, and all the lights are off, but there’s still enough light for me to tell there’s not much inside. Very minimal furnishings and no personal touches.
I don’t find him in the living room, dining room, or kitchen, so I move down the hallway and peek inside the first door I come to. It’s a bathroom. I skip the next door, remembering it’s the basement. I’ll try that last if he’s not in any of the bedrooms. The two spare bedrooms come up empty.
I smell his scent as soon as I step inside the last bedroom, and it immediately soothes something inside me. The barren room holds only a king-size bed, two nightstands, and a dresser.
I’m just about to go to the basement when I hear a noise coming from one of the doors in the bedroom. Unease creeps up my spine when I approach the open door. It’s a bathroom. My heart drops to my toes when I find Aziah sitting in the bathtub. He’s in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare, every inch of his body covered in tattoos. His eyes are closed, his head leaning back against the wall.
What has my stomach revolting is all the blood covering his arms. His lower torso is covered too, but I think it’s from all the lacerations on his arms. His face is pale, and it has fear racing through me. I dash over and drop to my knees beside the tub.
“Aziah?” I croak, tears clogging my throat. I shakily reach out, put my palm against his scruffy cheek, and turn his face my way. His eyes pop open, and they look glazed over for a moment before they focus on me. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Not enough,” he mumbles.
“No,” I cry. Tears track down my cheeks as I look over his body. Streaks of blood slowly flow toward the drain. My heart feels like it’s being stabbed repeatedly with a dull knife. “I can’t—” I choke. “Why? Why would you do this?”
His voice is a deep rumble. “Because I got you pregnant. You were only ten fucking years old, Rella. And because you miscarried and were left alone. That bastard hurt you. He made it so you can’t have any children.”
He closes his eyes again.
“But it wasn’t your fault!” I cry. I want to both hug him for comfort and slap his face for being so stubborn. “I did it to myself. Dr. Manor said it was because of the blood loss. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
His eyes snap back open and fire blazes in them. “No,” he snarls, and I drop my hand from his cheek. “You were ten goddamn years old. You were repeatedly raped.” He leans forward and thumps his chest hard with his closed fist. “By me,” he grits out. “I belong in the basement of fuckin’ hell for what I’ve done. As much as it hurts to know this, you did the only thing you thought you could do to get out of the situation. It was a fuck of a lot more than I ever did. Yes, my father made me do those things to you, but his blood runs in my veins. I’ll always—”
“Stop!” I yell, unable to listen to anymore. “Just stop it!” My chest feels so tight I can hardly drag in air. “You can’t keep doing this. It’s killing me knowing you’re blaming yourself. I don’t….” I stop and swallow thickly, licking the tears from my mouth. “I don’t know how to help you,” I finish on a whisper.
“You can’t.” He leans back and pulls his eyes off me to stare at the wall opposite him. “You need to leave. Get as far away from me as you can.”
My chin quivers. “Do you really want that? Do you really never want to see me again?”
His expression turns pained. It’s gone seconds later, and he locks his jaw. “You’re better off without me in your life.”
Doesn’t he see how much this is hurting me? Now that I’ve come back, I can’t imagine my life without him.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t believe that for a second. Why can’t you see how important you are to me? Why can’t you look past your guilt and see I need you in my life?” Gripping the edge of the tub, I lean forward until he’s forced to look at me. “I need you,” I say forcefully. “And I want to help you. You’ve helped me so much already.”
All of a sudden, he sits up, his black eyes locking on mine. Something stretches across his face. Something so dark and fierce it sends chill bumps over my arms.
“You wanna help me?” I nod, not liking the look in his eyes, but still desperately wanting to do something that will take away some of the darkness inside him. He grabs the rim of the tub and hoists himself up. “Let’s go,” he demands, stepping out of the tub.
I eye his arms. Most of the blood on them has started to dry, but there’re still some wounds that are oozing.
I stand but don’t make a move to leave the bathroom. I stand in front of him and look down at his arms. “Can we please see to those first?”
“After.”
Without another word, he stalks out of the bathroom, and I’ve got no choice but to follow. I find him in front of the basement door. His head is bent, and he’s glaring down at whatever’s in his hand. It’s not until I’m right beside him that I realize it’s a key. A key that’s covered in blood. His hands are torn up worse than his arms.
I choke back a sob and on
ly just stop myself from reaching out to grab his hand.
Using the key, he unlocks the door. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before he descends the stairs. A sick feeling forms in my stomach as I follow him. Something tells me finding him in the bathroom the way he was won’t be the worst thing that happens today.
By the time I’m halfway down the stairs, Aziah’s already switched the light on and is out of my sight. At the bottom, I look around and find him over by a table. The basement is a big open area with concrete walls and floors. Except for the table, there’s not much else down here. A few boxes, crates, and some odds and ends. Despite the hot temperatures outside, there’s a chill in the air.
I gingerly walk over to him. His body is rigid, the muscles in his arms bunching, and his jaw works furiously as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. He keeps his eyes pinned on the table.