A Vow Of Hate

While we were physically intimate, I kept a careful distance between us when it came to my feelings. Though, it wasn’t from Julianna’s lack of trying. Because she had been intensely persistent to make me fall for her again.

She tried every trick in the book, going as far as to make me mad with jealousy as she recklessly flirted with Gabriel when he came to the island a week ago, bringing two new and wild horses for me to train.

As much as I hated to admit it, Julianna succeeded that day. I fucked her in the stables, on a stack of hay while Gabriel stood only a few feet away, his back to us while he spoke on the phone. One quick dirty rut to show her exactly who was in control.

Little did she know…

I never fell out of love with her.

I still did love her. It was just that now, that love was stained with my hatred.

But with each passing day, I realized that it wasn’t even about hate anymore. It was always about trust and allowing myself to be weak for her again.

I had been a fool in love and ended up with a half-dead heart. A piece of her soul died with her sister that night and in return, she killed me too. I didn’t think I could handle another heartbreak at the hands of Julianna.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey before I did something stupid like stalk back to Julianna’s room and fall asleep beside her. It was torture to untangle myself from her every night, so I could come back to my room… to an empty, cold bed.

I downed the liquid in two big gulps and poured myself another drink. The glass was a hairbreadth away from my mouth when I paused. The door of my bedroom squeaked open. My wife peered inside and when she found me still awake, she let herself in.

My brows furrowed at her state of disarray. Something was really wrong here. My gut churned at the sight of her like this. So desolated and heartbroken.

Her hair was piled up in the messiest bun atop her head; her face was sweaty and flushed in distress. Julianna wrung her hands together, but I noticed how they shook. “I need a drink,” she croaked, her voice stuffy as if she had just spent hours crying.

I gestured toward the whiskey bottle next to me. “Be my guest.”

Julianna didn’t need to be told twice. She practically lunged for it, taking a sip right from the bottle instead of pouring it into a glass. I settled back into my chair, propping my ankle over my opposite knee. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

She swallowed and then grimaced. “I had a nightmare. My sister…”

Julianna left the sentence hanging and I nodded in understanding. While she might have realized that she had been trying to atone for her sins in an irrational way, Julianna still carried shame and regret in her very soul.

To be relieved from the heavy burden of survivor’s guilt wasn’t any easy feat.

Her face was etched with sorrow and despair, her scars appearing more pronounced over her pale skin. If it was salvation Julianna wanted, she had to forgive herself first.

Atonement was righting the wrong.

Not causing more harm. Especially to her own self.

I wished I could make her understand that, but she was so stubborn in trying to chase her version of redemption.

“Do you often get these nightmares?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. While Julianna had been battling her fever and I stayed by her side, she ended up with more than one nightmare every night, thrashing and screaming.

At first, I blamed it on her sickness and thought she was hallucinating because of how high her fever was. But then I quickly realized the nightmares probably plagued her every night and it wasn’t just because she was sick.

“More than often,” she responded, her voice breaking. Julianna took another sip of the whiskey and then coughed. “This is disgusting.”

I placed my empty glass on the coffee table. “What are your nightmares about?”

“The accident,” she choked. “But it’s never the same. The scene is always changing in my head, different versions of the accident and I don’t even know which one is real anymore.”

I blinked, confused. “You’re saying that you don’t remember the accident?”

Julianna shook her head. “Not exactly, the details are all blurred. That night is literally a huge empty gap in my memory.”

“Selective amnesia,” I concluded. My wife nodded, looking more dejected than ever.

“She haunts me, Killian.” Her hand clutched her chest as if it pained her. “I can still hear her screams, the smell of blood and how pungent the scent of death was. As if it happened just yesterday.”

Julianna slammed the bottle on the table and surged forward, falling to her knees in front of me. Almost frantically, she grasped for my hand.