Guard Me (Broken Heroes 4)

“It should have been me Roman. It should have been.” At my words the punches stopped and I blinked away the tears staining my vision. Roman looked me straight in the eyes, my little brother, the last person I had in my life to protect.

“I hate you Ivan. I hate you.” He snarled, and I knew he meant every single word he said.

When I come too, there are tears on my cheeks and my entire body shakes with anger and sadness. It’s been years since I cried, since I fucking let the feelings unravel inside me, but vowing to help Violet, seeing her struggle and be attacked, it brought those feelings closer to the surface.

“Fuck her…” I growl, chugging the rest of the whiskey in the bottle. I’m angry…so fucking angry. I’m on the verge of exploding and even through the fucking haze I know I still want her, even when I shouldn’t I still want her. I want her to love me, because I want to love her too…and maybe in some way I fucking do.

I don’t know. I let the whiskey burn me from the inside out, drowning out my emotions, every single fucking thought fades as the alcohol takes over my body. I throw the bottle against the wall, listening as it hits, shattering into a million pieces in various directions. I grab the next thing I see and toss it against the wall…

I didn’t save her…I didn’t… Like a tornado ripping through a small town I destroy my apartment. Nothing matters. Nothing. I grab a bottle of vodka and start chugging it. It burns my insides, and makes my eyes water but I don’t care. I just don’t want to feel anymore.

A gasp fills the air… and I know who that gasp belongs too…

“Go the fuck away” I growl, keeping my back to her. I don’t want to see her face, the pain in her eyes. She broke us. Ruined this fragile moment, a moment I gave her because she begged for it. I should have known better. I should have kept my dick in my pants.

“Ivan.” Her voice cracks something inside of me, and I hear her small foot falls moving behind me. What the fuck is she doing? Why isn’t she listening to me?

I whirl around, anger pouring out of me, like lava erupting from a volcano. She’s picking up all the shit I’ve broken, the shit I wanted to break. She’s trying to fix things that can’t be fixed and for some reason that makes me angrier.

“I said to fucking go away,” I stumble over to her, feeling pieces of glass imbed into the bottoms of my feet. I feel the skin slice, but I don’t feel pain. I feel nothing. I am numb. Broken.

Violet gazes up at me, her bottom lip trembling, fear taking root in those deep blues of hers. I can’t image what she’s thinking right now, how she’s feeling?

I tell myself not to care when I grab her by the arm and force her to stand, failing to notice the broken glass shards in her hand. My movements jostle her, and when I hear the cry of pain fall from her lips I stop, releasing her instantly. Our eyes meet and we both look down to her hand at the same time where a piece of glass has pierced through her skin and is now sticking out.

“Shit…” Within half a second I am completely sober. At the sight of her blood, anger is replaced with worry. I watch the blood start to drip from the cut, sliding down her wrist, and onto the hardwood floor beneath our feet.

“I’m sorry.” She barely gets out, her eyes misting over. Fuck she’s going to cry again. I’m such an asshole. She just wanted to help and now she is sorry because I hurt her.

“No kitten, don’t be sorry.” Pick her up by the hips, I walk her to the kitchen. Shoving shit out of the way as I go, I sit her on the kitchen counter. Her fragile body starts to shake and I know I have to do something. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Please don’t move.”

I walk over the broken glass, not caring about anything but Violet in this moment. I walk into the bedroom, and then bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit. I jog back into the kitchen and see her body swaying her head half against the cupboard behind her.

“You still with me Kitten?”

“Yes.” She hisses, her eyes going wide as they drop back down to her hand. Her face is pale, and she looks like she might throw up.“Why did you destroy your house?” I want to laugh, even when she’s hurting she’s still trying to figure me out, trying to piece me back together.