Chapter 9
ASHAL
The first time it happened, I was twelve. My brothers and I were sent to a private school where the kids in our class treated us like garbage because they felt intimidated by us. They'd throw stuff at us in class when the teacher wasn't looking, call us names and sometimes make us trip and fall on our faces during lunch break.
Asher and Ashton fought back sometimes and got punished for it. Ashely was too small and too timid to retaliate. He was an easy target. I didn't refrain from doing anything because I was scared. I just thought if I failed to give them the satisfaction of pulling a reaction from me, they'd eventually stop. They didn't and when we went home with a cut lip or other bruises, father wasn't pleased.
One day, the bullies came for me and I snapped. I didn't think I was too angry. Ron was a big boy and thirteen at the time. He and his annoying pack of friends cornered me in the bathroom and hit me. The last thing I remember was their taunts as the rage bubbled inside me. I snapped and the world went black. I couldn't see anything for like fifteen seconds. When I blinked and came to, Ron was knocked out cold with a nosebleed. One of his lackeys was curled up by the sink, crying with fear-stricken eyes. He even wet himself when I tried to go close to him. The others had scampered away in fright, screaming for help at the top of their lungs. If my knuckle wasn't split open, bleeding and hurting, I wouldn't have believed the tales the survivors told the principal of the school. Mom and dad had been shocked. My brothers too. When we packed our things and left because mother wanted us to change schools, Ron stared fearfully at my brothers and I. Asher and Ashton enjoyed it. Ashely reveled in it while it lasted. I grew scared because I had no memory of the incident.
I've had quite a number of rage blackouts since then and woken up to the horrible reality of hurting people, especially the women I had been with at the time. The diagnosis was done after I killed a man. Father buried the crime, as well a few others that eventually followed. My family literally works overtime to hide my condition from the world.
Nine months ago, I had a one-night stand with a woman and almost killed her. After getting nursed back to health, she refused to be bought over and threatened to tell the world about my condition. Father stepped in and threatened the life of her loved ones. Mother promised to support her family financially in return for Olivia's agreement to sign an NDA. When Olivia was discovered pregnant two months later, our marriage was forcefully and secretly arranged. We lost the pregnancy eventually and things have been rocky between us.
Olivia hates me for ruining her life. Since our marriage, her every move is monitored. She has zero friends and mostly stays in my penthouse surrounded by bodyguards.
She is also constantly afraid of me. Once, when she tried to escape, I didn't take it well and I hurt her.
I know she has every right to hate me but I never stop trying to make amends. I love her and I will never stop trying to get better so we can rewrite our tragic love story. Today, I stopped by to check on her. She easily gets suffocated in the penthouse and loathes being followed around by guards. She texted me to come over and to get rid of the bodyguards for a few hours. I remember her sniffing the flowers I got her with stars in her eyes. She was making lunch and I volunteered to help her. Music floated in from the living room and Olivia danced barefoot in the kitchen. I don't recall any triggering comment or action on her part.
I just remember waking up on the living room sofa with a serrated knife in my bloody hands. My body quivers with shock at the sight of a blood trail leading up to the kitchen. When I follow it, Olivia is sprawled on the floor. Blood oozes from her wrist. That's when I text Asher. Asher says to text him first whenever I need help with Olivia.
While I cradle Olivia's head in my thighs and beg her to return to me, Asher's car roars into the driveway. He bursts through the door, yelling for me.