Chapter 31

                                    

                                          
Ares
_
Wherever I looked, wherever I was, everything seemed bland and colorless. Granted, my life had always been monotonous. But in the past few weeks, it had taken on a surprising vibrancy. I hadn't acknowledged it then, and now I was forced by gods above to confront what I had taken for granted, what I refused to acknowledge. Callista. She brought joy into my life, even though I pretended otherwise. I enjoyed her company, but the realization came too late. The fact was lost on me until it was too late. I was too late. Why did it hit me now? It would have been better if I had never understood. The ache and anguish squeezing my heart wouldn't be there, and I wouldn't be drowning in guilt.
"Ares..." Isaac's voice was groggy and hoarse. Aunt Jennifer and Mom waited outside; I needed to be alone with my brother. I squeezed his hand gently. "Do you want water?" Isaac nodded weakly. I stood up, helping him drink. As I set the glass back on the table, he asked, "Where is everyone? Callista? Her parents? Ubel? Is he dead?"
I sighed softly, feeling the weight of his aquamarine gaze. Retaking my seat beside his bed, I said, "I killed the bastard. But before he died, he tried to shoot me—"
Isaac's eyes filled with worry as they scanned my body. "I'm fine," I assured him. "It's—" I struggled to find the words. I didn't know how to put what happened easily. Nothing could erase the heartbreak etched deep in my heart. "Callista saved me. She was shot, shielding me. Her parents are okay."
Isaac closed his eyes, as if he was in pain. A bitter smile twisted his mouth, "Calli, she loves you so much, Ares. More than her life." I listened, having nothing to say. I have known this fact from the very first day. I had taken her feelings as liberty, assets, a fucking liability. She was just a pawn. Just a bait. And bait, in the end, always was killed, sacrificed. I had known it. I had planned so. And I never cared. It never affected me. Until now. "How is she doing?" I kept my silence. Isaac sighed heavily. He always understood me, especially my silence. He started, "the first time I saw and met her, I understood why you chose her. I could clearly see the feelings and love she had for you in her eyes. She was so innocent and pure. We ruined her..." I looked away, "I ruined her. Not you. It was my plan. Not yours." The sky was clear and blue outside. The morning erasing any trace of the storm from last night. "I didn't stop you either. I am equally at fault, Ares." 
My lips pressed into a thin line as Isaac's eyes scrutinized me. "You tried to stop me at the right time," I acknowledged. Isaac's gaze grew distant, as if recalling a memory. "You know why I did that?" he asked. I nodded, feeling worse with each passing second. "Yes."
Isaac's smile was small, painful, and regretful. "You read her diary before I did. I knew that. And I couldn't understand, after knowing everything, after knowing her, how you could go to such extremes. I couldn't accept that you slept with her."
I nodded, "It was awful of me. Terribly." Isaac closed his eyes, the weight of regret heavy in the room. "She wrote about you. Every page, every line—her heart was written in it. Her love, her devotion, her feelings. You were lucky to have her love."
I closed my eyes, accepting the truth silently. I had found her diary while she slept after our lovemaking.
If I were a bird, he would be my sky.  
If I were a wave, he would be my sea.  
If I were a lover, he would be my love.  
If I were born, he would be my life.
Those lines remained etched in my mind from the first time I read them. They were sweet, simple, and heartfelt. Why did she love me? I had wondered, staring at her as she slept with a serene smile. I had closed the diary with a snap, disturbed by the revelation. My heart pounded in my chest, a sensation I didn't like. I didn't want to be affected by her. I shouldn't have been affected in the first place. She was a tool, a means to an end. Yet, my hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they reopened the diary, driven by curiosity.