Julius Caesar

PART TWO: SAMARA and ALEXANDER

"Light is easy to love.

Show

me

your

darkness."

~R.Queen

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Samara's POV.

I opened my eyes and blinked a couple of times to adjust to the bright sunlight, spilling from the open balcony doors before looking around the messy room I was in and sighing softly.

Black walls. A scarlet armchair in a corner with a mountain of clothes on top of which laid an open photo album. There were boots kicked carelessly next to the armchair on a plush, crimson carpet. Then there was a big, empty desk -all the books and the lamp were knocked off of it- with a single frame slapped down on its face. Next to the table was a big, unpacked travelling bag, my bag.

Then there was the bed I slept on. I tried to shift but there was an arm around me, holding me tight and secure.

Maxime. My brother.

I gently lifted his arm, sat up with a groan, slipped on my bunny-like slippers, and stifled a yawn. I then got up, stretched, and stared at Maxime's sleeping figure.

He was sleeping on his right side with his knees bent a little. His soft hair was obscuring his eyes and his lips were sealed shut. His left hand was extended and was constantly being heaved up and down by his rising and falling c.h.e.s.t.

I noticed that he was still fully dressed and immediately felt miserable.

He killed my brother. My brother whom I got to meet after almost eight years. A brother whom I missed dearly and got only a few days to be with.

I returned to bed and gently settled next to Maxime. I slowly combed his dark-brown hair with my fingers and smiled. I remembered him doing this to me when I was a kid as Leonard watched. We were inseparable until Dad decided to take them away from me before divorcing Mom. He told me they were going to study in another place. I never saw or heard of them again until a few weeks ago to tell me the story of a girl who fell in love with a murderer. Me.

Maxime was the s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e one. The one who dramatized every situation and almost always turned himself into a victim. So I knew this wasn't going to be easy for him and stayed with him.

A few seconds later, I noticed him tense with alertness. His eyes snapped open as he quickly pushed himself upright. He closed his eyes as if to steady himself before looking back at me. His hair was a monstrous thing, rising above his head and standing unswayed, covering his bushy eyebrows. His thick eyelashes shadowed his grey, teary eyes. Those eyes that were empty in their stony depths. They were so melancholic and lost.

I felt sad staring into them.

"How are you feeling?" I whispered, placing a hand on top of his. He looked down at my hand for a long time before taking a deep, sharp breath.

"I feel like dying." He rasped monotonously, shrugging a shoulder.

I tsked and smiled slightly. "Be a bit more cheerful. I'm sure there's something worth living for."

"You mean yourself?" His eyes were red when he stared at me and his face was still wiped clean of emotion. He stared at me for a long time before pulling back his hand.

My mouth opened to say something but just closed again. I c.o.c.ked my head. "I meant Julius."

And I thought I heard my heart die more.

He closed his eyes upon hearing his name and took a deep breath. "I want to-" he started heavily. "I want to rip his soul out." He clenched his other fist. "Rip it out," he said, venom lacing his voice. "-like he ripped mine away."

I blinked a few times before smiling with a gulp. "He deserves it."

Maxime looked up at me but didn't say a thing. He then changed his mind and shook his head slowly. "He killed Leonard. He killed him," he took a heavy, short breath. "-right in front of me. He-" He paused to raise a shaking fist to his mouth. "-he, shot him in the neck. Right in front of me."

"I under-" I started gently but he shook his head vigorously.

"No, no." His voice was shaky and soft and his eyes were glimmering steel. "No, you don't understand, Sam. You don't." He removed his fist from his mouth only to press it to his forehead. "He fell in my arms. Sam. He-" He lowered his fist and shook his head as tears filled his eyes to the brim. "Leo died in my arms. Looking in my eyes. Sam."

Maxime then closed his eyes, shook his head, and blinked at the ceiling. "We were talking about the future," he said, his eyes no longer empty. They were filled with unyielding storms. Memories. "And he died. For some doc.u.ments." He paused as if to contain something that just couldn't be contained. "Doc.u.ments that he knows I don't have. Julius killed my brother for no reason. Just like he killed our father."

I didn't understand what doc.u.ments he was talking about but didn't press so he wouldn't relive those memories that apparently caused him so much pain.

He looked away, sniffing loudly and dragging a hand across his face. "He had those doc.u.ments. Julius stole them. And killed pére* for them-" He shuddered and I looked at him in despair, wishing I could hug him and take his pain away before he self-destructs.

"And guess what?" he whispered. "That wasn't enough." He bit hard on his lip. "So he decided to kill me by taking away mon frère*."

I tried my best not to cry but I just couldn't. I couldn't see him like this. I couldn't see him look so weak and broken. So I cried for my other lost brother. I cried for Maxime. I cried for his pain. I cried for Leonard.

"You just," I started uselessly. "-do what you want with him."

"If I saw him," Maxime said, his eyes darkening. "If I saw him, amour*-" He shook his head and smiled a twisted sort of smile. "I'll kill him."

I shook my head silently, my tears rolling down my cheeks

"I will not stand," he panted. "-seeing him breathe. I'll only see him as the one who killed Leonard. And, oh, the things I'd do to him-" He paused and closed his eyes as if in p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. "The things I'd do to him, Samara," he almost smiled. "His nightmares would be so afraid to carry them. I swear to you, on Leonard's soul."

I falter a bit, but a look in his eyes was all it took to steady myself.

"I want to torture him." His voice was getting steady, deep. "I want him to die with a broken heart and a broken spine. I want his death to be so tragic. Tragic enough for the demons to shed some tears for him. I want the last thing he'd ever do is beg me. Beg me. For death."

I almost gasped at his harsh words but caught myself and clasped my shaky hands. "Do what you think is right," I said, closing my eyes momentarily to steady the dizziness I felt.

His eyes snapped to me. "But there's something wrong with my plan." He muttered and I looked closer at him.

"What?" My voice was almost gone and out as a raspy whisper.

"I've never held a gun in my hand," he said, his eyebrows furrowed. His gaze dropped to his l.a.p.s. "I'm not a murderer."

I stared at him, anticipating what was to come out of those pale lips of his.

"And I want this to be very painful," he continued with clenched teeth.

"Do what you think is right," I repeated weakly and he nodded slowly. He then looked down, closed his eyes, and I thought that maybe he was praying.

But then his eyes snapped open and caught mine. "I want you to kill him. Samara." He said, looking at me with the saddest eyes ever.

In response, I stared at him. I was waiting for him to say that he was joking. That he wasn't being serious. Because he couldn't be serious.

"Maxime?" I said incredulously. "You want me to kill him?"

"Kill him. Yes." He sniffed and my heart stopped.

"That'd make me a murderer," I whispered to him, shaking my head slowly.

"Not if you kill one." He said, his eyes glinting dangerously under the faint sunlight.

I felt my face melt and my lungs collapse. "But you know I can't," I said slowly. "Maxime," I almost scoffed. "-you know why I can't-"

"Because you loved him?" He snapped and I flinched. "I thought you said you were over him. I thought you loved Leonard more!"

I was shocked to silence by the intensity of emotion in his voice and daren't whimper as I hid my irrelevant pains deep in my pockets. And I realized that this wasn't a matter of love. It was a matter of loyalty. A matter of who mattered more. Family.

I looked in his eyes and he nodded slowly. "His gun," he breathed. "-is on a chair, right next to the bas.e.m.e.nt's door. It's loaded. With a silencer," he said with a heavy sigh. "You'll-"

Suddenly, muffled screams erupted from beneath us, followed by the crashing of something heavy. I started, but Maxime's hands found my shoulders to steady me.

"He just woke up." He whispered eerily as I heard more thumps and thuds almost quake the mansion.

I held my breath.

Maxime then caught my eyes and took a deep breath. "When you're ready," he said. "-finish him."

I tried to shake my head as I looked at his tight grip on my shoulders. I was about to protest but his index finger found my lips. "Shush. It is going to be okay. Okay? Leonard will be at peace. You want that, don't you?"

"I'll get the guards standing by his door to remove any furniture in there." He said, looking up and staring in my widened eyes. "So that he wouldn't hurt you. After all, he's a murderer."

And suddenly he made sense to me. As if his stare had hands that reached inside me and flicked some switch. A switch that turned on a voice in my head. Don't be stupid! Julius is a murderer Samara! Leonard, Samara! Kill him. It's okay.

So I nodded shakily and he dared smile. "The guards will be done by an hour," he said gently. "You should be done by two."

I felt my eyes widen a bit more and I thought my throat and head hurt. Was I catching a cold? Because I was sick. I was so incredibly sick as I nodded and nodded and nodded. I was nodding at what he was saying. And I might've even smiled at him. What was happening to me? Must be catching a cold...

"I need to go." He then said with a small sigh. "I need to prepare Leonard's funeral. I have lots to do."

I tried to say a thing. I wanted him to wait. To hold on- because I just couldn't be processing this right. Because murder- I agreed to commit murder. And because a faint voice tried to scream in my head that- no, no, no, this is so wrong. But I looked in his eyes and this voice was shushed.

My brother was hurt and needed my help. Wouldn't I kill for him? I would. Yes. I thought I would. That was the least I could do to him after what he did. He saved my heart from a murderer's clutches.

"Maxime," was all I managed to force out of my trembling lips.

"I love you, Sam." He cupped my face and looked in my eyes. I stared in his with uncontrollable fear cracking my heart. And I thought I was already hyperventilating because my thoughts- my thoughts exhausted me.

Yet I pressed a smile and whispered. "Love you too."

His warm hands let go of my face as an impossible smile traced his plump lips. And I thought that there was nothing, nothing, entertaining in asking your sister to kill for you. But I'd do anything for him, wouldn't I?

"Be strong," was what he told me and I thought that how could someone ′be strong′ for murder?

But I nodded again and didn't realize I was crying until tears splattered on my hand. Feeling lost was an understatement. I didn't understand how he could ask me this. What was even worse was my acceptance. How I easily submitted.

Was all that normal?

He got off the bed and soon out of his room, slamming the door behind him. I clasped my hands and sobbed my heart out. I wasn't thinking straight and wasn't in my right mind. But as I sat there on that bed, shaking from fear and tears, I knew I wanted one thing.

I wanted to be there for Maxime. I wanted him to trust me. I wanted to help him and remind him that there was hope. Because he needed to know that, yes, I was worth living for.

And I'd do anything to achieve that.

So I got up with determination, pulled out some clothes from my unpacked bag, and entered the bathroom.

I walked slowly through Maxime's labyrinth of a mansion. There were so many corridors with rooms and walls painted in crimson and black. It was very dark and disturbing and my feeling about it intensified when I studied the frames hung on the wall.

There were plenty of them and they all depicted terrible meanings and vibes. The paintings didn't have blood or war but were deeply unsettling nonetheless. I wondered if Maxime chose to hang them on purpose, if he was the one who picked each and every one of them, and if he understood what they depicted.

Their colours were an angry blur screaming and screaming for my attention. So I found myself staring at a lady coming down on a set of very fancy, spiralling stairs. She looked gorgeous in the scarlet gown she wore until you looked closer at her painted face. She was grinning. Toothlessly. I wondered if she was screaming.

I, thus, found myself repulsed by the horrible art in this place. I hated how it reminded me of my insecurities and my deepest fears. I gulped and continued walking on the red, plush carpet that didn't seem to come to an end.

I noticed lots of weird-looking, empty vases at the mouth of every turn. Vases that had people drawings on them, and to my horror, they were screaming and tearing at their own skin. And I wondered if there was anything in this place that signified life.

I also wondered why did he need all that space if it was only him and Leonard. The mansion was colossal with endless halls and staircases that led to God knew where. All I knew was that I needed to get to the bas.e.m.e.nt and kept looking for staircases that took me down and down.

My wish was granted when I stepped in a dimly lit corridor where the red carpet ended. The bas.e.m.e.nt. Its pathway was made of stone slabs on which my heels clicked. I almost cursed Maxime for allowing himself to live in such a scary place.

I noticed two bulk, bald men standing at the hallway's end in black suits with straight backs and threatening stances. I also noticed a wooden chair right next to the door they were guarding. I gulped but hurried toward them, hating the impracticality of the short, black dress and the heels I were wearing (that was all I could pack hurriedly when Maxime showed up devastated by Leonard's death).

When I was in front of the door, one of the men nodded at the wooden chair in the corner and I dreadfully averted my gaze to it, my heart in my mouth. I reached out for the familiar gun and held it, embracing its weight and deadliness.

I nodded at the door and the other man reached for the handle, unlocking it. My heart raced in my c.h.e.s.t and my lips parted in anticipation. I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

He held the door open and I looked at him as if he could somehow help me out of this. Knowing better than having such stupid hopes, I walked in with closed eyes as the door 'clicked' close behind me.

I opened my eyes with a deep breath to stare at a huge, empty, dimly-lit 'space'. It smelt of rust and dust and I had to keep swallowing my fears away to keep moving. There was a stage or a raised platform at the end of the room and there was my heart on the floor in utter despair.

I was so caught up in the tiny details of this place that I almost forgot what I was here for. So I straightened up, slipped off my painful heels and raised Julius' gun in front of me. Not being able to spot him in this apparent darkness, did nothing but terrify me more.

I was so scared.

"You are scared."

It was more like a whisper. A loud whisper in its quietness. A whisper that managed to echo around the place. I was afraid I imagined it, so I tightened my hold around my gun.

"You're scared, God, too scared to even see me." His haunting, melodic voice returned and I had to curl my toes to prevent tears from forming in my eyes. "Look at me, love," he whispered again. "I'm right next to you."

I slowly turned my head to my right to find him shirtless and vulnerably sprawled on the floor, legs spread and pants unbuttoned. His head rested on the wall behind him, eyes closed, face calm, and arms lying on the floor next to him.

I backed away with the gun in my hand. He then opened his eyes very, very slowly just to stare at me. I watched his eyes search my face, travel down my body, stop a little where my dress ended before looking down in his l.a.p.s.

I felt my skin heat up a little.

"Do you like the lights' intensity?" he then asked. "Or are they too dim for you?" He lifted his head a bit and I allowed myself to study his face. His thick, drawn eyebrows, his dark, dull eyes, his turned-up nose, his beautifully etched, dark-red lips, and set, angular jaws. His face was some form of architecture I'd always marvel at.

"Do they hurt your eyes?" he inquired, his voice low and silvery. "You just had surgery."

I stared at him, tightening the hold around the gun. And he seemed to notice because he rolled his eyes and looked away.

Suddenly, the lights brightened, making me squint. The room became well-illuminated and so did he. I could study him more clearly. His eyes looked brighter and his silky, black hair looked shinier.

And I couldn't help looking at his perfect, perfect body under the bright, bright lights. I blinked away as he pulled his legs toward him and folded them beneath him in impossible, casual elegance.

He ran a hand through his hair before staring at me. "So?" He raised his eyebrows. "They finally sent you to kill me?"

"Who 'they'?" The words felt foreign on my lips. It was like the first time I'd spoken in centuries.

He frowned a bit before his face stretched to smile, then he actually laughed with closed eyes. He then opened them to look at me before frowning slightly. "Maxime and Leonard." He sounded serious for a moment before his face broke into another dazzling smile. And I seemed to forget that being dazzling came very naturally to him. And I realized that his charm almost made me forget that I was supposed to be angry. So very angry.

"Are you mocking me?" I breathed, tilting my head to get a better view of his face.

He looked taken aback by my statement and stared. He was about to say something but touched his fingers to his mouth and decided to resort to silence.

"Is this whole thing funny to you?" I scoffed, very offended by his callous behaviour. He raised his eyebrows indifferently as an amused smile lit his features again.

He still said nothing.

"You killed my brother!" I almost yelled and his head snapped in my direction. He wasn't smiling anymore. He was just observing me. Searching and searching my features for God knew what.

"What are you talking about?" His voice suddenly lost all its gentleness.

I grimaced. "What am I talking about?!" I repeated his statement with tears in my eyes.

He looked in my eyes and I noticed concern flit into and out of his features immediately. His lips parted speechlessly before he cleared his throat, shook his head subtly, and pulled himself together. "Darling, I swear to you," he said almost breathlessly. "-I have no idea what you're crying about."

I blinked away my tears irritably as I glared at him. "Leonard." My voice broke. "I'm talking about how you killed him." He looked sincerely shocked by my words. "My brother."

And my heart broke again just by mentioning it.