Julius Caesar

I sit on the sofa facing the front door, elbows on knees and face in hands. And I'm waiting, waiting, waiting-

"Julius?" Samara calls me and I snap my head toward her voice. She's standing behind me in a brown knit sweater and jeans, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. I look back at the door, sighing heavily. Worriedly.

"When did he tell you he'll come?"

"He said by three."

"Well, it's f.u.c.k.i.n.g four now."

I clasp my hands in my l.a.p.s as I feel Samara's hands rest on my tensed shoulders that ease a little under her touch.

"Relax, Julius. Please. Traffic may be holding him back."

I shut my eyes, drop my head in my hands, and rub my temples. She's right. I have to get it together no matter how anxious I am, given the fact that I know how Father is never late for anything. Not ever.

"Where's Gutsa?" I ask and she comes to sit next to me.

"Sleeping. Upstairs."

I inhale deeply and touch the gun wedged in the back of my pants with my right hand. I know Samara's watching me too closely but I ignore her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Samara asks hesitantly and I shake my head, already getting frustrated. This whole thing got me worked up and so very impatient.

"I told you-" I start firmly but she cuts in.

"I just want you to know that I'd do anything, and I mean it, anything for us. Yeah?"

My breath hitches before I turn to her, get my shit together and nod once with a small smile. Samara doesn't look convinced- not the least bit. Her eyes are jumpy and teary, and her breaths shaky and short. She doesn't talk while looking in my eyes and has been calling me 'Julius' ever since the sun decided to lift itself from its demise.

And I wonder if she had slept at night at all; I wonder if she remembered to 'relax' too.

Samara is staring at a point behind my shoulder lost in thought. I could smell her fright coming off her in tsunami waves- in waves she thinks she can hide from me- someone who knows her just like he knows his scars and cursed name. She thinks she can hide it by being 'nice' and 'supportive'.

It amuses me that she still thinks it's possible. That it's possible not to seep beneath her pale, smooth skin to where her terrified soul lies, caged, hoping for protection behind that huge heart of hers. She still thinks that I can't tell when her soul tremors when that heart of hers skips a beat or runs a marathon.

Samara doesn't really get that through all those past months, when my grief got merciful, all I did was study the way her c.h.e.s.t rose and fell with her every deep or short breath. The way she tugged on a hair strand when she's deep in thought, the way she'd 'tsk' when I'd drink milk from the carton, and the way her eyes lit when she was talking about a bright future. A future she thinks I'm taking away from her because of a 'must-be-done' deed.

She doesn't know the depth of my love for her and it disturbs me. It disturbs me that she allows her true vulnerable self to still hide from me. She doesn't understand what I really mean when I tell her that I want her all. All of that fear, insecurity, guilt. I want it out on the table so that I'd take some, if not all, from her.

I sigh, releasing the tension from my shoulders and just before I try to reach for her chin to get her to look into me, the doorbell rings. I pull back in a haze, straighten up slowly as Samara gulps with a brittle smile. I watch her, heart-wrenched, as she does what we've discussed two nights before (yes, Christmas to us was nothing but planning).

She's the one who gets to open the door for Father.

I watch her back as she welcomes Father in with her sweet, melodic voice she got from her mother. She then steps aside and Father fills my view. Needless to say, he looks immaculate with his neatly swept, shiny hair, navy-blue suit, and white, leather shoes as he pretends to observe his surroundings before his eyes fall square on me.

Samara gently closes the door behind him as he approaches me with raised brows and a small, vague smile. I get up and stand tall and straight before he stops in front of me.

Samara rushes upstairs to get Augusta.

He extends his right hand and I glance down at it before looking him dead in the eyes. It's a game for two now.

"Hello, Father." I take his hand and shake it.

Father nods at me with a small smirk. "Hello, Julius. Long time, no see. And no hear." His eyes glint mischievously as he smiles at his 'joke'.

"Same."

"Felicitations!" He tells me, glancing at the stairs Samara is descending with Augusta in her arms. "She must be an absolute beauty. Augusta. I mean, she has wonderful parents."

I nod with a smile before Samara stands by my side and hands him Augusta. Father carries her with a crease between his eyebrows, watching her in awe.

"It's never occurred to me that I'd live to that day-" He says slowly, quietly, with a smile, as he hands Augusta back to Samara. "She's a princess, bless her soul."

Samara smiles weakly at the compliment. "Thanks."

I try not to cringe at how awkward the heavy pauses between one monologue and the other are.

"Well," Father takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together. "Take her back to bed. We shouldn't disturb her sleep now, shall we?"

Hmm, he hasn't really come to 'spend time' with his granddaughter, has he? He'd never reach that level of sentimentality, of course.

I look at Samara who gives me a quick, nervous glance before she nods once and turns on her heels, heading back upstairs.

"I'm proud of you, son," he says airily. "You made a beautiful daughter-" He raises his eyebrows. "You know? I always wished I had a daughter. Females are ethereal...beauties-" He paces around in front of me before gingerly lowering himself on the sofa facing me. He reaches in his suit's c.h.e.s.t pocket and takes out a cigar.

He then gives me a once-over before placing it between his teeth and lighting it up. "I'm glad to see you're good now."

"I am."

"Of course you are!" He smiles. "You're my son. You're capable of everything. You're too strong for grief."

"Yes. You too. You don't seem as... emotional as you were last time we met."

He nods slowly, puffing out some smoke. "True-" He says, carefully choosing his words. "Your brother's death took a toll on all of us. It was a rough patch...but look at us now, son-" He says thoughtfully, eagerly. "We are the strong men the world always knew us as. We're ready to take over."

"We are, aren't we?" I smirk amusedly, hoping he didn't believe a word he said. Because he'll be disappointed when I bring him to his knees.

Father leans over the coffee table to leave his lit cigar on the ashtray. He then leans back, eyes on me. "You tell me-" He raises a brow. "Are you ready to take over?"

My heart stops for a microsecond. Take over...what?

"Are you ready to take over this corrupted world?" He continues undeterred, waving his arms around and I remind myself to stop being ridiculous. My plan is flawless. What's the worst that can happen?

"Yes. Augustus' death-" I almost stutter on the last word but manage to smoothly breathe it out, looking in my father's filthy battlefields for eyes. "-made me realize that strength lies in sorrow as much as in delight and confidence. That sorrow is misunderstood-" I say, tasting the words slowly, delectably. "It doesn't destroy a person. In fact-" I tilt my head and continue nonchalantly. "It clears the mess in his head so he can see the real, ugly truth about everything, everyone. It helps to clear his judgment about who the real villains are and all."

Father purses his lips as if amused. "You have a deep, accurate perception of life. It's intriguing, son. You've been through much but it was worth it."

I nod and wonder when the right time would be to fling out my gun and commence the massacre.

"So-" He breathes out, staring at me. "Have you figured what you'll do to support your family? I mean, son, a man is judged on how he keeps his family's demands fulfilled. You should start considering your options."

Well, I would've, Father. But who would recruit a twenty-six-year-old architect with absolutely no experience?

"I've been thinking about it lately-"

"You, my son, should have no difficulty finding a job given your high IQ and the fact that you've graduated from one of the best universities in the world-" He says, his voice full of authority. "Unless..." He trails off, his eyes lingering on me for a while too long and I hold my breath.

Is he going to say 'unless you want to work with me'? Yes, that's the worst that can happen.

"Unless they ask for experience of course." He continues and I wonder if he's doing this on purpose, being so vague, or if I'm just being paranoid. Probably the latter.

"Yes. I have no experience."

Father smirks. "I have lots of contacts. I can ask someone to take you under their wing. If you want to-" He offers and I raise my eyebrows.

"Thank you for your generous offer," I reply, getting bored of the 'roasting-in-disguise' conversation we're having. "In fact-" I glance at the smoke still twirling lowly from the lit cigar and shrug with a smile. "-I've figured out what I want to do."

And just like that, I fling out my gun and look up to find him holding a gun too. And suddenly my mind defines chaos. I threaten myself not to show any of my head's confusion on my face as I watch him, still sitting on the sofa with the gun held casually in his hands, aiming at my head.

"A pleasant surprise, right?" He smirks, slowly getting to his feet.

And I'm not sure I can say anything because this is already getting out of my hand. This is exactly how my plan goes to the nearest dustbin as I size up his confident posture, his alert, sharp eyes, and steady hands (all of which would never indicate that he's a fifty-something-year-old son of a bitch).

But I have it all under control. There's no way I'll let him slip away. Not this time.

I start by confronting him.

"You're a f.u.c.k.i.n.g hypocrite."

Father stills on my words and lifts a brow. "Okay-"

I don't allow him to continue. "You don't practice what you preach. You kill people you're supposed to protect. You terrorized me of my own self because of your mistakes. You know you're no better than those you've set me out to kill. And you hate yourself to selfishness. You wanted me to go through the same goddamned thing. You wanted me to go through the horror of being and knowing that I'm a coldblooded murderer. And you hate it that I never submitted to your barbaric methodologies.

"So don't tell me that it was because of complete secrecy that you didn't tell me that I killed horrific people for the government. You know that if you've worked better on our shitty relationship, you and I would trust each other on our lives. So no, Father," I spit out bitterly. "Unfortunately, it wasn't even a surprise for it to be pleasant, that we're holding guns in each other's faces. That you can't trust me with your life when you step in my house."

Father nods at me, feigning seriousness before his face just breaks into a mocking grin, then into heavy laughter. "Bravo, son! Acting would suit you just...perfect! This was breathtakingly theatrical!"

"You taught me that I should always kill for Gorj-" I say, ignoring his remark. "That doesn't for a second make you an exception-"

Father is nodding 'enthusiastically' before he looks me in my eyes. "Then what are you waiting for? Just do it. Since when do we have to explain ourselves to the enemy? That's the thing I dislike about you, son-" He shifts and I tighten my hold around the gun. "Your immense fascination with drama and cinematics. You summoned me to kill me, yet we spent almost an hour chit-chatting about this and that. Son-" He says exasperatedly. "-you're starting to forget my lessons. Power is slipping right between your-"

"I don't want to be powerful!" I yell at him and he smirks.

"See? That's where you go wrong, again. No man doesn't d.e.s.i.r.e power and greatness. It's in our DNA-"

"You killed a lot of innocent people. It's not fair that you get to outlive them like this. People are going through so much heartache for this bullshit legacy you're worshipping-" I'm almost shaking from the anger as Father shakes his head and glances behind my shoulder.

I don't even risk a look behind me to know that it's Samara.

"Yes, you're right. It's not fair-" He tells me with a smirk. "I had my reasons-"

"There isn't even one reason that's good enough for murder-" I say, knowing how much I've let myself through hell when I thought that I was his carbon copy. There wasn't a day that passed without me wanting to kill myself in the most painful way possible. "You wanted to kill my love for Audrey and you did it brutally. You killed Sam, and until now, I don't even know why! Why did you break my brother's heart?" I shout and he nods as if entertained by listening to all of his terrible actions. "Never mind, Augustus'," I pant out calmly, shaking my head. "You broke million hearts."

"We might as well get a violin band, link arms, sway, and sob," Father says distastefully. "Boy, you're talking about heartbreaks instead of guns. I'd understand if you'd gone all soft after Augustus died. But, Julius, you're holding a gun to my face and fighting back tears. It's contradicting. And pathetic."

"I'm just perplexed-" I say, shaking my head. "Why do you insist on treating me like a child when you very well know what I'm capable of? Why did you come here with a gun if you think I'm pathetic?"

"Well, it's funny because I wasn't coming here with a gun until your wife called and told me you're no longer the softie you were-" He says with an easy smile and I feel my stomach twist with a possible theory. "Well, your wife was absolutely and horrendously worried about you. Worried that you'd get your hands bloody again. That you'd kill me-"

My heart is pumping and leaping so high, it's a wonder how it hasn't reached heaven yet. I shake my head and scoff. "Bullshit. Samara wouldn't do that. She promised-"

"Samara? Lovely, please come here." Father interjects and my heart comes crashing down when she slowly comes to his side, her face guilt-ridden. My lips part and my hand shakes with the gun.

"Samara, love-" I raise my eyebrows, looking in her blue, casted eyes. My lips are tugged down by an invisible weight. "Why?"

Her lips quiver before she helplessly looks at Father.

"Don't look at your wife like that, you idiot-" I hear Father say as I try to tear my eyes away from her and fail. "She wanted me to save you from your reckless, emotion-governed actions."

That catches my attention and I lose it. "BUT YOU'RE A GODDAMNED KILLER!"

"Julius, please-" Samara pleads and I sharply turn to her.

"I don't want to even see your face right now," I tell her calmly, coldly, looking right in her eyes.

Her face falls as she tries to compose herself after what I've said. She fails, lets out a sob, and runs upstairs.

"That was harsh, Julius. That's not how you treat women-"

"Shut up!" I yell and Father takes a deep breath as if I'm a hopeless case. A f.u.c.k.i.n.g lunatic.

"You brought me up to this!" I stress out. "You brought me up so that I'd do whatever to Gorj. And now that I know its f.u.c.k.i.n.g purpose, why do you seem to run away from your own rules?" I shake my head. "It used to be okay. I didn't think of you as any worse than who I was when I thought I killed for no reason. When I thought I was a butcher too. But now?" I pant out calmly. "Now, you need to be eliminated."

"You don't want to do this."

"Do what? Make the world a little fairer?" I scoff. "No- I want to do that."

"You never know when a bad habit is born-" He tells me and I narrow my eyes at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Our bodies know very well how to treat themselves. If something gives you p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e, if something relieves you, you will always be hungry for it-" He explains and I wonder how he remains so damned collected after all I've told him. "S.e.x. Smoking. Drugs. You name it. But son so is murder." He c.o.c.ks his head to the side.

"I was so angry and it felt heavenly releasing all that stress when I stabbed that disgrace of a woman- Fiona was her name- to her miserable end. It felt better killing Mustafa. Better even killing Audrey, because you angered me. My point is-" Father shakes his head. "Killing me would give you so much p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. It's no good, son."

"Wow-" I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. "Was that concern? Because I can't believe you're believing yourself," I scoff. "Are you trying to tell me that you're scared that I'd get addicted to murder? Like you have any idea the number of times I got tempted to kill an innocent person, thinking that it would make no difference because I'm a murderer anyway? I can't f.u.c.k.i.n.g believe you."

Father smirks. "You don't need to believe me because you aren't going to kill me."

I c.o.c.k the gun. "Yeah?"

"One day, when you take over Gorj, you'll understand the pressure I've been put-"

"No, Father," I shake my head. "You don't understand. When I'm taking over Gorj, I'm discontinuing your legacy. I have a copy of Mother's will. It's an advertising company. I do not care what you've accomplished because it's all stained red, carrying the stench of the thousands of rotting hearts you've broken. I will be-"

"Being me-" He pants out hatefully. "Being me is never easy. You will never be half the man I am. You cannot even take my place. You're too much of a coward for such-"

"Yes. You are right. But only partly-" I quickly lick my lower lip. "I can never take your place if I were to stay sane. You see, people like me and you, cannot be in this position without harming others." I look in his eyes. "We share the same darkness no matter how much I hate it. Being this-" I c.o.c.k my neck at him.

"We cannot see blood without feeling something alive pulse inside us. Something demonic. We cannot be what you want us to be without getting tempted. I know. But, hell-" I shake my head. "I'd rather run like a coward than lose myself to my demons. No one told you to bow to your demons. No one forced you to kill for them. You never fought your temptations. It was never difficult for you. You fed your darkness to brutality."

Father says nothing but stares at me like I'm a new person.

"Killing you is only natural order," I say slowly and Father nods at me with a smile.

He then lowers his gun. Drops it to the ground. And I'm not sure what to feel about this.

"You figured me out-" He says slowly, sincerely and I'm beyond confused. "And I'd rather die than see your demons click with mine. Kill me, if you dare."

I raise my eyebrows and smirk. It is that easy?

"But what about Gorj?" I ask him. "How will I gain access to my position?"

Father clears his throat, looks away. "Call Philips. Tell him that you have the right to take over Gorj. Tell him that I'm resigning. He'll deal with the authorities who'll remove all the privileges Gorj has been given. You shall not worry because Philips will be there to guide you through. He'll help you in your first year or so. You'll be good."

"So-?" My heart is breaking free. "So no contract with the government or any shit like that?"

"No. Of course not. Things like those can't have deadlines. If I had died any moment, whoever would take over doesn't necessarily have to participate in this whole fiesta."

I approach Father and he stands so very still, unblinking. Humiliated in an odd, funny way.

"Where do you want your ashes?"

"With Augustus'-" He replies immediately and I scowl.

"Augustus is in the Pacific Ocean-"

"He said he wanted to be planted-" Father looks so displeased, it surprises me.

"You read the letter?"

"Of course, I did-"

"Well, Augustus doesn't deserve to be kept in a yard. He isn't a tree. He is a free, wandering soul with the expanse and the depth of the Pacific Ocean. That's what he is. He deserves to see the endless shimmer of the blue of his mother's eyes every sunrise and sunset. He deserves to be free from us. From all of those who held him down. We don't deserve him. Never will." My eyes are already watering and I know my father notices because his face falls too.

"Reunite me with him."

I raise my gun and press it to his forehead. Father slowly gets on his knees and my tears are flowing out in bittersweet triumph. I've finally stripped my father of his dignity. I crumpled his power with the truth. I erased his ego just by understanding him. His real, concealed dirty self. I know that he'd rather die than see me again.

He's staring in my eyes, waiting, waiting, waiting-

I pull the trigger with a 'click' and his tears come tumbling down as he flinches away.

I smile widely as he blinks dumbly at me. His hands reach his head where there's obviously no blood.

The gun isn't loaded. I never planned on killing him this way. I killed him in the worst way possible. I humiliated him. And that is even more painful for him than losing Augustus or getting a bullet through his head.

Father wordlessly gets to his feet with a sway, his lips numb, incapable of uttering a word as he looks at my merciless smile.

And just like that, he runs out of the house.

I watch the empty street through the wide-open door and marvel at the weak sun rays. The sun's setting and I think of Augustus as I toss the gun on the sofa and pull out the recorder from my back pocket.

I stop the recording with a shaky finger before slamming the front door shut.

This is for you Gustus, I think as I kill Father's filthy cigar on the ashtray.

The master room's door is slightly open and I raise my eyebrows as I push my way through. I step in and find Samara curled on the huge king bed, a golden pillow over her head as her muffled sobs fill the air.

My heart flutters in my heart at how delicate she looks, engulfed by the other pillows and crimson bed sheets. I slowly approach the bed before lowering myself on it. Samara must've felt my weight because her sobs come to a sudden end.

I lay down, smile to myself before spooning her. She's so warm from all the crying she was doing. She tightens her hold around the pillow as I hear her breaths slow. I then raise the pillow just a little, using some force of course so I could whisper something in her ears.

"I'm not mad at you."

A pause.

"You're not?" comes the muffled response and I smile.

"Of course, not."

Another pause.

She then yanks the pillow from her face and slowly sits up, looking at me wide-eyed, tear-stained-cheeked, and messy-haired. Her lips part when she sees the grin on my face.

"You looked mad. Down there-"

"How can you be mad at someone you love?" I ask her and she tears up.

"You-you didn't see- You didn't see how-how you glared at-at me, Caesar!" She stutters, wiping away her streaming tears.

"I was acting."

"No-" She sniffs, shaking her head.

"Yes."

"No, no."

"Yah, yah."

"Alexander-" She trails off and I purse my lips.

"Is dead."

She tries to smile and fails. "You killed him?"

In response, I pull out the recorder from the back of my pocket and play it for her.

Samara is still staring at the recorder when it finishes before she breathes out loudly, running a hand down her messy hair.

"Caesar!" She gets too excited and grabs my forearm. "You're a genius!"

I shrug and she pinches my cheeks. "You're so cute! You frightened the shit out of me."

'Frightened' and 'cute' in the same sentence? Hmm- I think, swiping her hands away and frowning jokingly. She knows I don't like that move.

"But why didn't you tell me? I was worried sick-"

"Yes. That's what made it believable. Father is a snake."

"But I told him-" She says in a small, embarrassed voice and I smile.

"It didn't matter anyway-"

"Oh my God-" She gasps. "I put you in danger! He could've used the gun on you!"

"No. Look. My father hates me. But not more than himself. I don't think he'd be able to live with himself if he lost me too."

"I don't understand."

I sigh heavily, taking her hand in mine. "Honestly, he's one of the most complex people I've ever known. Ever. And in a twisted kind of way, he loves me. And maybe he was pushing me to my extremes, thinking I'd one day take his place. And so, he wanted to prepare me for the horrors he had seen. Look-" I smile lazily. "I don't know how his brain functions and I don't plan on knowing."

Samara nods slowly. "So...what's next?"

"Submitting that shit to the police and watch him get behind the bars."

"And then?"

"And then I take over Gorj," I say and Samara shifts uncomfortably. "And don't worry there is no contract-" I smirk at her.

"And then?" She sucks in her lower lip in anticipation and I shrug.

"And then we live our lives, Samara. After you fully recover, you'll start working in your florist shop-" I pause to smile. "And then, I get you to the honeymoon we never had-" I wink and she gasps.

"Yes! A honeymoon!"

I chuckle. "I'll take you to Venice."

Samara's face freezes before she tackles me. I fall on my back on the bed, laughing as she kisses my face.

"I love you! I love you! I love you!"

I try to hold her back, but she's kissing my lips and pinching my hopeless, displeased cheeks like there's no tomorrow. I reach for her belly and start tickling her. She stops and falls to her side with laughter as I ruthlessly tickle her.

"LEAVE MY JELLY-BELLY!" She shrieks, her voice engulfed by her joyous laughter.

Yes, that's what she calls her belly after she had Augusta. It's funny how she makes fun of herself and her 'new motherly' body which only made me fall in love more and more. Including, ′jelly-belly', 'jiggly-tatas′ (for b.o.o.b.s), and 'Hagrid-t.h.i.g.hs′ (a real exaggeration, she's still as beautiful as ever).

"Your jelly-belly is mine-" I tease as I pin her hands to tickle her more. She's laughing to tears now.

Augusta starts wailing and I drop her hands, stilling above her as we both wait for this beat of silence to get broken again. And it does.

"Yup. Augusta-" Samara and I say in sync as I get off of her.

I stand in the doorway as Samara steps into her so pink and sparkly room. It revolts me a lot, but I have a daughter and I got to love pink for her.

Samara approaches her white (yes!) crib quickly and takes her in her arms. I smile at the sight of them swaying in the middle of the room before I slowly approach them from behind.

I wrap my arms around Samara from behind and rest my chin on her shoulder as I look down to the miracle fidgeting, restlessly in her arms. I smile, close my eyes, and breathe in deeply.

And I know. I know for sure that all is good.

All will be good.