Emotions?

Author's POV:

Turning the stove off Grusha took the pot before ladling the soup into a bowl. She took off her gloves and placed the steaming soup on the tray before filling a glass with water and placing it on the tray. She lifted the tray with her bruised, shaky hands, only to scream in pain while keeping the tray on the table again unintentionally.

No matter what morning routine she follows, she is required to carry out her duty properly.

That was his command.

Even though she was aware that she would get beaten up at the end of the day on a regular basis, she knew better than to defy him and risk having a near-death experience in which she would beg him to kill her yet he would let her live.

After gently rubbing her wrist for a while, she took a deep breath and swallowed her tears. No matter what, she has to do this.

Whimpering in pain she lifted the tray and limped towards the stairs to go upstairs which was a great torture for her aching body.

She tried to make it as fast as possible but her sore body was resisting her.

It took her longer than usual to arrive at the designated room, which would have been a better justification for a punishment if he had been here. At that point she was relieved because she hadn’t seen him since last night which made her exhale a sigh in relief.

Holding the tray in one hand, she clutched the door knob with her broken hand before twisting it open. Slowly opening the door she dragged herself inside without even glancing at the room since she already knew what she was going to see. Closing the door behind her she turned towards the bed where there was a man lying on the bed with numerous machines connected to his body.

Without wasting time she made it over to bed before placing the tray on the bedside table and turning to face the man before her.

She noticed how vulnerable this man has become. His body was not as bulky as it once was, but still there were enough muscles to prove that this man once had a sexy physique. His black neatly combed hair was long gone and replaced with the silver hair, partially covering his bald head. His once razor-sharp gaze, which could bring any man to his knees, was now aimlessly fixed on the ceiling above them. His upper body was covered by a simple light blue t-shirt with a V neck that reminded her of his favorite black tuxedo he used to wear, which she found in the closet of one of the left bedrooms when she went to clean last week.

She stared at him blankly. No pity, no sadness, nothing in her eyes.

Power! That is all he ever wanted. He craved more power every minute that she can’t recall anything else that he took interest in. He wanted power. And he got power.

What is left for him now, though?

He devoted his entire life to seeking out and acquiring more power, only to lay down on a bed helplessly at the end?

Power is like a drug. If you only get a tiny taste, that’s it. You’ll become addicted. That is precisely what happened to him.

“Sir”

Grusha called out hoping he’d hear. She pressed the button on the side of the bed to lift up his body and sat on the bed when she noticed the slight movements of his hand silently telling her to ‘finish whatever the fuck you came for and get lost’. She is used to his silent language. That is why he doesn’t even need to lift a finger to tell Grusha what to do; it’s not like he could if he wants.

Taking the soup, she filled the spoon before placing it close to her mouth and blowing to cool the soup. She kept the bowl under his chin while bringing the spoon to his mouth, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to drink it all without spilling. He slightly opened his mouth, taking in as much as he could before spilling the rest out of his mouth as expected.

Being rendered paralyzed was a torture. Especially for a person like him.

The egotistic, power-greedy man before her hated being exposed as being vulnerable and that is exactly what he has become though no one was dared to spill out the truth to his face even though he couldn’t do anything to them. No matter what, he continued to exude the same terrifying aura that kept everyone feared. But that is not what keeps Grusha from beating him and exacting revenge for years of abuse, torture and beating she endured. It was her inner self that made her think that she deserved it. Even if she desired vengeance, she would not act. Because she witnessed the extent of his suffering from all of it. For him, this was worse than being dead.

He suddenly groaned lowly when she lifted the spoon to his mouth, grabbing her attention. Taking the clue, she set the bowl on the tray and took the pill bottles out of the drawer of the bedside table before taking the pills out of them. She reached out and took the water glass, lifting it to him while holding out her palm with the pills in it.

“Sir”

When he still didn’t respond, she called out to him again. This time seemingly she had caught his attention as he slightly turned his head in her direction while maintaining his icy gaze. He just stared at her for a while before something strange happened.

His eyes started to soften and different kind of emotions appeared in them; emotions she had never seen in them. He was never the one to show his emotions so, it was always difficult to read his eyes. But right now he is showing some emotions that no one has ever seen in his eyes and still they are unreadable for her. This look was new in his face and also for her eyes which made him look like someone else-someone who is deeply in love; someone who is so calm; someone who is so innocent; someone who is exactly opposite of his real identity.

Grusha noticed that he is trying to say something through his eyes but she had no idea what he was trying to say as she continuously stared at him. His slightly trembling lips appeared to be so eager to speak, but nothing comes out. She saw that his fingers were trembling just a little bit, as if he wanted to touch her, but she didn’t see the necessity to reach out and comfort him, so she remained motionless.

A lone tear escaped from his eye, which surprised Grusha since the Vincent Aslanov she knew was not the one who becomes emotional or sensitive. In precise, he lacked the heart to do so. As he continued to stare at Grusha, his eyes were now displaying different kind of emotions. She noticed his trembling lips finally parting a little bit before him utter,

“Amalia…”