Nathaniel

I am sorry, Nate. I know you can't forgive but I hope you will someday.

                                       ~Ashley

I re-read the note for the fifth time and felt a pang of rage, sorrow, and emotions I couldn't decipher surge through my body.

I clutched the note that I found in my office. I let out a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding.

She left.

My stomach twisted incredulously at the affirmation of the fact.

She left with the file.

I should feel happy that everything is according to the file. That's what I wanted, didn't I? For her to steal the file and deliver it to that asshole.

I knew this was going to happen. The time I first abducted her, I knew something was off about her. She didn't even flinch being held at gunpoint.

Slowly, my suspicion grew about her having a motive when I found her murmuring. She was on a call with someone.

But, I was not sure. I knew she was lying but I refused to dig deeper.

The day I got that sketch made of Austin, I reported to the board members. They still refused to get him under bars. They wanted a bigger proof.

I tried talking with the other organizations who had been betrayed by him but they all refused to speak against him.

My record of his crimes was considered invalid as they said that his and our organization had been not so friendly from the start.

I needed evidence. She needed the file.
I let her. Yes, I let her steal the file so I could catch him red-handed.

Why do I feel betrayed, then? Why?
I can't sleep, I can't eat. I seem to be on the edge.

I remember the look in her eyes when she discovered my little secret. My pills.
Sadness swam in those dark irises as if she was genuinely concerned.

Why did I tell her the truth? I didn't want to but I did.

A heaviness seemed to lift off my chest after I did so. I felt at ease for some in my life. When she embraced me, I felt a foreign feeling. Warmth.

Never in my life had I ever experienced that. After my mother left me at a tender age.

I was transferred from one foster home to another. All my life I felt like a refuge-seeking temporary shelter.

The only permanence I had in my life was of the period I was behind bars for a crime I did not commit.

I was raped by my foster sister and was blamed otherwise. I was guilty of a crime in which I was only the victim. They dragged me out of my foster home like I was some filthy trash. I remember my foster mom cursing me from those lips through which she once said she loved me as her own son. 

They didn't hear my side of the story; I am a male, why would they? I cease to have a dick which I seem to use in place of a brain and intend to bury anywhere I like. But, I didn't.

I was raped and I was arrested for it.

I had no one to come and visit me in juvie. I couldn't cry; I am a man, how can I? 

They laughed at me in the jail when things hit me hard and I broke down. I was called less of a man just because I showed emotions.

I was beaten up in the jail, cursed and criticized to an extent that I felt numb.

Men are supposed to be tough, right?

The constant bullies and in the need for being the ideal man; I got addicted to nicotine.

I always wondered why there were so many organizations and social workers fighting for women not a single for men?

Are men not raped? Are men not depressed? Are they not human?

These questions made me hate the female race even more, because of the fact that someone is there for them. I served in jail for seven whole years for a crime I didn't commit.

My case was dismissed without much investigation and I was deprived of fair trials because I was a man with a dick.

I was so traumatized at that moment that I couldn't utter a word in the court. 

It was so cold in jail; I felt so alone.

I was so young and I had no one who cared about me. Eventually, I lost every ounce of hope left inside me.

Life didn't turn good when I came out of jail.

I didn't get any job because hey, rapists ain't that desirable, are they?

I pushed those painful memories away in the solitary corner of my memory lane.

I took a pack of cigarettes out from my jacket's pocket and lit one of them.

When she held me, I saw a flicker of light.

A dry chortle erupted from my lips evaluating my pathetic situation.

I knew she would do it but I don't know why a part of me wanted to be proved wrong.

A sense of disappointment shot through my body, my hand shook as I brought the cigarette to my lips. I took a long drag and blew the air out, the smoke filling up my blank space but I hope it'd fill my heart too. 

It was all a part of her plan, everything. I didn't abduct her rather she herself walked into my web. She came here just to steal it, the file. 

Everything else was just a lie. I cringed at that thought.

I couldn't jerk off the restlessness off me.

I let her escape. It was bound to happen.

The thing that pricked me the most was that I let her know the darkest secret of my life. Why?

Hearing that too didn't stop her.

I grimaced at how desperate I sounded.

I picked up the jug from my bedside table and threw it at the wall, the water splashed over the concrete wall, dripping down like drops of my hope.

I groaned and raked a hand through my disheveled hair, my eyes bloodshot. 

I took another long drag like it's my last chance at sanity. The smoke clouded my trance and provided me with a sense of oblivion. 

I was sitting on the threshold of my room's balcony as I looked at the black night. No stars, no moon just darkness as if portraying my own life. I don't know how long I stared mindlessly but after a while, I heard footsteps.

My body stiffened. I need isolation.

"Hey mate," a familiar voice filled the silence.

I stayed still with no word spluttering out.

I had started to like the tranquility, the peace; the one missing from my life. 

"You're such a brute," he cursed. Andrew, my dear mate spoke while taking a seat beside me. His hands rubbed my shoulder and soon, he worked his magic on my nasty tense muscles.

He always did that when I was down. 

"She left. Just how I thought." I said, my voice thick with dark humor.

First time in my life, it did not feel good at being right.

"You wanted it, didn't you?," he said, in a soft tone, a tinge mockery hiding underneath, a thing he loved to do, which I always hated.

"Yes, I did but she left a silly note too," I said, holding up the crumpled paper in my palm. 

He unfolded the paper and read it. I glanced at him. His eyebrows frowned and a grim expression settled on his features. Pity. I know that look.

I looked away, dousing the tip of the cigarette on the floor.

"You need to find her," he said, his voice serious.

I passed him a death glare.

"Why on earth would I do that?" I asked, exasperated and shocked by his words.

"You have a tendre for her. You know it, but you won't yourself accept it."

I laughed. My voice echoed in the blank space. Dry and twisted.

"Stop mourning over your past so much that you subjugate your present, leave alone the future," he stated, his eyes fixed on mine. 

What the hell is he speaking? I couldn't word appropriate words to reply to him.

I wanted to tell him that he is so wrong but rather, I stayed silent.

"It's been three days since she left. You need to find her," he pleaded, his arm clutching my shoulder.

"I will go there but not for her but to find that bastard," I muttered, I clenched my fists on my thigh as my nose flared with rage.

Why am I so angry at him? Yes, he was an enemy but it was a mission just like any other one.

She is there. Probably, with him. She chose him over you.

I will hunt them down. I will drag him away from her with me.