Twisted Ties of Love

When Izabella caught sight of Brett sitting on the staircase, there was no sign of joy on his face-just a blank stare fixed on her as she approached step by step.

His unblinking eyes were like dark abysses that seemed to have no end.

When Izabella stood and stopped in front of him, Brett spoke, his voice robotic and stiff as he uttered a sequence of numbers. "Thirty-seven times," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness despite the soft look he gave her.

Izabella didn't understand the significance of the number. "Thirty-seven times what?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Hallucinations." In the mere 54 hours since he'd moved here, Brett had been haunted by Izabella's image thirty-seven times.

She felt a lump in her throat as she overlooked the staircase behind him and asked, "What are you cleaning?"

"Blood. Izabella's blood. Our baby's blood." Brett's hands were red from the cold, his fingers delicate and normally free from chilblains, but he had been scrubbing the floors with icy water these past few days, his hands raw and swollen, his left hand particularly wounded where the nails had been torn out.

Izabella's fingers had once been like that, numb and painful in the cold during the year she couldn't remember anything. Brett, whose hands were always warm, would cover hers and breathe on them, soothing the pain.

Such a tender man, and yet when she looked at him, she remembered that he was part of the reason she had suffered so much.

Sometimes, the worth of something is proven only by its absence. Once gone, forgiveness becomes irrelevant. Loss renders everything meaningless.

Brett's heart was as disgusting as a maggot writhing in the gutter. But who would choose to be born a gutter maggot? Resigned to the darkness, they live out their lives unseen and unloved.

To love was a luxury Brett never understood or dared to seek. Yet, once he embraced it, he could devote his life to someone. Fate, however, was cruel; before he could learn to love, Izabella had already turned away from him.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

He learned too late; no one would wait forever, and time, as well as chances, were no longer on his side.

Izabella arrived with destruction in her heart, half-wishing she could pull out a pocketknife and end Brett's life. But seeing him now, soulless and lost, she hesitated.

To Brett, she was just another hallucination.

She looked behind him at the staircase, now spotless and blood-free.

"The blood has long been cleaned up."

Brett shrank back, clutching the damp rag in his hands, shaking as he said "No... it's not clean..." He continued to wipe the steps, over and over, convinced they were still stained with Izabella's blood.

Izabella stayed silent, watching him and wondering what his angle was. Was he playing the victim, seeking pity?

She wouldn't be moved by compassion at the sight of Brett's pathetic look, nor would his plight sway her.

As he wiped the steps, Brett's delusion was that if he could just clean them well enough, perhaps Izabella would return.

Suddenly, Izabella grabbed his collar, forcing him to face her as she pushed him down by the neck.

Her violent motion knocked over a nearby bucket, spilling water that trickled down the stairs, meandering like the blood that had once been there.

"You can clean all you want, but it

will never be truly clean, just like what you did to me," she said, a surge of anger rising within her. "No matter what you endure now, i can't und the past. Unless you can turn back time, can you, Brett?"

After her outburst, the only sound was Brett's labored breathing.

Leaning against the staircase, his neck still in her grasp, Brett did not fight back. His eyes followed her hand up to her arm, shoulder, and finally her face.

Tears spilled from his reddened eyes. His earlier composure was a facade, easily shattered by Izabella's presence.

No words were needed to provoke him; her mere arrival was enough to break him.

A bitter smile crossed Brett's face. "So it's not a hallucination..." He paused, then asked, "Why are you here?"

"Weren't you the one forcing me here?"

Izabella saw Brett as a wreck, inside and out. Once towering over her, he was now a pitiful figure. Yet as she recalled the previous day's events and the texts, her anger flared anew.