Lucien
He strode out of the room, shutting the door softly behind himself.
Lucien left the room. He walked to his study, dragging the leg that seemed to be throbbing painfully. But the heaviness he felt within him, was what felt heavier than any physical ailment.
He had killed people before, with his bare hands himself. He had also employed men to kill those who stood in his way. But this was different. He felt as though he had mortally wounded a person who had only given him love, had trusted him, had believed in him.
Her words rang in his ears; she had waited for him. While he had been spending his nights trying to get over her, whoring his way through an endless stream of highly forgettable women who had not succeeded in making him get over her, all the while, she had believed in him, trusted in him, and waited for him.
How could she know how he had been trying to get over her? The women he had bedded were just bodies, no one stood in his memory after they had satisfied him physically. F*ck, he could not even recall faces.
On the contrary, those faceless, nameless wh*res had only made him desire Proserpina all the more, long to have her soft body under him, her lovely smile as she used to welcome him in those early days when she had been his mistress.
Today, the sight of the little woman who lay in the bedroom he had just left, sobbing as though her heart would break, had moved him more than he could ever have believed would happen. All this while, she had been just a body, a delectable one at that, to use and slake his lust upon. She had been his, only his. The knowledge of how he had hurt her made him feel a deep sense of shame. He had destroyed the beautiful young woman who had charmed her way into his bed and his life. Lucien grunted as he came to a stop. He had used her ruthlessly that night. He had impregnated her and she did not want to have the baby which would always remind her of his utter disregard for her feelings. The child would haunt him too of what a jerk he had been, he thought grimly.
***
Over the days, he had begun to look forward to the daily routine as he had begun to come home regularly, he had begun to enjoy the simple routine of coming home to his family at night. The delectable meals she cooked, the ruckus made by the children, particularly that of Ria. He smiled whimsically. He had come to adore the little minx with her irrepressible chatter. He kept watching his wife with the children; he had grown to look forward to the exchanges with his children who were well brought up, all because of her influence. It had not been difficult to see how Proserpina handled her children with firmness and love.
***
He had never seen a role model of a mother before. The only mother he had seen up close had been his own mother who had barely glanced his way when he was growing up. Left to his own devices from the time he was a small boy, he had learnt to be tough. His mother had been too busy sleeping with whoever her pimp took her to, to get her fix of drugs. When she gave birth to her second child, little Bet, it had been Lucien who had often put the little girl to sleep and sometimes saw to it that she had something to eat as well.
Being a rebellious teenager by then, he had generally stayed away from his mother and her pokey little flat to avoid watching her being shagged; he had had no notion about what had been happening to Bet. When he found out, what disgusted him the most was the fact that his mother had been an indifferent spectator to the sexual abuse that the little girl had been undergoing. He had been shocked to find out just what the little girl had been going through, but it had been too late.
Yes, he had killed the pimp who had been raping the girl but that was all. Lucien had been put in a juvenile home, and sent to a foster home from where he had run away. But when he came back home, it was to find his mother half-dead, still drugged senseless. There had been no sign of Bet. Later he had found out that she had been sold.
His mother had sold her.
That was the day he knew what it was like to hate.
***
His disdain for women had probably grown in those days he thought, rubbing his hand around the back of his neck wearily.
The way he had treated Proserpina had been little better than the way his mother's pimp had treated her, he reflected as he stood for a while, staring out across the lawns which were lit up with tastefully arranged lights on the grounds. Proserpina had adored him, had surrendered her body, her heart; and how had he responded?
The guilt growing within him was too great to handle. He needed a drink, he thought and limped in the direction of his study.
***
He reached his study and entered, only to frown when he saw his friends there. It was late and he had imagined that they had left. Both Schwartz and Shark sat, tumblers of Scotch before them speaking in urgent whispers. Shark had been speaking in his nasal voice and Lucien caught the last words as he entered.
'...not to let Lucien know right now.'
He stopped in the doorway, scowling.
'What was that about?' he snapped.