Page 6 of Tainted Empire
The guilt slices through me like a blade, and I swear, it physically hurts. The realization that I’ve become a threat to the one person I’d die for is crushing. She tried to explain herself but I wouldn’t let her.
Sitting back down on my bed, I hang my head in my hands. I’ve hurt her, scared her, and the guilt, the shame, it’s fucking overwhelming. But what I’m feeling must be a drop in the ocean to what she’s feeling right now.
“I... I know,” I admit, the words scraping out of me. “I know, I fucked up,”
Lee’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough for me to know that she believes me, that she knows I never meant to hurt Gabriette.
“You need to focus on getting better, Mischa. On figuring out how this happened and making sure it never happens again,” she says with a sigh. “Gabriette is not Dasha, she loves you and... she needs space to heal.”
I nod, the truth of her words sinking in. I’ve got to give Gabriette the space to mend, even if it means tearing myself apart in the process. The suggestion is a gut punch, but it’s what I needed to hear. I swallow hard, fighting back a rush of emotions.
“ I understand,” my voice cracks, and I’m drowning in regret. “I didn’t mean to — God, I know I’ve fucked up, but I’ll do it for her,” I say, my voice choked.
Lee’s eyes are kind but filled with a sorrow that mirrors my own. “Heal, Mikhail. And fix this. For her.”
I nod, barely able to breathe through the tightness in my chest. I’ve never felt so powerless, so broken. I need to give her space, but the thought of being apart from her, even for a heartbeat, is a torment I can’t describe.
“Just... make sure she’s safe. Please,” I choke out, every word a struggle.
“Of course, she’s family,” Lee says, then she gives me a small nod. As she leaves the room, I’m left grappling with the enormity of my actions, the consequences of a night that changed everything.
Alone, the full gravity of my reality hits me. I’ve become the villain in my own life, the architect of my deepest fears. The thought of the bourbon — poisoned, tainted — it’s a betrayal that runs deep, but it’s nothing compared to the betrayal Gabriette must feel.
I lie back, staring at the sterile white ceiling, the drip, drip, drip of the IV a mocking countdown. I’ve got to make this right, somehow. But for now, I’m shackled by my own guilt, by the raw, open wounds of my actions.
As Lee’s footsteps fade into the sterile silence of the room, the gravity of my situation presses down on me with the weight of a freight train.
The world outside might as well not exist, for all I care about is the chasm that’s opened up inside me. The air feels thick, and each breath I draw is like inhaling shards of glass, sharp with the taste of guilt and regret.
The void where Gabriette should be is a screaming silence, a gaping wound that refuses to heal.
The drip in my arm feels like a lifeline and a prison chain all at once. It’s a reminder of the reality that’s too hard to face — that I’ve been compromised, made vulnerable by an unseen enemy.
The thought of the bourbon, that damned bottle, being tampered with sends a surge of fury through my veins. Who would do this? Who would go to such lengths to see me unravel, to see me lose the very essence of my control?
But it’s not just the anger at the betrayal that stirs within me; it’s the profound sorrow for the hurt I’ve inflicted. I close my eyes, and behind the darkness of my lids, I see Gabriette’s face — her fear, her disappointment.
It’s a look that could bring me to my knees, that does, in fact, as I struggle to sit up against the pillows that feel more like stone slabs. My hands clenched into fists, the sting of the IV needle barely registering as my mind races.
Every sip I took, every drop that passed my lips, was a nail in the coffin of the trust between Gabriette and me.
And for what? Who’s behind this?
The questions swirl in a tempest, but they find no purchase, slipping through my grasp as I try to piece it all together. I’m left with nothing but the sickening rollercoaster of emotions — the anger, the betrayal, the sorrow... and beneath it all, the relentless, crushing tide of guilt.
I should have known. I should have seen it.
The room is quiet now, too quiet, and in the silence, I’m left to confront the demons of my actions. I want to rage against the shadows, to tear apart the unseen forces that have led to this.
But it’s her face that holds me back, the memory of her that demands I stay this silent, broken man, chained to a makeshift hospital bed by my own deeds.
“I’m so sorry, Malyshka,” I whisper to no one, a futile attempt to send my regret across the chasm that’s opened between us. It’s a feeble balm for the searing wound of my remorse.
The door remains closed, the world on the other side carrying on, oblivious to the storm within me.
I try to wrap my mind around the thought of her being scared — of me. The idea that I, the man sworn to protect her, could have been the one to instill terror in her eyes, it gnaws at me, relentless and cruel.
What have I fucking done?