Chapter Eleven:
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(Bo's POV)
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Killing…is easy.
I wish it wasn't. I wish that the first word that comes to mind when I think of killing wasn't easy-but it is. It's quick, only seconds and it's over. In my case I don't even remember it, or even really know I've done it until it's too late. I'm just there in the moment and I want to stop, I have every intention but before I can it's done. It's like driving on the express way and seeing you're exit, knowing you're about to exit then a car comes speeding by, and you've missed it.
It's just done.
In the beginning I didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. Disorienting didn't begin to cover it. It began with a weakness and a hunger followed by desire and desperation and then there was nothing. Eventually the disorientation faded but that only made it worse. The guilt set in quicker, the so-called justifications became weaker.
Killing is easy-it's the aftermath that is unbearable.
In front of me lays the aftermath of just the most recent damage left in my wake. The destruction just the newest result from hurricane Bo. If there is one constant in my life, one dependable thing, it is that devastation follows where I go. Laid within the fines coffin I'm sure money could buy; he still looks massive. Powerful and intimidating in the way caused fear, not respect. People typically look peaceful now, even it if is a lie. Hell, in some horrible way they even look silly for one reason or another; too much makeup or a bad hairstyle. But Julius just looks like Julius. Frightening even in death. Which only makes this all the more confusing. Makes what happened all the more confusing.
How I did this.
Honestly, I couldn't stand him. I couldn't stand him or the idea of him or anything he stood for. I couldn't stand the way he spoke or looked or even breathed. Until this moment I didn't even know I couldn't stand the way he breathed, but now in reflection, I couldn't even stand that about him. I don't think the world is worse for having him gone, I don't, and I honestly don't even feel guilty for feeling that way. He was a horrible person for everything I had seen and heard him do personally and worse than that for everything I had heard secondhand. The world is probably better without him in it really.
I still can't help the guilt.
It lingers in the pit of my stomach, making me feel sick. A war waged in the back of my mind about whether I really feel bad about this or not. I do, I know I do-but I don't. He was a bad guy, really a bad guy and if I had to kill anyone, then shouldn't it be the bad guy? He was out of control. He wanted to kill me and Lauren. Hell, he probably would have killed anyone in there had it gone on much longer. And who knows how many people he's killed. Hundreds? Thousands? How many of them were human? How many of them were just regular people, living their lives and had the misfortune of crossing paths with him?
How many what-ifs do I have to pose until the guilt eases?
"It's a lotus." Hale's unusually somber voice comes from behind me. He's mistakenly assumed what I was so intently staring at was the single white flower placed on his chest over his folded hands. "Symbolizes rebirth in some places in the world."
"Fae tradition?"
"Santiago tradition."
"Hale-?" I trail off, unable to bring myself to look back at him.
"He wasn't a good person."
"I'm still sorry. If I could take it back-I don't even know how-." At a loss for words, I manage to force myself to turn just enough to the left to see the side of his face as he's managed to creep up beside me. "I never meant for this."
He nods. "He was a pretty shitty brother too."
"I'm sorry."
"The four of us are probably better off now, free without him. Without his reign of terror and rage. The constraints he put on this family. The mentality that my brothers were unable to free themselves from. The weight which he made Dyson carry for being lesser in lineage."
"Then why did you love him?" My voice breaks, tears in my eyes as I watch the pain creep into every line on his face.
"Because in life sometimes the ones who do the most for us-protect us the most are the ones that aren't the best people."
"Do you really believe that?"
For the first time he tilts his head so his eyes can meet mine. "Absolutely."
"I don't know if I believe that."
"You haven't lived long enough." He falls silent, brow tightening. "Cunningham will arrive with the others, and Lauren will be with him."
I roll my eyes, looking away from him. "Naturally."
"It would be best for everyone involved if you weren't here when they arrived."
"What?"
"There's things you don't understand Bo. Things you're not trying to understand."
"Things like he doesn't want me here?"
"I don't want you here."
"Oh."
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(Lauren's POV)
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My reflection wavers as the impending storm clouds come to overshadow the already feeble sun. I would venture a poetic notion how the weather appeared to reflect the mood of the day; however, the current state of things was more familiar than not. With a sigh of frustration my attention momentarily finds a home on the arriving limousine pulling in front of us. An equal measure of surprise and predictability find a balance at her appearance.
"He was an atheist, one of the few things I appreciated about him."
"Oh." Is all I can manage to let out, as I tilt my head in his direction.
"Why they chose to hold this inconvenience in a church is an annoyance."
"It is traditional." Is all I manage to offer, my line of sight following his out of his window and toward the procession line of arriving guests. "Vex is a peculiar guest to have made the list."
"Evony's plus one." He's his unusually cordial tone piques my attention; however, I keep my attention out toward the crowd where his has remained. "Do you think she'll be in attendance?"
Needlessly I ask. "Who?"
"Our little killer." He smirks, eyes shifting to me momentarily awaiting a reaction. "She may be rather unremarkable but her lineage has managed to flicker through the mundane drivel sporadically."
"It is not a question of her potential, the lineage on her mother's side alone is prominent enough to draw consideration."
"Then what is the question, Lauren?"
"Bo-she's a good person. She has a good heart. She fights against the darkness in her nature and the ideology in which you need-"
"We." He says flatly.
I bow my head. "The ideology which we need her to accept."
"You must be tired."
"Yes, of course."
"Lets not have any other slips today among the peasants." He uses the back of his hand to tap on his window, letting our patient driver know it's time to open his door for him. "It would be a shame to have to have two funerals so close together."
He steps from the car without another word, the door shutting behind himself leaving me alone momentarily until the driver moves to my door, pulling it open allowing me to follow Cunningham just as every other day. Straightening my dress as I make my way toward him, a careful effort is put into surveying the parked cars. The urge to smile fought back with every ounce of composure I could muster after a morning with the philosophical tyrant Cunningham had awoken. She was smart, she knew to stay away. The more distance between her and him the better. Perhaps better was a poor choice of words, safe would be more accurate.