“So, that’s it? You’re just going to kill me?” I goaded as an idea struck me.
“That’s the plan.” He shrugged like it was nothing. To him, it probably wasn’t.
“You really think that’ll fix all your problems?” The words fell from my mouth before I had a chance to think them through. I wanted to stab myself in the foot for opening my big mouth at all. Sometimes people's stupidity stumped my brain so hard that my mouth had time to sneak in and run the show. Which in any ordinary moment of time, I would’ve been able to control. Now was not one of those controlled moments.
So… I had to run with it. Honestly, running my mouth probably couldn’t have done anything to worsen the situation. Just maybe, if I was lucky enough, I’d be able to fluster him. Throw him off his game and give me a way out. It was wishful thinking but worth the shot.
Current situation? I had nothing left to lose.
“You really think killing the long-lost Varela princess will help your situation? Really? I didn’t think you were that dumb.” I only gave him half a second or so to think it over before continuing. My hand slipped under the pillow behind me, to the kitchen knife I’d hidden there. It had been a ‘just in case’. My hand closed around the metal handle.
“They would know, and they would kick you to the curb before you even knew what had happened. I’ve been here a month and already I know that above all else, family loyalty is the most important thing for our parents. It’s the only thing they believe in.”
The words came to me as if I were reading them from a script. Because, unfortunately for my brother, it was the wholehearted truth.
“I’ll just have to make sure they never find out, then,” he snarled.
I scoffed at him. “If you’re that confident that you can outsmart Rachel and Kaleb Varela, then just cut out the middleman. Go kill off our parents and then all your problems are solved.”
“All but one.” The sinister grin as he stepped closer had my grip on the knife tighten. “Don’t worry about dear old mom and dad, they’ll get theirs. But you, well you’re going to be a bit of fun.”
“Well, that’s just fucking dandy, isn’t it?” Nikolai was right. Yet again. But it also meant that as I pulled the knife from its hiding spot under the covers and threw it at him, I felt no guilt. As I watched the sharp edge lodge itself into his stomach there was no remorse.
I jumped up from my position on the bed and ran to him. The force of my weight managed to knock Ambrose to the ground. He agonised as he fumbled with the knife's handle. Even in the faint light of the bedside lamp, I could see blood start to seep out of the knife wound and stain his white t-shirt.
I took advantage of the distraction by snatching the gun away from his side. I laid it on the floor next to me, close enough that I had quick access to it should I need it, but far enough out of his reach that I felt safe.
Rolling up the sleeves of my t-shirt, I kneeled over Ambrose’s chest, digging my knee in to hinder any movements. I may have only weighed a hundred and thirty pounds but it’d be enough to pin down an injured man. Even more so, my weight would’ve felt like it was crushing him - like an elephant's foot. His breaths - the smell of hard liquor - washed over me as my hands gripped the knife and held it in position. No matter how hard he tried to bat away my hands, he didn’t have the strength, he was only getting weaker by the second.
The darkness inside of me stirred awake. A small voice whispered not to pull the knife out, that it would be over too quickly. That it wouldn’t give me any satisfaction to save his life. He needed to suffer. I wanted him to suffer.
I pushed it further in until his blood gurgled at the hilt. Quickly, painfully I drew the knife from it’s lodged position. Blood rushed out of the wound, staining the skin of my knees and the hem of my pyjama shorts. I wasn’t sorry. This was his own fault but I wouldn’t sway fate.
Leaving Ambrose where he was, bleeding out on my bedroom floor with the knife just inches from him, I went in search of my parents.
