CHAPTER 163: CHOCOLATE CAKE ( EMILIANO’S POV )

I am not an emotional man.

I knew I didn’t feel the fullest of my emotions since I was a child.

It could be the emotional neglect I had to be grateful for before my mother abandoned me.

It could be the emptiness that settled the day I realised that no matter if I became an alpha or not— she will never come back for me.

It could just be an infection of the brain— a swelling or a necrosis of the prefrontal cortex that is responsible for my emotions— caused by the junkies who reused the same needle on hundreds of kids for the treatment.

The bottom line is that I don’t feel at the intensity I should. I lack empathy and I will never truly experience happiness or sadness in the fullest.

I knew this since I was a child.

Since I’ve burned down the institution I was locked up in— staff and victims like me inside.

I could have saved more than one kid. I could have tried to free more than Claus, but the thought never really crossed my mind.

After all, the only reason Claus was there with me was because I thought it would be amusing to finally share my thoughts with someone.

I can recall even today how much fun I had looking at his horrified gaze the moment I told him I would roast marshmallows on the sizzling cadavers of the staff that was torturing us.

And he was smart enough to believe me. To run after me as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

So, after living for more than two decades drained of any emotion, this was agony for me. The lack of ability to control my panting breath, the ache of my throbbing heart and the overwhelming sense of tangled joy and fear.

What was I supposed to do with all of this?

My hand trembled as I held Luther over my shoulder, running in the rain. The heaviness of my actions weighed more than I could bear, yet I was borderline delirious with happiness.

After all those years, my plan has worked.

Soon, every omega will turn toxic. No more alphas dictating social standards, but instead fighting for their own survival.

Finally, a world where secondary gender won’t matter at all. Because no one would have the weakness to be prayed upon.

At least, not the type of weaknesses nature curses you with. The type you are incapable of fixing.

My perfect society is being born.

And I had Luther in my arms. Away from everyone. All mine.

As I stepped into the house, I gently let Luther down on the sofa. Water was dripping from his hair as his wet shirt was clinging tightly to his body.

The shirt of another man.

But it was fine. Really.

After all, Luther has been free from me.

Maybe he just drowned his loneliness in another embrace. I have drowned mine in work and political play.

It was just survival. A natural need to distract yourself from the pain.

My mind was ringing with these conclusions, yet my hands couldn’t help but rip the shirt apart. I didn’t even realise until Luther started to laugh.

Such a laugh that it could as well stab me in the heart. Humorless and dried, concealing half fear- half terror.

"I’ll bring a towel."

Did my words come out too harshly? Did I stutter? Did I yell?

I grabbed the towel laid next to me. I have arranged everything for his return home, so I wouldn’t need to leave his side.

My hand trembled as I finally took the courage to run the towel down his stomach, his hands, his chest. He didn’t reject me.

He didn’t even flinch. Just stared blankly at me.

Past me.

I continued to dry him thoroughly as I found myself shivering from my wet clothes as well. It didn’t matter.

Luther was home.

We have a rocky road ahead of us and I knew it would take time for Luther to forgive me. For me to learn to love without hurting.

But he was here with me.

And that might as well be our first step.

"Do you want to take a bath? I could run you a bath to warm yourself."

Luther smiled without a trace of happiness. He looked at me as if he were disappointed.

"How many omegas are dying now because of the rain? Because their body can’t handle the chemical reaction you put them through? And you are worried I might catch a cold?"

It was only natural for Luther to be displeased with what a good society asked for. The number of sacrifices is truly outstanding, but it’s necessary.

All of this is to make the filthy world in which we live a little better. A little more bearable.

I grabbed him again and walked into the bathroom. I gently placed him in the bathtub as I opened the water and let it run.

The room soon filled with steam. And silence.

It was fine. It truly was.

Luther will live long enough to see how much better the word I created is. Then he will understand.

I should focus on us. On our marriage. I should fix the burned bridge that he threw the matches on.

After all, I was the one who started to pour the gasoline first.

As the bathtub filled, I undressed and placed myself behind Luther. The water overflowed as our bodies were glued to each other.

"Are you still cold, puppy?"

"A dead man is doomed to be cold. You could burn my body to ashes and I would still feel myself freezing."

I let my forehead rest on the nape of his neck.

What was I supposed to say to that?

"Luther, do you still love me?"

Silence took over once again. His mouth stayed shut, yet I could hear loud and clear his answer.

His heart couldn’t lie.

His heartbeat spiked into a rapid melody I couldn’t help but soak in.

He did.

Despite all I’ve done, he still loved me.

"I love you too. I will make you happy from today onwards, no matter what."

His breath hitched as if caught in a lie. He didn’t believe me.

But that’s ok.

Those words were for myself. An oath that I will never let him slip through my fingers again.

I used a small towel to wash his back. No particular reason for that. I was enjoying once again the intimacy of us two living together.

This heavy air of unspoken words and denied affection haunted my nights and forsaken my days. Yet now? It felt like home.

"What will you do with me?"

I couldn’t see Luther’s face when he asked me that. His voice distorted through the steam and marble of the bathroom. I couldn’t read behind his tone.

Was he scared? Was he ironic?

The words stuck in my throat for a while. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I knew he needed a clearer answer than my love confession.

I continued to gently scrub his back as the hot water finally seemed to weaken his tired body. He leaned back on me.

"Nothing."

That was my answer. Not "I’ll take care of you" or "I’ll keep you by my side". Just nothing. I will do nothing with you.

As a cockroach hiding from the ugliness of this dependency, I will just watch you. Follow you from the corner, feeding on the crumbs of affection you leave behind.

The leash is in my hand. The collar is tight around your neck. You won’t leave again. So all I need to do is be patient and wait for you.

"I want chocolate cake for dinner."

I couldn’t help but smile as Luther mumbled. Half-conscious, letting his body float exposed in my arms, he was demanding chocolate cake.

Maybe the forgiveness isn’t that far away as I thought it was after all.

"Sure, puppy. Anything you want."

"I hate you..."

"I know..."

"You ruined my life!"

"I know..."

"You keep killing and hurting every person that I care about. You don’t care about my feelings. You used me for your dumb apocalypse and then— you threw me away."

I am not sure if he was even awake at this point, yet the complaints kept on pouring. And I was grinning like a fool.

"You stabbed me in the leg, puppy."

"F-ck you! You stabbed yourself in the rib and let the wound get infected just so I can treat you!So don’t bullish-t me with that now..."

"You knew?"

"I’m not dumb..."

I found myself giggling as Luther’s breathing finally steadied into a consistent, slow rhythm.

He was finally asleep.

I thought the day I will finally burn down my mother’s aristocratic fantasy, I would be glued to the TV, watching her life-work be ripped apart.

Yet now I wished I could stay here— in this bathtub with my wife for the rest of my days.

Lucrezia Akna, my dearest mother, I won’t even be present at the moment of your death.