Chapter 17 - Pathetic Emotions

The old monster was back in shape. Dane could leave now. Drive back to the lonely desolate cabin that awaited him. Back to his life, that didn't involve a fugitive.

But he couldn't.

Not when the damn eggs on the shop display window reminded him of her clumsy attempts to make breakfast. Breakfast which she didn't eat and haven't devoured since a full day's time.

Beast or not, he didn't like the thought of some woman dying on his property or in his family cabin. Dane walked into the small remote grocery shop and grabbed a few items. Eggs, milk, bacon, and coffee. When he reached the goodies section, it suddenly dawned on him that she was still a complete stranger.

What kind of sweets did she like?

Sweet or sour?

Did she even like to eat sweets?

Dane grabbed each candy bar, each sour candy, and each flavor of chips he laid his eyes on until he convinced himself not to buy the entire store.

The clerk behind the counter spoke to him, looking at the mask. At the ugly traces of a scar.

Probably in horror.

Dane was used to to the stares. Only women that use to frequent his bed in the past tolerated the monstrosity because they knew he had wealth to sustain them. Knew who he was before the mask. Before the tragedy stroke their lifestyles and wrung their bank accounts dry.

"...And the total comes up to a hundred dollars and nineteen cents. Would you like to donate to a local charity? It would only be ten cents."

He laid down two hundred dollar bills onto the counter. As he gradually glanced up from the counter, Dane noticed a small snippet of an old newspaper hanging beside the cash register.

The title read, 'Lennox family goes missing from deadly house fire'. Images of the family were plastered all over the paper.

"Sir?" the lady behind the counter asked. "Is something the matter? You don't have to donate ten cents if you don't want to."

"Keep the change."

She tried to reason with him but he couldn't hear a word. A thousand dumbbells weighed down on his shoulders. They pulled down, stretching at his muscles until he was nothing but a quaking young man inside that house. Inside those scorching flames.

Dane snatched the bag and rushed out of the door with the bell chiming.

The air around him grew suffocating. He rummaged through the monster's compartment and fumbled for pain killers. He popped one into his mouth. Then, he counted.

One.

Two.

Dane closed his eyes and continued to count like a mantra, while his hands gripped at the steering wheel.

Ten.

The pain that plagued both mind and body dissipated. Dane breathed a long sigh and when he regained his hold on the wheel, he drove. Not to the desolate cabin but to everything wrong he shouldn't want.

Warmth.

Stories.

Her.

God, Dane wanted desperately to feel again what he hadn't in years. Like Bailey said, it didn't take years to feel again.

Before Dane knew it, he was already yearning to feel again. Yearning to forget everything for some woman he only knew for two days but it felt right. She felt so right. He never felt more nervous than this moment when he stepped over that cabin door.

"Prisana?" he desperately called out into the cabin, then to the bedroom.

Somewhere in him, he knew.

He knew that she was gone but he searched for her anyway, only to confirm his plaguing suspicions. Dane looked in the bedroom. The bathroom. The vicinity. But her endearing form was nowhere to be found.

Prisana was gone, just like the wind. She breezed into his life without warning and left as fast as the currents took her.

Dane didn't want to care but he did. Some caring bone in his body ached knowing that the woman who warmed his bed and wormed her way into the cracks of his walls, fled without as much as a farewell. In the end, she got rid of him before he could rid of her.

A mad deranged laugh shook his whole body.

Ha, you beast. You knew she would leave!

Dane knew and yet he took her as his and stupidly came back for her thinking they could spill their stories to each other. This is what he deserved. More bitter betrayal and sweet hatred. This was the way that it was supposed to be. No promises. No stories. No nothing between Dane and the fugitive.

He threw the items inside the plastic bag, down into the trash. Down along with his fleeting emotions. Pathetic emotions were for men that could afford them. He couldn't afford them. Dane needed to only afford the ugly emotions.

Thanks to the fugitive, Dane was back sooner than he had intended. Back and ready to destroy whatever pathetic emotions were left inside of him for good.

"Leonardo," Dane drawled out menacingly into the phone. "It's me."