The Guru: Shadow (Dark Triad #1)

27. Emma

27

EMMA

PLAYLIST: LAST PARADISE - KWOON

S he had lost complete track of time for how long Deis sat there with her, kissing her, taking her in. All of it was a blur and a release at the same time. All that whirled and roared like a hurricane in her was silenced by his touch, by his words, by his acceptance.

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now,” he told her as their kiss finally found an end.

She only closed her eyes and huffed a bit. Something in her still couldn’t grasp his absolute non-concern about the fact that she had cut open her arms, stabbed herself in her thigh, and bled all over the place.

“I mean it, Em.”

“Hardly,” she breathed out in exhaustion.

But why would he lie, though?

“You see yourself from the wrong perspective.”

Yeah, from the broken beyond anything one.

“You call this mess, perspective?” she scuffed at him.

“I do, ma belle, because from my perspective, you are perfection. You are the air I breathe and the ground I walk on, you are the fire that burns in me and the wind that lifts me up. You are the remedy to my pain, and I’d burn down the world for you, if I must, because I can’t and don’t want, ever, to be without you.”

His words hit her somewhere so deep, they made her and her heart cry. Goosebumps spread over her skin, as no one had ever said anything like it to her. It was heart-wrenching, movie-like, poetic, and made her speechless.

“You grew up believing you were faulty, broken, and wrong.”

Yes, I did. Still do.

“You are anything but. Within you resides a darkness you've endeavored to control your entire life, yet some darkness cannot be controlled – it can only be embraced," he said, gently brushing his hand over her face, covered in by now dried blood. It was so strange, if not crazy.

He values me. He wants me. He sees me. The devil himself is the saint to my broken soul.

“It is not your fault no one saw who you really are. It is not your fault no one valued your existence. It is theirs.”

And she opened her eyes, staring into those piercing ice-blue ones, which right now shimmered in all kinds of arousal, while her heart swelled, carried by a beautiful warmth of being seen for the first time in her life.

“It needs darkness to recognize darkness,” she whispered, repeating the words he told her in her apartment.

“It does.” And he sat himself next to her slightly leaking leg. They stared into each other's eyes, for god knows how long, it might have been an eternity.

“You are the air I breathe and the ground I walk on” his words still resounded in her head.

Damn.

He would be her death one day, but it did not matter, because right now, she had all she ever wanted.

“So, about the knife, does it need to stay in and get you to the ER, or can we risk pulling it out?” he asked her after a while with a smirk, pointing at it. And the way he said it, so causally, totally unconcerned, as if this were a normal Sunday and he asked what tea she wanted, made her laugh. So hard, it resounded all through the ba throom and made her leg hurt. His question was so peculiar, with a bit of humor in it, and it lifted for some reason the heaviness of everything.

He joined her, and for a moment they just sat there, both covered in blood, laughing, living, feeling alive. And when they finally stopped, the silence fell heavy on them again. Outside, the rising sun colored the city a deep pink-orange.

“It can be pulled out, I suppose. I know how to avoid the femoral,” she said with a grimace.

“So, you don’t want to die?”

And he asked so casually again as if he asked about the weather.

“Part of me does. But the most part of me wants to be seen and feel alive.”

It was the most honest answer she had ever given; not even her or the many therapists had gotten this particular truth out of her. And where she usually was rejected, he smirked at her.

“That we can take care of,” he said, leaning in on her and while he kissed her, he pulled out the knife.

Ouch.

Now, as she was all back to consciousness, it hurt like shit. Some blood flooded out of the wound, but not too much, and he immediately put pressure on it with a fresh towel.

She knew her art. Although, overall, she felt a bit dizzy.

“How about we get you cleaned and checked up? I assume the wound might need some stitches.”

“I will not set foot into a hospital, I have no interest in being put in a psych ward, nor do I have insurance.”

He laughed. “I would not let them. But I thought more of my private doctor”

Of course, he has a private doctor.

“Not necessary, really. Only thing I need would be a first aid kit, the rest I can do myself.”

“Any chance you went to med school without leaving a trace? Where did you learn all that stuff?” he asked her while he went for the drawer on his left, where he seemed to keep a stack of medical supplies.

She chuckled. “I’ve been obsessed with the human body since childhood. I wanted a skeleton for my fourth birthday so I could learn all the bones.”

“Why not go to med school then?” And he handed her some bandages and a sterile pad.

“Because med school is expensive and requires discipline, something I lack.”

Saying it out loud is awful.

Medical school, being a doctor, or a surgeon was actually, aside from being valued and cherished, her deepest wish. Whenever she thought of being a surgeon, whenever she talked to Kai, it gave her thrilling goosebumps but also pinched her. Because she would never have it. It was a broken dream.

“ You only need discipline for the things you hate,” he told her with a smile.

His words made her stop the wrapping of her thigh. She could only stare at him, completely flabbergasted.

She had never thought about it that way, but hearing it, it made so much sense. Whatever she set her mind on – what gave her the dopamine kick – worked. At least for a while, until it became boring. But some things came to her so easily. Like learning about the human body.

“Still, no money.” And she let her gaze wander to stare outside, watching the orange sky become a bright pink.

Another night. Another day.

“That is something that can be changed.”

“Easy to say if you live in Billionaire’s Row.”

What does he think I’ve been trying my whole life? It’s just some are blessed and have discipline, and some don’t.

“Wasn’t always like this, Em.”

“Money like this usually doesn’t come from hard work, more from being born in certain circles and luck.”

“Yes and no. It comes from smart work. From seeing potential, from being strategic, from connections, and from knowing a person’s deepest desire and giving it to them and using knowledge as much as the greed of others against them.”

“Knowing a person’s deepest desire and giving it to them,” his words resounded in her head.

And when they had sunk in, her eyes flashed back to him.

So that is what he does. Finding out everything about a person, give them what they want and then exploit them while using the DeBarra’s greed against him?

And there it was again, the voice of caution, telling her to be careful, to not trust.

Is he doing the same with me? Finding out everything and then manipulating me into whatever it is he wants from me?

“In other words, you gather information, exploit others through knowledge and use it for your gain?”

“To some degree, yes,” came his brutally honest answer. “But you must see that those people gain something, too. You must have in mind that most people want to be told what to do, they want the easy way, they want to be part of a running system where they have just enough for life to be easier, but not good.”

Silence.

“Most people want to suffer and get an easy fix,” he continued. “They don’t want to do the inner work. They want to pay for someone else to solve their problems. Because it’s easy. Humans always go for easy.”

Thinking about it, most people wanted the easy way, she probably wanted to be one of them. She wanted to be told what to do, and in the meantime, she could not cope with it. Life sounded so much easier there. And yet, she lived outside of easy for so long, probably forever. Because she did not play by the rules. She did not let people tell her what to do, which is one reason why she always got herself fired. She did not say yes and amen to stupid assignments where there was no sense in them. She did not fit into the systems other people built.

And then something clicked.

“That’s why I piqued your interest because I saw right through it.”

“Partly.”

“You know, that was actually the third straight answer you gave me,” she told him with a smirk.

“Because you ask the right questions. ”

She finally finished the wrapping of her leg. “As good as new,” she said as she pulled down the leg of her soft fabric pants.

A deep sigh left her mouth. “I don’t want to leave this room, Deis.” And as he cocked an eyebrow at her she added, “Right now, right here, none of my problems exist, it’s like I am hovering in a loophole of time, where the world around me stopped while I am awake. When I leave, it will all come back, it’ll all become reality again.”

“That’s just bypassing reality. Problems exist to be solved. And I am very much positive, there is not a single problem that can’t be solved.”

A barking, derogating laugh slipped from her mouth. “Like I said, easy to say if you live in billionaires’ row.”

“Your righteousness is killing you, ma belle . That’s your only problem.”

What an asshole thing to say.

“My righteousness is basic human decency.”

“No. You tell yourself as much to justify your behavior, to justify sacrificing yourself to do good by others in a morally accepted way. But behind all that is just a need to be accepted, to be acknowledged, to fit in.”

His words and the heaviness of their content almost felt as if he had stabbed her in the chest. He shattered her whole belief system into pieces with only two sentences, leaving her with nothing but raw and painful realizations, eating her from the inside.

“But where would we stand as a society if we didn’t fight for a better world? Take care of each other? Take care so people get paid and treated fairly? Fight for the poor and marginalized?”

“Most do it out of misplaced saviorism, totally about themselves, because they want to feel better. They help out for a sole reason, and that is the personal gain they get from it. And then they lie about it.”

Something in her screamed how right he was, with all of it. How many people did she know do some sort of charity, help people? Most of it was because they wanted to feel better, for the good PR, or wh atever.

“Look at Delilah, her conglomerate exploits and kills people, pushes child labor, and doesn’t give a fuck about other people’s lives, and yet, there she is, doing fundraisers and charity work, positioning herself as the saint bringing food to the poor and hungry. People who are hungry and poor because she starved and exploited them beforehand. She is using morals for her own gain and then lies the shit out of it.”

“You don’t,” she whispered.

“No.”

“But if everyone would just do as they wanted, if we don’t take care of each other as a collective, where would it lead us?”

“In our Western culture, the collective is long lost. It’s survival of the fittest.”

“No, I do not accept that, Deis. It sounds like giving up, but just because you were disappointed by others or because you learned that there is no community for you, does not mean it is long lost.”

The way he looked at her was peculiar. His eyes had become slits while he tilted his head, considering her with curiosity.

“I just know how things work in our society. It is built on greed, and we are the sinners.”

“I still have hope for a better humanity.”

“Then, my dear Emma, you are a fool. Humanity does not want to be saved, they want to consume and feel partially good until they are vanished from the earth one day.”

She put her hand on his arm. There was so much disappointment in his voice as he shot at her.

“Why are you so afraid of hope, Deis? Aren’t you the one preaching the very same?”

“I’m not afraid.”

But she didn’t believe him a word. She could see it in his eyes, sense it.

“What happened to you?”

It was the very same question he had asked her. Because he knew back then and never dared to say. The way his eyes flashed at her; she knew it to be right. She could feel the tension between them rise. He wasn’t one to be vulnerable. For all she knew, he’d never let anyone in, nor see the real him.

“It was your first loss, wasn’t it?” she asked.

He just stared at her.

And as he still did not answer, she said, “I think you long for connection, for being seen, just as much as I do. Because you were never accepted. You tell people what they want to hear, so they follow you because it allows you to have controlled connections.” His stare became so intense, pushing her further, daring to speak of what he tried to hide for his safety. “You play, you joke, you control, you manipulate out of a sole reason: to protect yourself from feeling loss. Not caring about others keeps you alive. That’s why I unravel you. Because you care. And it fears you.”

His eyes glared at her; she could literally see the calculations rush through his mind. He was scared. Scared of being seen, of her knowing, of seeing too much.

“You don’t have a conscience.”

“No, I don’t,” he affirmed.

“But it does not protect you from wanting what you want.”

“And what is it I want?”

And there it was, the elephant in the room, almost freezing the air between them.

He was a strategic, calculating manipulator.

Without a conscience, he only focused on his gain.

He knew exactly how to use empathy to use people.

The dark triad united in one, and she finally saw its rawness.

The most dangerous of them all.

And against all her righteousness, against all she ever told herself to be right or wrong, she had fallen for him.

“Being loved, Deis. Being loved for who and what you are. Without the need to mask, to conceal, who you really are.”

He did not answer her. The flicker shimmering through his eyes for just a fraction of a second told her everything. She could feel she was right.

There she sat with him, covered in blood, in his megalomaniac penthouse, one of the wealthy and rich she so hated. And she had no illusion he would ever change; a man like him does not change. Nor did she want him to, and that, of all the things, frightened her the most.

“Deis, why did you go after Gamma? You don’t care about moral. Nor the public. You care about gain. So, what is your personal agenda?”

“So many questions.” And his answer made her groan.

“Deis. I need to know.”

He smirked. And then his palm wandered to her face, his thumb slowly caressing over her cheek. He took his time until he spoke. His words carefully chosen.

“Honesty above all, ma belle. ”

Everything in her froze. It was the second time he used those exact words. Only this time, the way he said it, the way he emphasized it – her heart hammered against her chest, so fast as if it believed there would not be a tomorrow.

Oh. My. Gods.

“H-How?” she breathed out with her shattered breath and stumbling heart.

But her mind already zoomed out, her hands trembled while images from the past flooded her consciousness, swirling memories back to her like a hurricane in front of her inner eye.

Memories that were only fragments and blurry visions stored somewhere deep down in a hidden trunk in her mind, deeper like the depth of the oceans.

“I know what you did, Father. And you will pay for it.”

“Please, dear, it was a mistake, nothing of the sort happened, you’re watching too many movies.”

“Liar.”

“You are sick, baby girl, please, put the damn gun down. Your mind is not right.”

“My mind is perfectly fine, you made me take those meds, you made me believe I ’m sick, but I’m not. You drugged me. You lied to me. You used me. You took me.”

“Emma, please, this is your obsession speaking.”

“It is not, because I have proof.” And her past self threw a folder into his father’s lap. “Everything’s in there. What you told the doctors, what they advised, what they diagnosed, the payments, and–’ her voice almost inhumane with all the derogatory she could have. “And photos of what you did to me.”

Her father’s eyes became blank and empty as he took the file, turning the pages. “Where did you get that?”

“It does not matter, what matters is that I got it, and I got off the meds. Now, any last words?”

“Emma.” A shudder ran over her back; it was the way he said her name. “Please be reasonable, I’m family. Family above all.”

“You are no family. You are a rapist, an abuser, a pathological liar. Family means nothing to me. I value only one thing, the one thing you lack.”

And then a loud bang echoed through the room. She didn’t even flinch. There was no remorse or feeling at all. And when her father’s body fell to the floor, blood running leaking heavily onto the ground, she stared one last time into his lifeless eyes.

“Honesty above all, Father. May you burn in hell.”

That night, in the small town in Michigan she had called home back then, had been the most defining and yet freeing of her life. It was the day she broke free. And now she finally understood.

Oh. My. Fucking. Gods.

“It was you. You gave me the folder.”