His Puppet

"Sit up, let's talk." Lysander insisted, sounding more like the person she had met at the funeral, and less of the being who wanted nothing but to be away from her, but even then, Renne found herself not listening. She curled against the plush comfort of her bed, pressing the pillow to herself to stifle her sobs, and the more he spoke gently to her, the more tears it sprang to her eyes.

He was the last person she wanted to see her in this condition. She really didn't want to cry like this, she had been doing so well controlling her emotions after everything that had happened but then, like a crack to the walls she had built around herself, she saw Caden, only to discover the lies he had fed her with throughout their years together. It was true when they say the crack of one's emotions could lead to a torrent of other concealed emotions, cause not only was she disappointed in herself, she had no one to go to right now, not even her parents.

The people who tend to mean the world to her, somehow drift away. It was the same in the past, and now it felt like history was repeating itself. Renee's heart felt no different from a scale, with two heavy blocks balancing themselves on each side, and all she wanted to do right now was get some sleep, and hopefully, when she wakes up, everything will be a dream.

Amidst her thoughts, Lysander watched her struggle in silence. He couldn't hear her sobs anymore, but from the way her shoulders trembled relentlessly, and the faint whimpers he detected, he knew she was having it rough. A part of this emotional downpour was caused by the drink she took, and clearly her system was still new to the harsh intake.

Tilting his head up and releasing a defeated sigh, he rose from the chair and kept the glass of water on the bedside table. Returning his gaze to Renee, his brows threaded with concern when she slowly sat up on the bed, her arms clutching her tummy, face unusually paled, and there was this disturbed look on her tear-stained face.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" The concern in his voice could not be misinterpreted, but Renee was too distracted to even notice.

"I don't feel so..!!" Unable to withstand the nausea rushing to her head, Renee covered her mouth and rose from the bed. She darted towards the bathroom, making a beeline for the sink with no time to even close the bathroom door. She threw up afterwards, feeling her stomach forcefully drive the content up her throat and out of her mouth.

The sound of retching followed, and Lysander shook his head in pity before going to the wardrobe to grab a small towel for her.

Entering the bathroom, he noticed she had turned on the faucet, rinsing her mouth and washing away the remnants of her drink. She splashed water on her face, attempting to regain composure. Turning off the faucet, Renee remained in that position, closing her eyes and catching her breath.

God, she's never drinking again!

After recovering, Renee washed her face once more and tried to reach for the towel that she normally hangs on the hook in her bathroom, but then her hands paused after realizing this wasn't her bathroom at home. Back at home, there was a fixture mounted on the wall, and it provided a convenient place to hang and air-dry her towel.

"Here." Hearing the soothing voice behind her, Renee's gaze settled on the black towel that was stretched forth for her to take, and her face turned from relief to one of visible embarrassment, her cheeks toning into a pinker shade upon realizing Zander had witnessed this unlikely moment of hers.

"Lesson learned," he teasingly remarked with a straight face after she collected the towel, "maybe you should stick to 'ONLY' water from now on?" He advised with a devastating quirk of his eyebrow.

Saying nothing to him, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, and she had to admit that she looked horrible– her short hair was disheveled atop her head, big, round ruby-red eyes looking dull and losing its color. She knew she looked horrible, and when Lysander peered into the mirror as if to have a look for himself, the faint colors on her cheeks deepened at their close proximity, she could almost feel his breath tickling her neck.

"Before, you were sort of cute," he tsked, "but now, you look like the definition of my middle school's divorced principal. This look will go great with those square-eyed glasses." He remarked, earning a frown from Renee who couldn't resist using her shoulder to nudge him hard in his chest, and that sent Lysander stumbling back after the unsuspecting hit. He cleared his throat playfully when he caught her glare from the mirror, and he turned around, whistling his way out of the bathroom to wait for her in the room.

She wasn't happy, he knew, no one would be happy in a situation as complicated as hers, but being mad at him was better than leaving her to wallow in self-pity.

When Renee eventually joined him after arranging herself, he handed her the same glass of water she refused to take. He rose from the chair, gazing down at her with his imposing figure already blocking her svelte form, and he had the water to her face.

"Drink, unless you want the same thing to occur every night." He prompted, urging her to take it, and to his relief, she didn't put up a fight this time. She emptied the glass and placed it back on her bedside table, then she brushed past him to get on her bed, except she was sitting up this time around and made no effort to feign sleep.

There was silence now, and the atmosphere carried an awkward tension even Lysander failed to fathom.

"Why are you being…." She hesitated, breaking the silence and glancing uneasily around her room, "why are you suddenly nice to me? I thought you hated me."

"Do you want me to hate you?" He returned to the chair beside her bedside, watching her intently. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the more he gazed at her made her uneasy. It felt as if he was searching for something in her eyes, more like he was hoping to see something, and that bothered her. He was really starting to act like the same man she first met, and she couldn't help but wonder which side was the real him.

To be honest, she wasn't afraid of him, but she was mindful of his intention. Knowing Cullen could give orders and anyone would carry it without thinking twice, she wouldn't bring herself to trust anyone in this place.

"Why does it matter what I want?" She shook her head, refusing to take the bait. "Simple things are the most difficult things to achieve, and what I want is simple. I'm going to die here eventually, won't I? I'm placing my brother and I into a dug hole, and it's because of me we'll lose it once again, right?"

"No," he answered with certainty, "I'll make sure of it."

"Why?"

"Cause I won't allow him to hurt you."

"How can you be so sure about that?" She was smiling, but it wasn't a happy one, "you two are close, aren't you?" She inquired. There was a hint of accusation in her inquiry, even if it sounded unintentional, but why would she trust him anyway? He had no right to it.

"Cullen is my cousin to everyone's point of view," he answered, "but to me, I'm just his puppet."