"The heart that bleeds, knows true heartache." – Nina Jean Slack

The warm sunlight from the window kissed my skin soothingly however I hid my sore eyes under my pillow from its bitterness. Discomfort from last night coated my legs again but still I tried to sit upright from the bed. This fatigue in my body was nothing compare to what I had deep in me, my heart was still dying from its lost.

Pain throbbed in my head as the alcohol slowly deluged my senses. "Sir, your breakfast is here," a sincere voice came from the outside the bedroom.

"I'm not hungry, Emily." I groaned, still morbidly depressed.

I didn't hear her shoes fading along the corridor because of the immense dizziness I felt and then a sour feeling stirred my stomach like a spinning spiral – nausea overwhelmed me that I immediately disappear to the bathroom in order to ease my still pitiful self.

After relieving all of the bile content from my body, I left the bathroom a little sober and I hated it. I didn't want to feel alright because it will only make me remember all the anguish of last night and if that happens, I might do something worse than getting wasted.

If only I could forget it...

"I need wine." I mumbled to myself as I felt the grief starting to ache in my heart once more. I knew well that going on like this will not be good for my health but it didn't matter to me, it really didn't matter to me as long as I can tolerate the heartbreak and pretend that things will be alright the next day.

Indeed, I was beyond hopeless.

I walked to the wine cabinet in my room before grabbing a bottle of whatever wine was available. I opened it and I downed it in haste, it wasn't as strong as the cheap wine I had last night but it was enough for me to not shed a sea of tears again.

Is this how you felt when I left you, Julian, I wonder. The apple flavor of the wine calmed my burning throat but it didn't appease the hundred words I had been holding back.

Hundred words of love for him and it hurt me to know it still wasn't enough.

I dismissed the thoughts at once since it was all useless after all. I headed towards my personal art room afterwards while carrying the bottle of champagne with me.

Then a tall four-sided painted canvas caught my jaded attention the moment I entered the room, it was proportional in all measurements and it was the biggest canvas I had ever painted in my years of painting. It stood idle on the floor and was slanted against the wall – the scent of dried oil paints seared my sensitive nose but I rubbed it away because I needed to finish this one.

This painting and these feelings of love which I told Julian I'll paint for him.

I stared at the almost completed picture; it was beautiful, no doubt, since I put all of my best skills and practices to create this splendid art. I also put trust on my painting expertise however a part of me doubted that this was useless for him to notice me again – to love me again.

The painting itself brought back so many memories to me, pleasing memories of our first meeting and the night that changed my life forever. If only I could go back in time and if only I could change everything that I did to him then I'll gladly do it without a second thought but unfortunately, life was unfair and it was more unfair knowing that I caused it myself.

I created my own hardships and it was too late for regret.

It was simply too late for everything.

I placed down the wine bottle before preparing the painting palette and tools; I stood on top of a small wooden chair that was ready the minute I was done. The height of the chair helped me touch some part of the canvas that I can't reach with just an arm length.

I guided the brush on the surface of the painted canvas in one smooth cruise, polishing the already excellent beauty into rich flawlessness and needless to say, heaven embraced my heart.

This painting was the complete embodiment of my passionate love for Julian.

I adorned the image with so much care as if it was something so fragile and delicate; toning it in absolute reverence and choosing the right shade of color thoroughly before I dip the brush tool in it.

Faint smile curled in my lips as I continued to paint my love for him in dearest even though my eyes held pure sadness in it. I love you so much, Julian, I love you so much I can't be myself without you. I can't live without you. Countless words of hopeless affection for him lumped in my throat and it was strangling me.

Still and all, I did my best to convey my honest feelings on the portrait.

I brushed the bristles gently on the last portion of the picture and smeared the gold honey color on the surface of the canvas, embellishing the painting into life and of course, it made me both genuinely happy and sullen.

―

Heartbeats raced inside me as I looked at the completed painting of my romantic love for him and it kindled contentment in my soul as I stared lost in it – it also gave me the sensation I once had before I hurt him, betrayed him and left him.

It gave me nostalgia and it was nice, it was simply fascinating.

His touches, his kisses and his endless words of love for me, I missed them so much I felt empty without them. Inside me, a huge part itched with desire and that desire was his love I once had.

In short, I longed for him to be here with me and only me.

I placed down the brush and palette and then, somehow, tears began to singe my still sore eyes and it hurt so much that I might and probably end up blind sooner or later but I could care less because losing the only person I truly loved was the most painful thing in this world and nothing could compare to it.

If only I was blind then I won't see him in someone else's arms. I thought bitterly to myself as I stepped down the chair.

Nonetheless, I snatched the champagne from the floor and tried to drown my heart in a pool of wine again when I happened to settle my eyes on the left corner of the room and on the painting that started it all – the first portrait of him that I painted and it embedded so much remorse to me that I wanted to tear it down it, tear it along with my grief and guilt.

I wanted these feelings to go away. I wanted to start things over again.

Couple of good memories we shared together dwelled inside my head and I tried to hold onto the time that nothing else mattered but only the two of us. Of course, it was both genuine and painful to me because after all, they were nothing but mere memories left to remind me of the importance of the man I lost to another.

He was the most important person in my world.

"It was too late for me to realize it too, isn't it?" I mocked a laugh to no one.

I walked closer to the painting before pouring the alcohol content on the image surface, watching how the dried oil colors melted on the touch of the liquid and how it tainted the perfection of the picture. If only it was love instead of lust...

"Tch." I picked it up from the easel frame, after putting down the wine bottle, and I tore it apart roughly without a single hesitation in me.

This painting was the epitome of the things I did to him; the temptation, the lust, the betrayal, the affair and the broken promises – this painting was the proof of it and I wanted to shatter it just like how my happiness was shattered because of them.

I tore the painted canvas over and over, and pieces to pieces, until nothing was left.

Tormented and torn apart, the little fragments of the fabric scattered around me like small remnants of yesterday's mistakes and it did made me feel a little better than earlier ago – it was quite a pleasant feeling in my soul.

But the despair lingered in my heart and it was ripping me brutally.

If only I realize that I love him sooner... Frustrated and livid, I grabbed the champagne bottle before smashing it hard on the marble floor. Loud crashing sound disturbed the serene silence in the room and the smallest bits of glass dissipated all around me, leaving behind large but sharp broken parts of the glass bottle.

Tears continued to fall down my dull eyes, "Please love me again, Julian."

Soon I bellowed in misery, feeling the agony breaking and crushing me from the inside and it was crumbling what was left of me to the ground.

I can't endure it anymore. This heartache was something I can't hide in disguise and it was something I can't pretend like it wasn't there. It was simply something I was vulnerable at because I was not strong enough to welcome it with open arms like most people do and like how Julian did.

I suffered more than he did and sadly, my heart was more fragile than his.

I continued to cry helplessly until my knees surrendered itself on the floor, the wasted wine seeped through the material of my trousers but I paid no heed – likewise, I was not strong enough to stand up on my feet and face this pain head-on.

No, I can't. I can't stand this torture and regret anymore.

I slammed both my fists hard on the marble floor as I cried all of my remaining tears, and that was when I felt something warm pooled on the side of my right hand. I looked up and my teary eyes came to see a large shard of broken glass now gashed through my flesh, red blood streaming out terribly.

Extreme pain soared beyond my nerves and of course, I screamed along my roaring chest.

Then a pair of feet was stampeding from the distance and before long, the door crashed wide open.

"Dante! What's happeni–oh mother Mary, why are you wounded!?" I heard my dear mother wailed in horror as she rushed to my side faster than the clock, her knees collapsing on the floor.

Helena clasped my hand in hers the same time my father came in after, "Arthur! Get a carriage now!" she shouted at him, panic prominent in her voice, however my father stood stunned and eyes widened after he casted he saw my bloodied hand.

"Arthur!" she barked, snapping him back to senses.

He said nothing; in fact, he just disappeared from the doorway in a blink of an eye. I cringed at the pressure on my hand as my mother tried to stop the bleeding. She pulled out a handkerchief before binding my wrist tight with it in order to restrict the flow of my blood – she tried despite her hands trembling evidently than mine.

She stood up first, "Come on, we'll bring you to a doctor. So foolish of you!" she tried to reprimand me but it came out otherwise.

I obliged without a word however I didn't fail to notice one thing.

I stopped all of my body movements as I stared at the shard of glass still impaled deep at the side of my right hand, and I grimaced when realization dawned on me.

"I can't feel my hand." I mumbled miserable.

―

The color of silver shone luminous in front of my eyes even though the blood had already soiled its polished surface, dark red blood filled the silver basin. Drifting from my trance, I studied how the curved needle pierce through my soft flesh and how the suture stitch my wound close – my hand was already numb from the pain.

Silence echoed everywhere since we weren't in the hospital instead, we were in his mansion.

"If possible, please do not let him carry heavy things for the meantime because it would definitely reopen the wound." our family friend and doctor, James, said to my parents.

He cut the suture after he was done stitching my wound.

"Thank you so much, James. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to my son. I'm glad that you came back at the right time." Helena breathed a relief in between me and my father here on the couch as our doctor began to dress my treated wound with bandage.

The doctor smiled, "True. It's nice to be back."

Oh right, I remembered that he left the town before for a medical mission I think and I won't lie that I partially blame him because if he didn't left then Lucas wouldn't be in our lives – he wouldn't be in my beloved's life right at this moment of time.

He wouldn't be able to steal him from me.

However, I understood well that most of the fault lies on me because after all, Julian won't be taken away from me if I was by his side all along. It was all because of me.

"I heard you can't feel your hand, can you try to move a finger?" he called to my attention after he was finished on the dressing.

I did what he asked without a word and I was able to motion my fingers with ease and sure enough, it brought solace to both my parents but the problem rested elsewhere.

James noticed the discomfort contorted on my face hence he handed me a roll of bandage, "Then how about you try to grip this one." he instructed me and I did however that was where I failed. I couldn't grip or should I say, my right hand lost the ability to grip something firmly.

"I see. It must be due to a severed nerve and I'll need to make diagnosis first to confirm it however, I'll be honest that this could be permanent." James affirmed to my parents and mostly to me too.

"I'm afraid you can't paint with your right hand anymore." he added and the truth hurt for sure.

―

The grandeur smeared every part of the interior design of his mansion with photographs of him during his education at a medical academy and his first job as a doctor in a hospital institute for poor people who can't afford medical examination – I admired him for his accomplishments.

"So we'll be leaving now, James. Thank you much again for your help." my father came out of the living room with my mother and our doctor.

James chuckled, "I did what I need as a doctor, it'll be up to him if he wanted to help himself." he said the last part in a silent whisper, apprehension apparent in his words as he looked up to me with a worried expression because nevertheless, he treated me as his own son.

Since both his wife and unborn son died during the labor, such a tragic thing for him I know.

But unlike me, he was able to overcome it and he used that pain as a motivation to help and save many lives. He didn't succumb to his depression unlike me, and being different compare to him was just an understatement.

I assumed they all figured it out that there was a reason to the accident and it was a painful reason indeed.

"I hope he'll recover soon." he included as he smiled to my parents and then he beamed more after he shifted his line of sight on the entrance door, "It's been a while, Sir Marcus!"

I turned to glance at the entrance and as I guessed, Sir Marcus walked in the room while undressing himself of his coat and pair of silk gloves with his daughter Amelia right next to him, clothed in a long dress that sheened in politesse – both me and my parents were surprised to see them, and so did they – surprisingly, James was oblivious to the unexpected meeting since he probably thought that the engagement was cancelled smoothly.

"True and I'm... amazed to see you again, Dante." the man gazed at me with cold eyes.

The doctor greeted him with a handshake, "I didn't expect for your visit. Is there something urgent perhaps?"

"Yes there is. I would like a pregnancy test for my daughter." Sir Marcus requested.

If I didn't suffer the agony of seeing the man I love in someone else's embrace then I'll be cowering in fear for the unknown right here and now however, I was already far from numbed.

I felt nothing but emptiness lingering in my heart.

―

Tension escalated as me and my parents waited outside the living room, fear dimed my mother's gorgeous face while submission shaded my father's usual light blue eyes, both of them were doing their best to hope that the outcome would be different even though I had given up.

How can I not when I just lost my beloved in a heart-rending night?

One minute, two minutes and almost an hour unbearably passed until the door opened and the woman who I was supposed to marry retired from the living room sobbing hard, that I found baffling.

"Did something happen?" Helena asked Sir Marcus who trailed behind his crying child.

The man sighed solemnly, "She... my daughter is unable to conceive."

"Oh my goodness." my mother almost wanted to cry too because after all, being infertile was the greatest shame and misfortune to a woman and to a noble woman no less since they hold a great important role as someone who will grant a man his wish to continue his noble bloodline.

If a noble woman was infertile, it meant that no noble man will ever choose her as a partner.

No noble man will ever choose to marry her.

James came out soon after, "I'm so sorry, Sir Marcus, but there is nothing I can do. The reason why her menstruation stop is not because of her possible pregnancy but rather, it's the eminent sign of her chronic anovulation." he explained, distressed because it was really very unfortunate for a young woman like her.

"I can't... I can't... no!" she squealed as she ran to me for a desperate embrace.

"Please don't listen to him, Dante! I know that I may not give you a child but we can adopt right? And you'll still marry me right? Please... Please I need you, Dante!" Amelia wept in my chest while clinging to me as if I was her only lifeline.

I tried to detach myself from her, "I'm sorry but I don't love you."

Such true words only hurt her more but it was much better than lie to her and tell her that I'll marry her just so she'll feel alright – and it was far enough for her to love me because my heart was already hopelessly in love with another man.

She pulled from the embrace, "No! Julian doesn't love you! Julian will never ever love you as much as I love you. He only loved you because of your money and status, he will steal–" before she realized it, a hand slapped her ruthlessly on the side of her face.

The mere action silenced everyone else in the room.

"How dare you!" Helena hissed at her, "I understand your pain because I'm a woman too. I understand that you want my son to comfort you however you have no right to badmouth the person he loves. It's unladylike of you, know some shame." my mother added in a sneer.

Amelia gaped at her, like she didn't expect to receive such a sudden response. It also seemed to put her into place because she didn't speak anything afterwards.

―

"I don't know if I should feel glad that you hit her because I feel really sorry for her. If I was her father, I think I'll be crippled and I'll lock myself in a room for a month." Arthur commented, holding my mother's hand and cuddling with her here inside our carriage's quarters.

Helena inhaled a deep breath, "I'm too but she went overboard in her words."

The dusk clouds embodied the entire sky and such gloomy scene reached me through the glass window of the quarters. Men in dark coats and women in black evening dress gathered everywhere in the city – the nightlife was starting to come into life however I felt dead inside.

Dead and empty.

If there could be a tomb for my heart then I'll be mourning for it.