That night, when the enemies came, all ten bodyguards in the villa were killed. Their leader demanded that Xavier hand me over, promising that if they had their fun, he would be spared.
His eyes were red as he shielded me, forcing himself to stand against them all. And he had said the exact same words. “Don’t force me to risk my life. I’m afraid there aren’t enough of you to die.”
Then he had turned, gently covering my eyes with a silk scarf. “Don’t look. Your brother is here. To bleed for you, I’m willing.”
Too many people had died that night. By the end, I had grown numb to the screams echoing around me.
At dawn, I discovered he had already prepared a plane ticket for me, one way, and only for me.
Blood dripped slowly from his severed finger, each drop striking my ears like a drum.
He tore a piece of his shirt and expertly bound the wound. “Tiffany, don’t force me to hate you.”
The memory overlapped with eight years ago.
When he had chopped off my boyfriend’s hands, he had smiled at me and whispered, “Tiffany, hate me. If you can’t love me, at least hate will make you remember me.”