Acidity of Regret Ch 84
- Feb 4
- 8 min read
It felt as if mold were growing inside him. First came the nausea, then the stinging bitterness, followed by a twisting sensation... These unpleasant symptoms seemed to spread endlessly, like a fungal bloom. Declan did not find it hard to guess the cause.
He rose from the sofa with half-lidded, unfocused eyes. Bright sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains; morning had returned once again.
Something caught at his feet and spun away with a clatter. He lowered a lifeless gaze to find empty liquor bottles cluttering the floor, making it difficult even to take a single step.
The hollow objects rolled here and there, unable to keep their balance because they were empty—they looked exactly like him. Before he could stop it, a dry laugh escaped his lips. He clutched his forehead and chuckled for a long time like a madman. Then, as his stomach turned again, he retched violently.
It wasn't mold; he had become a vat of alcohol. For days, the foul liquid he had poured into himself had spread through his organs, squeezing them ruthlessly. Otherwise, how could all his senses feel so revolting?
He reached for a cigar out of habit. With practiced hands, he lit it and headed toward the terrace. A wind strong enough to whip his silk gown blew across the balcony. Cold air seeped through the thin fabric, but he wore a relieved expression instead.
How many days had passed?
He didn't know. He hadn't bothered to count. He had no way of knowing when he had last held a quill or examined a document with his usual precision. This was the result of locking himself away and refusing entry to anyone.
He swept a hand over his haggard face, the cigar held between his fingers.
Since that day, he had returned to the castle and brutally abused his body with nothing but alcohol and cigars.
There was no other way, for he could not keep his wits about him.
On nights when he fell asleep after drowning himself in drink, his mother appeared in his dreams. It might have been better if she had appeared as the screaming madwoman she once was. But instead, the scene of her hanging herself in her bedroom—her final act of malice—played out over and over......
Whenever he recalled his mother dangling from the ceiling, his blood ran cold. And when he woke in a panic, Vanessa’s image flickered before his eyes.
If he slept, his mother tormented him; if he stayed awake, Vanessa pushed him into a corner.
[Vanessa] "You ask why I am like this......?"
The faint voice poked at his eardrums like a recurring echo. Vanessa had poured out endless tears in his arms, trapped beneath him, looking as if she would stop breathing at any moment.
She had shown tears before him many times. Yet, each time, she had forced herself to swallow the emotions she couldn't contain, or hurriedly wiped them away as if even crying was a source of shame. She had always hesitated to reveal even a layer of her inner self to him, fearing she might give him a weakness to exploit.
But this time, she had sobbed as if she had finally reached her breaking point.
[Vanessa] "You bind me and squeeze the very breath out of me, until I can't do anything. Every single time......"
The resentment flowing out of her was heavy with the misery that weighed her down.
It was clear, without even looking, that he was the one who had inflicted all those hardships upon her, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.
He turned back into the room.
The bedroom was a total mess. Ignoring the chaos, he looked around, and one by one, images of Vanessa from a time that no longer existed—the time she spent here—began to surface.
Like a fool, he walked to the places where her scent lingered. The windowsill where she sat after he returned from state affairs, the couch where she rested with a book, the tea table where she held a matching teacup......
The images swirling in his vision grew clearer instead of fading. Even though reaching out wouldn't let him catch her.
Eventually, his steps stopped before the large bed. His gaze wandered past the white sheets, searching for what lay beneath.
[Vanessa] "Do you know why I tried to run away from you back then?"
The sensation of a cold, sharp pull at the back of his head crushed him again.
[Vanessa] "Because I thought you would kill our baby too."
The events of that night—which remained in their hearts with different meanings, and was clearly a wound for her even if he hadn't known—replayed before him.
No blood was spilled now, yet a faint metallic scent of blood brushed past his nose like a hallucination. Vanessa had cried then too, as if her breath were failing. But he, blinded by rage, had thought it was just the same as always.
That night... that night, the smell of blood......
He felt suffocated, as if the existence he had only just come to know—one that had vanished without a trace now that he was sane—had lodged itself in his chest.
He had never thought he would welcome it. Having seen his mother treat him as a mere possession, his repulsion toward children was a natural reaction.
He had been certain that if they had a child, it would only be a tool to tie Vanessa down. He had prided himself on never wanting one otherwise.
He hadn't given it a single thought......
Yet why did his head burn and his heart fester now that he knew of its loss?
Nausea that twisted his guts surged. He grabbed the bedpost and retched.
In this moment, he couldn't deny that this wasn't from the alcohol, but from the loathing he felt for himself. He was so disgusting that he understood why Vanessa felt such revulsion toward him.
He steadied his collapsing body and his gaze fixed on a single point. His pupils constricted. He dazed, staggered toward it.
A breeze blew from the open window. A white fabric fluttered like snow in the wind. His fingertips trembled as he touched the soft silk.
Why did it turn out like this?
The beautiful wedding dress remained, but why was its owner not by his side, and why was he becoming such a wreck?
He thought he could catch her. He believed it wasn't too late. He had prided himself on turning a cold heart wasn't a difficult task. He was confident that as long as he caught her and kept her by his side, everything would be resolved.
But he had been completely wrong.
Even if he forced her before his eyes, it was impossible. He might have held her body, but he could not hold her heart. Her previous death had clearly taught him how useless it was to insist on his own stubbornness.
His desire to possess her remained. Since his realization, it had only grown deeper and more viscous, parching his throat.
But the reason he couldn't act rashly despite this clear greed was, above all, because she had to be alive. He couldn't forget the miserable days of the past when he had lost her by following his selfishness.
He felt as if his heart were crawling on the ground. The body temperature froze and wouldn't return, the face turning white as the blood drained away. The soul that had left him so firmly, as if it had never stayed by his side, gave him a fear he had never imagined.
A sense of loss and futility even greater than when his mother died.
Even having experienced it once, he still......
[Vanessa] "When I am with you, I always want to die."
He had grown used to her hatred. Her glaring eyes, her sharp words, and her consistent cold shoulder—he was sick of it all.
Yet, a new fear took hold of him.
......The fear that he might make the wrong choice again.
He couldn't act as he pleased, fearing that a momentary misjudgment might lead her to walk into hell on her own, just as before.
When did it all get so tangled that he couldn't even touch it?
[Vanessa] "You murderer."
Because he killed the child? That was because she ran away. Because he killed that knight.
But the knight had told her things she didn't need to know. That he had destroyed her family and killed her father.
[Vanessa] "You murderer!"
He finally realized. At this point, which could only be defined as far too late.
It had been wrong from the start. He shouldn't have played with her love. His impulse to use her to soothe his inferiority toward Hayden was the mistake. She was innocent, yet she was caught in his greed, mocked, wounded, and exhausted.
This was a punishment from God.
He should have knelt at her feet and sincerely begged when he first sensed things were going wrong. That would have been right. To tell her that the past him was arrogant, foolish, and rude. That it was his failure for never having received love.
......No. Even that was just a convenient excuse. It was true he hadn't grown up with love, but it wasn't that he had never received it.
Vanessa had loved him more than anyone.
When she whispered "I love you" with her bright, pretty smile, warmth filled him every time. It felt like someone was finally comforting the hollow interior that others couldn't see past his polished exterior.
That was her love.
Like a fool, he didn't even know the dense emotions she poured out like a spring were filling him. He didn't know it was what he had craved his whole life.
Thinking back, it was love from the start. The gaze that lingered despite his wishes, the attention that kept drifting toward her. The interest he had dismissed as her resemblance to his mother.
Like Hayden’s claim of love at first sight, Declan had also fallen in love the moment he saw her. He was completely captivated by the woman who shone alone among the crowds.
Yet he was busy rejecting it like a seizure, not wanting to repeat the patterns of his father and mother. He was busy justifying his feelings with all sorts of pathetic excuses.
But it was love from the start.
He had fallen to the bottom the moment he met her, but like a coward, he didn't want to admit it. He struggled and fought against the truth, and eventually, he was left in this state.
[Vanessa] "You don't even love me."
He had wanted to deny those words so badly that his body ached with the urge. He wanted to take this emotion huddled inside him and scream it out loud.
Just as his father was obsessed with the Empress, just as his mother searched for his father in a frenzy. He was anxious to express his heart.
He never thought he resembled his parents, but after realizing his feelings for Vanessa, he felt every day that blood was thicker.
Love blinded him until he could see nothing, and even if the end was ruin, he reached out to grab her.
And even this behavior was ultimately his own greed and selfishness.
Declan was the one acting out, not her.
He understood why she found his love sickening. If it were love, he should have knelt and apologized immediately. Instead, he kidnapped her, forced a marriage, and told her to have another child after he had unknowingly harmed the first......
It was beyond hideous.
He collapsed, clutching the edge of the wedding dress. A hollow laugh wouldn't stop, but tears fell at the same time. An expression that was neither laughing nor crying.
Beneath it was a self-loathing like an infection from a festering wound.
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