Page 100 of My Dark Divine
I want to stay.
I want to be with her.
But I don’t want to lash out because I’m in withdrawal and angry at the world around me. I don’t want her to see me sweating, drooling, and shaking from the sickness. It’ll scare her and remind her of who I really am.
A pathetic junkie.
A weak addict who can’t resist his poison.
She called me her hero tonight. I want her to keep seeing me that way.
She reaches out, her fingers finding the curve of my neck, and pulls me down. “Please, stay with me,” she pleads, her tear-filled eyes searching mine. “Don’t go, West. Just… stay for a moment longer.”
“I’m coming back.” My lies aren’t fair to her, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I can’t bear to break her more than she already is.
She’s been managing on her own before. She doesn’t need me now.
Before I pull away, I press my lips to her forehead, letting the kiss linger for a moment. The tremor that runs through her vibrates against me, shaking the last remnants of my resolve.
I can hear her sobs even after I close the door behind me and begin to walk away. I’m not sure if the hallucinations have already begun, if my mind is painting images that slowly consume me from within, but it’s clear that I’ve left her like this—crying, begging me to come back and stay. Concern for her is a persistent tide, crashing against the fortified walls of my selfishness.
But it’s not strong enough to breach the defenses.
West is gone.
The weight of that reality settles in, and I finally grasp the seriousness of the situation. I had felt so tired, so lost, that I couldn’t fully wrap my mind around what had happened. A part of me still hoped he was out getting breakfast for us.
But he’s gone. A whole day had passed, and it was only a few hours after he shut the door behind him that I got out of the room to search for him. My period cramps are replaced with a wrenching anxiety that twists and turns my stomach like never before. The despair is a physical weight, a choking vine that wraps around my limbs. The words, a relentless drone, echo in my ears, their rhythm a mockery of my misery.
He’s not coming back. He left me. Something could have happened to him. He might’ve gotten high and passed out or even overdosed.
The image of him lying helpless in a pool of vomit flashes through my mind, flooding me with a cocktail of despair, fear, and agony, as though I’m the one enduring the withdrawal.
Paranoia started to grip me, but I pushed it away and went out to look for him. Dressed in the baggy clothes he bought me, my hair tucked under a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses hiding most of my face, I was unrecognizable. I asked around the neighborhood and visited some bars in the area, but he was nowhere to be found.
Now, I’m back in the motel room, clueless about what to do next. I don’t know where to go, and I can’t ask anyone for help. Only now do I realize how little I actually know about this side of West—the reckless, broken part that acts on impulse and craves nothing but his chemical high. I’m left with nothing but fragile hope that fades with every second I spend within these walls. Every inch of my body trembles, both from fear and the chill that envelops me. I’m not even sure if it’s truly freezing in here, but my emotions get the best of me.
I stare at the door, silently begging for it to click open and for a tall silhouette to appear in the doorway. Each time I hear footsteps, I hope it’s him. But the door never opens.
At the reception desk, I noticed the calendar hanging on the wall. The whole day has passed, and it’s October 25 already. His birthday. I didn’t even buy him anything. I don’t even know what will make him happy. In all the years we’ve worked together, I’ve never seen him celebrate his birthday. Not once have I witnessed anyone congratulate him or acknowledge this day, as if it never existed. Now that he’s gone, the realization strikes me even harder—he’ll spend it high and utterly alone.
Thoughts like stones gather in my chest, pulling me down. The world loses its sharpness, everything blurs and fades. I try to fight against the pull, but the void is relentless, dragging me into its depths.
I feel so tired.
So utterly fucking tired.
I waketo a world of glaring sunlight, my eyes protesting the sudden intrusion. The open window, a forgotten betrayal, exposes me to the chill breeze that skims across my skin. It feels as if I’m naked, vulnerable to the day’s gaze.
The sound of the door opening breaks the silence, and shock rushes over me. I turn, my heart skipping a beat. Even through the fog of sleep, I recognize him.
He’s here.
He’s back.
The world dissolves into a dizzying kaleidoscope as I rise, a throbbing pain pulsating at my temples. His image comes into focus, a canvas splashed with mud and sweat. His hair, a wild storm of dark cobwebs, clings to his forehead, and his eyes... they’re vast, consuming pools of anguish. Red rivers course through the whites, and tears, like shimmering diamonds, cling to the edges of his lashes.
My lips quiver, and a sudden weakness floods my limbs. It’s like the air has been sucked from the room, leaving me gasping for breath. A vise-like grip constricts my chest, and I fight to regain control.
