Page 37 of My Dark Divine
In a way, I feel grateful. If anything ever happens, these sessions have taught me well. I can withstand pain for hours, even days. If I’m ever kidnapped and our rivals try to beat information out of me, they won’t succeed.
I spit out the blood to keep my airway clear, retreating into a dull void as he goes on cursing and lashing out. He’s furious that I killed a so-called ‘respectable’ man, worried that he’ll face consequences because of it. He’ll never understand why I did it—not out of some dumb rebellion, but out of loyalty and respect. He’ll never comprehend those qualities because he doesn’t have them.
I thought I didn’t, either.
But I was wrong. Just a glimpse of that pig, his single breath near Venetia, pushed me to take action. And now, as I lie here, what’s the only thought brewing in my mind?
If I had the chance, I’d do it all over again. I’d bring that bastard back to life and repeat the process, again and again, until nothing remained but a bloody puddle.
The funniest part? Venetia has no idea, and I have no intention of telling her. I’m not some high schooler who runs around bragging about what he’ll do for a woman who drives him to these lengths. It wasn’t even her request—it was my decision.
Dad will get over this. He’s just paranoid about me jeopardizing his precious campaign. Ironically, that senator didn’t seem too keen on his plans. I did him a favor.
Not that he appreciates it.
“I can’t fucking deal with this,” he grumbles, finally backing off from me and taking a few steps away. Taking the chance, I roll onto my stomach, a muted ache blossoming in my chest, as though my insides are being crushed.
Well, honestly, they kind of fucking are.
“Fuck it. I don’t want to see you anymore. Tomorrow, you’ll fly to Washington for a few days. My friends organized a fundraising campaign there—a chain of charities for the homeless,” he explains, but my attention slips, lost in the throbbing waves of pain spreading through me. “Go and act like you need to. I’ll try to clean up the mess you fucking caused.”
“They won’t find him,” I rasp, coughing up another splash of blood. “I’ve dealt with everything.”
He shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his sweat-covered face. “Why?” His voice falls to a whisper, laden with disbelief. “Just fucking why? Do you think she’llloveyou because of this?”
That ridiculous word makes me chuckle, a sound I quickly regret. My whole body shudders from the effort, and I swear, I can hear my bones rattling. “He didn’t respect me,” I retort. “That’s why I did it.”
“You can sell that bullshit to others, but not to me. I see right through you.” He stands there for a moment, looking at me as if weighing the idea of landing a few more blows.
After a brief moment of twitching and seething with rage, Dad turns and walks away, leaving me bleeding on the floor. He halts at the threshold, adding, “Remember, whatever you do, you’ll never even beliked, West. Especially not by Venetia.”
He slams the door closed, plunging the house into silence. A void emerges from my chest, tightening around me as his words turn into a distant murmur—a broken record that can never be fucking fixed.
As if I needed a reminder of it.
“Coffee is on the table,” Marietta mumbles, her voice a distant murmur drowned out by the heavy beat of the music pulsing through my headphones. She pulls the curtains aside, flooding the room with piercing golden light. Then, she leans in and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, murmuring something else—probably about luck and having a good day—before storming out of the room.
My right ear aches like hell, the small headphone practically jammed into it. Falling asleep is always easier with music, but I usually dread the aftermath. The nagging pain lingers longer than I’d like, and I have no choice but to endure it.
It’s been so long since I’ve drifted off to my favorite songs that I nearly forgot the feeling. Music has alwaysbeen my sanctuary, a place to escape when life becomes too overwhelming. With my ex-husband, it became a nightly ritual—I couldn’t go to bed without it. Crying myself to sleep was an option, but it drained me so much that I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. With music, the nights became not only bearable but enjoyable.
West texted me the other day about changes to our plans, and when I realized I’d be flying to Washington with him, I lost it. In this space, filled with familiar sights and known faces, I feel grounded. But the thought of being alone with him in an unfamiliar environment makes me anxious.
Cracking my eyes open, I welcome the burning sensation of bright light as my gaze drifts across the pink, innocent clouds floating by.
Another day, another chance to be paraded around like a trained monkey.
Irritation bubblesinside me as I walk down the street, a heavy bag filled with my essentials thudding against my hip with each step. His car is parked at the curb, heavy metal blasting from the speakers, as if he wants the entire fucking block to know we’re leaving. I love heavy metal, but right now, all I want is for it to be quiet so we can drive in peace. We’re chaotic enough as it is, and the pounding music only amplifies the headache blooming in my forehead.
West hops out of the car the instant he sees me, and I find myself frozen in shock as he walks closer. He looks like he’s been through hell, with bloodstains across his skin and faint bruisesmarking his face. His lip is split, and his damp bangs cling to his sweaty forehead as he approaches me.
Usually, I’d mock him and call him pathetic, but now my tongue feels heavy in my throat. I don’t feel like joking. This isn’t just a typical fight—he looks terrible. I can practically feel the pain radiating from him.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the bag from me and walks to the car. I can only stand in silence, watching him toss it into the back before he climbs into the driver’s seat, avoiding eye contact. He’s always been a douchebag, the type to have the last word and deliver sharp remarks. But he’s never been this quiet.
Something is wrong.
With a surge of courage, I make my way to the car and climb in. The music bombards my aching ears, prompting me to lean in and turn down the volume. Once the sound fades, I can hear his raspy breathing and the struggle it takes for him to expand his chest.
