Page 78 of My Dark Divine
In an instant, his hands are on my wrists, pushing me away before rolling me onto my back. I gasp, my mouth desperately searching for his, needing,cravinghis attention. But all he gives me is a weary sigh before completely pulling back, sending a wave of icy rejection that slices through me, cutting deep.
“West,” I call his name, unsure of what I want him to do anymore. “West, I?—”
“Go to sleep, Venetia,” he cuts me off, adjusting his pants before bending to pick up his shirt from the floor. Draping it over his shoulders, he walks out of the room and shuts the door behind him. I stare at it, waiting for him to change his mind.
A minute passes. Five. Fifteen.
I remain transfixed, unable to process what just happened. Exhaustion surges over me, sweeping me into its embrace, and my eyelids grow heavy. The weight of my emotions bears down on my shoulders, leaving me no choice but to flop onto my back and close my eyes.
The dam finally breaks, and a waterfall of tears spills down my cheeks, shattering the last remnants of my composure as my heart slowly bleeds out.
Flashback
Age 17
Iam officially married. My parents couldn’t wait for me to turn eighteen, so they signed the permission and secured a legal agreement for my marriage, making me look like a ‘normal’ person.
Mom is getting better. The chemotherapy is working, despite everyone around us insisting it’s a waste of time. A glimmer of life has returned to her eyes, and that alone brings me joy.
I’m playing a larger role in Zayden’s business now. With his dad having passed away a few days ago, he took overthe company, giving me and my family greater access to opportunities. He needs a lot of help, and after two years immersed in this business, I’ve learned a lot.
I’ve also been saving money and getting closer to my dream of opening my animal rescue center. I’ve loved animals since childhood, but Mom never allowed me to have a pet, claiming it was too much of a burden and a waste of money. Zayden isn’t fond of animals either, so even after moving out of my parents’ house, I still can’t afford a pet. But I’ve found an alternative. It’s bigger, and I’ll have more responsibility, but the more I think about it, the better it seems.
I will be able to save and help animals all around the city—and maybe even beyond. I already have some connections, so with a little more money, I can finally start turning this project into a reality. I’ve been working on it secretly in my free time. I’m not sure why I’ve never shared my dream of starting a project like this with anyone, but it just feels like they wouldn’t understand. The idea is blooming rapidly within me, and I don’t want anyone to trample it underfoot.
I want something I can call my own.
Zayden has become very busy. He comes home late and barely talks to me. The only question that slips from his lips is, ‘What’s for dinner?’
I try to ask about his day without prying too much, and he simply says he has a lot of work and needs a break. He complains constantly, and honestly, I always thought he was tougher than this. Now, there isn’t a day that goes by without him whining about how hard things are.
I support him. At least, I try to. But that only makes me hate myself more. I feel sick to my stomach uttering the worn-out, memorized phrases of comfort, and I wish he would just come home and sit in silence with me, rather than demanding my support. I quit taking the medicine he always gave me, andnow life with him feels much more challenging. He wears me down, both physically and mentally, and underneath it all, I can feel a growing frustration.
Sometimes he doesn’t like what I say. He tells me I’m bad at supporting him as a wife and that I don’t understand the basics of how to make him feel better. That always leads to one inevitable outcome—me sprawled beneath him while he takes everything he needs until he’s satisfied.
After it, I spend hours in the shower, trying to wash away the disgust that lingers after he touches me. I don’t understand why I feel so uneasy about being close to him. It’s ridiculous—he’s my husband, and I should love his touch. But with each passing day, it becomes harder. His friends have all but stopped coming, and I always thought that would be the turning point to make me feel good about his touch again. But even with that change, I still can’t seem to enjoy it.
When he comes home, he brings his weariness and anger with him, draining all the energy I have left. He’s like a vampire, greedily sucking away every ounce of positivity, leaving me devoid of the will to live. After taking what he wants, I often remain without any desire for anything else. All I can do is lie in bed, reminding myself to breathe.
I feel as if I’m falling to pieces.
The ring he bought me must be soaked in something, because every time I wear it, my finger itches. I keep scratching at the spot, and yesterday, I accidentally ripped off a piece of fucking skin. It only made things worse. Now it burns and itches, and I can’t stand wearing it, though I have to. It’s strange, but I feel such relief when I take it off—though those moments are rare, since he always insists on seeing it.
Thoughts elude me after he’s done. I find myself staring at the wall, my eyes growing crusty and heavy as if weighed down by sand. The little fire of hope that things will get betterdims with each passing day. I often wonder if there’s anyone else in this world who feels like I do, because it seems as though I’m alone—the only person capable of feeling this miserable.
I fantasize a lot. Music is my escape. Zayden snores so loudly that it drives me to the brink of madness. To avoid lashing out, I plug in my headphones and drift off to sleep with my music. The nighttime is the only time I have to myself—a moment to dissociate and let the melodies carry me away from this place.
It’s the time when I can dream of a better life—one where I don’t feel so empty and shallow. One where I can be happy, even if only for a moment.
Ihaven’t seen Venetia in days. Something I never thought I’d allow has happened—I’ve put my feelings above my duty. There was another meeting with her father, but I didn’t show up. I was too overwhelmed, too scared, and too fucking confused.
Venetia has always been the smartest person I know. The way she toyed with others’ minds has always fascinated and angered me in equal measure. Her talent isn’t something that can simply be ignored.
Now, I can’t wrap my head around what the fuck she did to me. As soon as our dads gathered in that room and announced our impending marriage, I knew that taking precautions had to be my priority. I couldn’t let myself soften or show her myvulnerabilities. I understood all too well that she would use them against me in the future.
It was a rule I adhered to. I’m still a human being, and if she figured out how to control me, I’d be in trouble. So I buried my feelings—whatever they fucking were—deep inside and maintained a façade of indifference.
Well, I fucking tried to.
