Page 94 of My Dark Divine
I miss her. I miss her, and she keeps fucking doing this to me, showing just how little she gives a fuck about everything I did for her.
I glance up at the corpse in front of me, the sight nearly making me jump. I narrow my eyes, questioning whether it’s a hallucination or reality. The man’s insides, on full display, begin to move. Bloody flesh pushes its way out of his stomach, hitting the floor with a sickening, slick sound. I cough, a wave of revulsion rising in my throat as I confront the scene. He tilts his head, his wide-open eyes locking onto mine. I slap myself before running my hands through my hair, trying to break free from this nightmare.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not fucking real.
But when I look again, the horror hasn’t faded. More insides spill out, and the man starts groaning in pain, reaching out to me as if pleading for help. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the floor, slamming my elbow into the cement. The impact sends a jolt of electricity through my body, and I let out a pathetic sound, baring my teeth as the intensity becomes unbearable.
That jolt awakens every tiny prick of pain, escalating into full-blown agony that blasts through my chest, limbs, and face, engulfing me in searing torment.
Everything fucking hurts, and I’m not sure if it will ever end.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat threatening to shatter my chest. Sweat slicks my skin, a cold, clammy sheet clinging to me—a reminder of the raw fear that consumes me.
When will this nightmare end? I’ve been living like this for years, burning in my personal hell with no chance of escape.
It’s so fucking hot in here.
The man continues to groan in pain, his voice echoing in my brain like a haunting reminder of the things I’ve done. I turn myface to the cold cement, trying to bury myself from him, but I can feel him and his insides crawling closer.
“Man up, man up, man up,” I chant my father’s words—the ones that used to kick me in the ass and pull me from whatever nightmare I was trapped in. I keep slapping my face, trying to regain control over myself.
But clarity never comes. Instead, darkness creeps into my vision, and slowly, the man’s voice fades away, replaced by Venetia’s.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I need her. I need her to get me out of here, to pull me from this nightmare. I want to feel her hands on me again, her fingers grazing my scars. I want her lips, soft and warm, to touch them, to bring back that fleeting pleasure she ignited in me when she flipped some new fucking switch inside me.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Her voice lingers, the last trace of connection in the world before I’m consumed by the emptiness. It’s a fading echo, a whisper of what is lost in the vast, silent void that now surrounds me.
Silence.
Finally, it’s silent.
Minutes, hours, days—they all blur together. Time stretches in strange ways when you’re coming down from a high. I’ve lost track of it all.
When I finally crack open my swollen eyes and welcome the golden sunlight, it feels like I’ve stepped into heaven. A moment of peace washes over me—the glow of the sun, the scent of fresh air, and even the sound of birds singing nearby. But then something is yanked away from me, sending an icy blast through my body. A blanket, definitely. And the person responsible must be my father.
Yeah, I’mnotin heaven.
“Get up,” he barks, his voice grating against my skull. Why can’t he ever sound less irritating? “Quick.”
I mumble something incoherent into my pillow, feeling the cracks at the corners of my lips as I move them. I don’t have the energy to deal with his anger, especially when I was literally on the verge of death and somehow managed to survive.
Honestly, it would be better if I had died. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to his fucking voice.
“Venetia is gone.”
I freeze, letting the weight of his words settle, then snap my head up to meet his blurry, but unmistakably furious eyes. “What do you mean, gone?”
He exhales sharply, his irritation leaking through every pore. “I don’t fucking know, West. You’re her fiancé, not me. She’s been missing for two weeks. Vanished from the house.”
Two weeks? Has it beenthatlong since we last saw each other?
The effort of sitting up drains what little strength I have. I scrub a hand across my face, the dry, cracked skin a painful reminder of the condition I’ve been in for what feels like an eternity. I’m breaking, piece by piece, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Did you call her?” I ask, unsure if it’s the right question. I have no idea what’s going on.
