Page 95 of My Dark Divine
“Do I need to fucking chew it all for you?” He snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me flinch. “Get it together. She didn’t take anything with her, only the cash from her wallet. Her clothes, phone, car—everything’s still at her house. Even the fucking toothbrush.”
A rush of worry sweeps through me, but the exhaustion and the throbbing hangover are a heavier presence, dragging me down. I manage to push myself to the edge of the bed, my muscles protesting with every movement in a symphony of never-ending pain.
“Her dad searched every corner of this fucking city—every hole, every place she might have stayed.Nothing,” he adds, emphasizing the last word to underscore the seriousness of the situation. “You have to find her.”
Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is my fault. I pushed her to do this. If I weren’t so weak and pathetic, I would have talked to her like a normal person instead of leaving her alone.
Alone and tied to the fucking bed.
If she did something to herself… No. Fuck, no. She wouldn’t do that.
Or would she?
Worry quickly turns into panic as I jump off the bed and rush to the drawer, grabbing the first clothes I can find—sweatpants and a sweatshirt in mismatched colors. I don’t care what I look like; I just need something to cover myself while I search the city for her.
“Do you hear me, West?” Dad calls from behind. “I need you both here, on time. We have an executive team meeting soon, and I don’t want either of you ruining it with your mood swings. Understand?”
Typical Dad. Something bad has happened to my girl, and all he cares about is being on time for another meeting. “Okay. Yes,” I respond bluntly as I grab my wallet and phone. “I’ll find her.”
The ache in my body is a persistent echo, but it gradually becomes insignificant compared to the roaring urgency that drives me. I burst out of the room, ignoring the pain, the hunger, the exhaustion.
I have to find her.
“Ah!I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen that lady,” the receptionist says, a wide smile spreading across his wrinkled face. He waves a hand at me, then pulls a cigarette from between his teeth and nods. “You two are all over the news—some rich business people for sure. I just prefer to stay out of it. It’s not my cup of tea, you know?”
I bite back a sharp retort I’m desperate to unleash when a flicker of hope ignites within me at his words. After hours of driving around the city, I finally end up at a rundown place on the outskirts, where despair reeks from every corner. It took me a while to stop panicking and realize she might be hiding somewhere no one would think to look, which led me here.
“She’s in here?” I ask urgently. “Which room?”
He tilts his head, studying me for a moment, and I don’t have to think long to realize what the fucker wants. “You know, I’m not supposed to?—”
Sighing in annoyance, I pull out a hundred-dollar bill and slam it onto the counter, impatience taking hold. “Please. Just give me the room number and the key.”
“Second floor, 24A,” he replies, glancing nervously around the empty lobby as if worried someone might see. He slides the card across the desk and takes the money. “Just keep this?—”
“Between us,” I finish for him. “And the fact that we’re here. If you spill anything about this, I’ll shut this fucking,” I trail off, struggling to find the right words, “brothel down. Got it?”
“You don’t have to be rude, big guy,” he chuckles, nodding toward the stairs. “I won’t tell anyone. Now go. I can’t do anything if someone recognizes you.”
I turn and jog to the staircase, silently repeating the room number in my head. My mind is still hazy from the hangover, and I can’t afford to forget it. After scanning the hallway, I spot the right door. Worry floods me, and my hand pauses just before reaching the handle. I don’t expect her to answer, but I knock twice anyway. When there’s no response, I slide the key card into the slot and push the door open, impatience taking over.
The first thing I notice is how fucking dark it is inside. Heavy black curtains block out every sliver of light, casting long shadows that shroud the walls. The air feels stale, thick with a familiar, oppressive weight—an echo of my basement where I’ve been trapped for years.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, trying to inject a hint of humor into my voice. Something tells me that everything is worse than I imagined, and as usual, my response is to make a poorly timed fucking joke. “What is this, Dracula’s lair?”
A sob, raw and guttural, shatters the air, pulling me out of my playful demeanor. She lies on the bed, her face turned away, and the sight of her drains any sense of levity from me. Another sob escapes her, and I move instinctively. The door closes behind me as I reach her side, my arms wrapping around her waist.
I nearly choke as I feel how fragile she’s become, her body unnervingly thin. It feels as though the slightest pressure would cause her to break apart.
“Baby girl, look at me,” I plead, gently turning her toward me. I need to see her face, but she buries herself deeper into the pillow, refusing to move even an inch. Up close, the curtains let in a faint spill of evening light, revealing some details. Her hair is slick with sweat, strands sticking to her cheeks and forehead. Tears stream down her face uncontrollably, and I can’t even tell if she fully understands that I’m here.
“How did you find me?” she rasps, finally turning toward me, just a bit. Her eyelids are swollen and red as if she’s been crying nonstop for the past two weeks.
“There isn’t a place in the world where I wouldn’t find you, Netia,” I reply, my hand brushing across her cheek.
I missed her.
