Page 98 of My Dark Divine
When I first heard his voice and felt his arms around me, I thought I was hallucinating. Still, I began to feel better. His presence, even if it were just a figment of my imagination, made everything feel a little more manageable.
‘Thank you’ swirls on the tip of my tongue—two simple words that feel necessary after everything he’s done for me. But a voice whispers in my ear that if I start being too nice or too appreciative, he’ll disappear before I can even blink. As if even the word ‘nice’ doesn’t apply in our situation.
I know he deserves it, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Not right now. The moment feels too intimate, too comfortable.
Too perfect. I don’t want to ruin it.
I want it to last as long as possible before we slip back into our usual routine.
The restof the time passed in a haze as we sat in front of the glowing screen of an old, barely functioning TV, critiquing the terrible acting on the show. It didn’t feel like I had spent two weeks rotting in this bed while he was somewhere else. We didn’t discuss the situation, and a part of me was grateful for that. My instinct is to always avoid difficult conversations, preferring detours or simply abandoning the road altogether.
But another part of me—the one that was quieter during our viewing—began to gnaw at me. Despite my reluctance, I knew we’d need to talk sooner or later. I preferred to put it off until tomorrow. I’d been through enough, and my cramps had left me utterly drained.
When I hear him snoring beside me, I grab the remote and turn off the random show. Oddly enough, the sound doesn’t irritate me. There’s something peaceful about the way he sleeps, a certain charm in the little whistles his nose makes. I set the remote on the nightstand and scoot closer to him. He stills as I wrap my hands around his neck and drape my leg over his hip, clinging to him like a koala to its bamboo. A shudder runs through me, a tiny thread of awareness trying to break through the haze of my muddled thoughts.
What am I doing?Whyam I doing this? Ever since he got here, I don’t recognize myself. I feel calmer and less desperate, yet I crave his touch as though it’s something I’ve been dreaming of.
Well, despite the thick walls of my pride, Ididdream of it.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he rests his hand on my shoulder and pulls me closer. I can tell he’s still asleep—he keeps making those funny noises with his nose—but he’s more aware than he was a moment ago. His thumb starts to trace lazy circles on my shoulder, and I nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Fried food, black tea, and that cheap mango-scented shower gel cling to his skin and clothes, but there’s one scent that stands out more.
Chemicals. I remember noticing it the first time we met. I never thought drugs had a smell. The ones I took, or that Zayden used with his friends, never registered as anything I could detect. But with West, it’s different—a barely perceptible aroma of bitter chemicals that makes me feel nauseous, even from a distance.
I lift my head, searching for his eyes, but the darkness makes it difficult. The faint glow of streetlights seeps through the window, offering barely enough light to see.
I realize I’ve never even asked him if he’s okay. He found me, took care of me, and quite literally saved my life. I can’t imagine how much longer I would have lasted without food or water.
He even gave me his shoes. They’re soaked, lying somewhere in the corner of the room. He had to rush out for food in wet socks before buying slippers from the shop downstairs.
I don’t understand why he bothers with me so much. I surely don’t deserve any of this, and I have no idea how to repay him. He never acts like he expects anything in return, but I want to show him my gratitude. I want to care for him the way he cares for me.
But I don’t know how. I’ve tried to care for people in my life before, and it always ended badly. The scars of my past have changed me, and I’ve forgotten how to be anything but a rotten piece of indifference.
Bringing my hand up, I find his jawline. His stubble pricks at my fingertips, rough against my skin as I trace gentle patterns across his face. I shift my weight, climbing further onto him, unbothered by the weight of my body. Two weeks without proper food have left me thinner.
With every breath I take, the chemical scent settles deeper into my lungs. A tear rolls down my cheek, and my lips tremble as the realization sinks in.
I’m the reason he relapsed. And I know all too well that one moment of peace won’t be enough to conquer addiction. It’s never enough. Even I want to jump back into the pit and swallow a couple more Xanax pills.
Even so, I try to fend off the creeping negativity, battling the oppressive weight it threatens to bring. With a selfish longing,I allow this peaceful moment to settle over me, closing my eyes and leaning into the warmth of his skin.
So wholly mine.
“You are my hero,” I murmur softly, pressing my words to his skin, grateful that he’s asleep and won’t hear them.
Yet deep down, I wish he could.
Idig my fingers into my eye sockets, trying to claw away the sight that threatens to consume me. But when I finally open my eyes, the terror I dread is undeniable—my worst nightmare, alive and breathing before me.
I’m drowning in a sea of death, its icy fingers reaching out to grasp my soul. After witnessing so much of it, I can’t help but feel its presence spreading and tightening its grip through my being. My head buzzes with a million thoughts, each one hammering against my skull. Voices swirl together, some more desperate than others.
“I don’t want to do it! Don’t make me do it, please!”
The voice is sharp and youthful—uncomfortably so. Then, he bursts from the shadows, a bloody figure of a boy stumblingtoward me. I see the horror etched onto his face—the absence of eyes, replaced by ghastly white orbs rimmed in red.
He’s living my dream. I’ve always wanted to tear my eyes out, to escape the death my father forced me to witness.
His mouth is sewn shut, just as I once dreaded. I annoyed my dad with my begging and pleading, and he threatened to silence me for good.
