Wasn't it absurd? I reached for death, and you snatched me back with hands stained by it.
*
I needed a distraction. I needed to silence the noise in my head.
So, I cleaned. I scavenged cleaning supplies from odd corners of the house and scrubbed until my hands were raw. I was clumsy, knocking over trinkets in my nervous haste, but the physical exertion offered a fleeting sense of relief.
An hour later, the front door slammed open.
Pars stumbled inside, swaying on his feet before collapsing onto the armchair opposite me. The smell hit me instantly—sharp, pungent alcohol.
"You smell revolting," I said, grimacing. "Aren't Soldiers forbidden from drinking?"
"Nothing is forbidden to me," he grumbled, his words slightly slurred. He tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him, and he fell back into the leather seat with a heavy thud. He swore under his breath, threw his head back, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
"She won't come back," he whispered, closing his eyes. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a haunting void. "Never."
"Who?" I asked, folding my arms. His guard was down; I was curious.
"My old Weapon."
"Like I care," I scoffed, turning toward the door. I had no intention of dealing with a drunk man, especially this one. His vulnerability was dangerous.
I reached for the handle, desperate to escape.
"Where the hell are you going?" he roared. "Come here!"
I froze, but his Command didn't take hold. His focus was too scattered, his mind too clouded by liquor to control me mentally. I could leave. I should have left.
But I made the mistake of looking back.
He was watching me with dead, green eyes. A vast emptiness swirled within them. Seeing me pause, he lurched to his feet, stumbling toward me.
I let go of the door handle to push him away, but gravity had other plans. He tripped on the edge of the carpet. Reflexively, I reached out to catch him—a stupid, human instinct.
His weight was too much. We crashed backward, landing in a tangled heap on the sofa. He pinned me down, his heavy frame pressing me into the cushions.
"I don't understand you," I said, sniffing back tears of frustration. "Actually, I can't understand you. You're either insane, or your only joy comes from toying with people. Don't treat me like this. I'm not a toy."
He stared down at me, unmoving.
"Who were you before they broke your heart?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I tried to shove him off, but he was like a boulder.
"Who?" I whispered, looking away, unable to meet his gaze.
"What?" He blinked, as if waking from a trance. He rolled off me, sitting up on the edge of the sofa. "It just occurred to me. A line from a book I read a long time ago. Don't look so surprised, Alenas. Yes, I read."
"You're crazy," I muttered, curling into a fetal position, burying my face in the cushions.
"We all have madness in our blood. Only some of us let it reign," he said, his voice dropping to a cruel murmur. "Take your step-family, for instance. From what I heard, they did everything in the book to you."
"Shut up!" I snapped.
"Harassment, torture, sadistic fantasies..." He listed them casually, like reading a grocery list. "What else did they do? Honestly, I'm surprised you're still a virgin."
"You..." I dug my fingernails into my legs, hugging them tighter. "Will you shut up?"
"I won't." He was smiling now—a wicked, sharp thing. "You can't be happy while I'm in pain. You will suffer with me. After all, you belong to me, right? I don't mind if you bleed. Not at all."
My vision blurred. My heart, already cracked, shattered under the weight of his cruelty.
I had escaped them, yes. But I hadn't escaped the wreckage they left behind. And now, this man—this stranger who claimed ownership of my soul—was chewing up my trauma and spitting it out like it was nothing.
I just wanted to be free. I wanted to find a dark hole in a nameless country and disappear. Pars Sarehan had taken that dream, chewed it like gum, and stuck it under his boot.
If living meant this, then death was freedom. The whip of my stepfather, the cigarette burns of my stepmother... if I died, I could finally hurt them back by denying them my existence.
"I'm trying to forget," I whispered, tears leaking from my eyes. "But you're not helping. You know what? Some things are better left unspoken."
I pressed my hands against my temples. I closed my eyes and pushed.
I didn't use my hands; I used my power. I turned the crushing weight of my telekinesis inward, focusing it on my own skull.
"I want to die!" I screamed as the pressure mounted. Death stood before me, waving a welcoming hand.
Through the agony, through the ringing in my ears, I saw him.
"You said she won't come back, Sarehan," I gritted out. "I won't come back either. I wanted you to know that."
Suddenly, his drunkenness evaporated. His hands—strong, sober, and terrifying—clamped around my wrists, wrenching them away from my head. He pinned me back against the sofa.
"Let me go! Let me die!"
I lied. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to close my eyes before I had learned how to laugh again. I wanted to live. I just didn't know how.
"Reverie, stop."
The Command washed over me, cool and absolute. My muscles went limp. My arms fell heavily to my sides.
"It..." I sobbed, my chest heaving. "It hurts so much."
"I know," he whispered. He pulled me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin. "Take a deep breath. The pain will pass."
"It won't pass!" I cried into his shirt.
"It will."
"Don't lie to me!"
"I'm not lying." He hesitated, his fingers brushing my hair. "Did you know? A kiss on the eyes cures pain."
"Liar."
He smiled against my hair. "I am a liar. But you need me."
"I don't," I spat, weak but defiant.
He pulled back abruptly, pushing me out of his lap. The warmth was gone, replaced by ice.
"You're having fun, aren't you?" I accused him. "You give me this fake affection, then you rip it away. You like hurting me."
"I do like it." His eyes dropped to my lips. "I don't feel anything, Alenas. I do whatever I please, and I don't question it. Get used to it. I'll kiss you, I'll touch you, and over time, I'll make you fall in love with me. Get used to me. But..."
He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over my skin.
"...you should also get used to the fact that I will never love you. Because, Reverie, my fragile little girl, I have never loved anyone in my life."
He spoke the truth. I remained silent.
I couldn't say anything. I couldn't tell him that I, too, had never loved anyone.
Even if I said it, it wouldn't make sense. It would be absurd—two people who didn't know how to love, trying to gift their hearts to one another. Our hearts had been ripped from our bodies and thrown into a bottomless well long ago. It was too late for us.
That night, a brutal darkness settled over our bodies.
It was 5 a.m. The sun had not risen. We were sleeping.
In the quiet of the morning, the man's arm was wrapped around my neck. He whispered in my ear, his fingers caressing my hair. His embrace felt like a hangman's noose, tightening slowly.
I didn't care. His voice was a lullaby.
"Don't be afraid. I'm with you, kid. There, now..."