Instead, I stand there, swallowing against the thick knot in my throat, staring at the only thing in the world that still feels real. That keeps me here, in this realm.
Her.
The darkness clings to me. It’s in my clothes, my skin, my bones. I feel the filth of that place grasping me, soaking into me, becoming me.
And the longer I stand here, the more unbearable it is, this sharp, aching need to be closer.
To be cleaner.
I exhale shakily and force myself to move. Not towards her—I won’t take that from him—but towards the other door across the room.
The shower hisses to life, scalding hot, but it doesn’t burn nearly as much as I want. I stand under the spray, my hands braced against the tiles, water running in thick rivulets over my skin.
It’s not enough.
I scrub harder, dragging my nails over my arms, my chest, but the feeling won’t leave.
I can still smell it. The blood. The rot. The fear.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Long enough that my hands stop shaking. Long enough that my breathing evens. Long enough that I start to feel like I am the one in control again—not the darkness.
Eventually, I shut the water off and dry myself on autopilot, pulling on a pair of Ezekial’s loose pants. My body still feels like it doesn’t belong to me, but at least it’s quieter now. At least I don’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
The room is lit by the sunrise when I step back inside. My brother hasn’t moved. She hasn’t either.
I tell myself I’ll leave.
Once Julien and Sai return.
I’ll leave. Let them be together—without me.
I’ll walk out of this room, away from her, and find somewhere else.
But instead, I sit.
There’s a chair tucked against the far wall. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough.
I sink into it, forearms resting on my knees, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.
My mind should be screaming. My shadows should be writhing. But all I feel is exhaustion, settling deep into my bones, dragging me under.
I’ll leave soon.
Just… not yet.
I groan under my breath, raking a hand through my damp hair. It’s not enough. Sitting in the dark, waiting—it’s not enough. I need more.
I push to my feet, pick up the chair, and place it closer. My knees almost touch the mattress as I sit back down, resting my arms on my legs.
Close. Too close. But I don’t move away.
I watch the way her fingers twitch against the sheets. She shifts, a small crease forming between her brows, like even in sleep she feels me here.
My throat tightens. I shouldn’t be this close.
And yet, when she stirs, when her eyelashes flutter and she blinks up at me, I don’t move.
