"So what?" I scoff, "Have you just been planning out this big speech since I got here? Waiting for the right moment to spring your anti-suicide message on me?"
He heaves out a heavy breath, as exasperated by me as I feel.
But I can't stop the terrible things spilling out of my mouth, "You know, this whole thing would have been a lot more effective if your cum wasn't still seeping from between my fucking legs."
A sad laugh rumbles his chest, "This is the first time in weeks the sky has been clear enough to see it."
Silence settles over us, uncomfortable and pained. I'm not sure what's worse, the cold seeping into my skin or the screaming in my head that I've once again hurt someone who only wanted to be closer to me.
I don't think I've ever hated myself more than I do right now. Repeating the same horrible patterns over and over is one thing, butdoing it to someone like Eamon who has been willing to be the bad guy, the villain, the asshole, as long as it kept me safe... it's just not fair to him to be stuck with me.
Tears blur my stupid fucking eyes again, and I wipe them away just as the imaginary Eamon voice pipes up in my mind:Just apologize.
But what I've said to him is unforgivable; it's a slap in the face of his sacrifice for me and the loss he's endured before I even existed.I will always forgive you,the voice calls, my madness circling further. A silent sob wracks my chest, and I release Eamons hand, wrapping my arms around my chest like the barrier could protect me from the outside world.
Rather than let me wallow alone, Eamons big arms wrap around me, pulling me into his chest until my head rests where his arm meets his shoulder, his warmth radiating straight into my soul. He manages to hold me close to his body without hiding the beauty of the lights from me, adding to the physical shield I've given myself without suffocating me with it.
The phantom voice quiets, letting me just wallow in my self-hatred. I'm soaking in the scent and feeling of Eamon wrapped so comfortingly around me, even though I don't deserve one second of this version of him. The other one is easier to dealwith. I can't stand his kind eyes, his warm, bubbly smile, his open arms. When he's being a fucking asshole, at least we can be on even footing. I can't be the version of myself that deserves this side of Eamon.
Somehow, in his arms, I cry myself to sleep, the lights passing behind my eyes, dreams of another reality where I could maybe be that person taunting me, just out of reach.
The dreams feel so real they could be memories, visions of Eamon and me as normal people, with no Sanctums, family curses, or demons at all. Dreams of little kids with Eamons big green eyes and my loud mouth, getting in trouble for cussing out their dad.
I'm not sure if the dreams are nightmares or not, if the fact that I'll never be able to have a life even close to that one is the cruelest possible thing I could see behind my eyelids.
When I wake in the morning, tucked safely into bed, no sign of Eamon at all, I let myself cry the way I wanted to last night. I wish I could have said I'm sorry— wish I was even capable of those words where he's involved. That imaginary voice of his almost made me feel like I could, like if I can carry a piece of Eamon with me, I'd be a stronger version of myself, more like who I want to be.
Breakfast sits waiting for me, the exact same as every morning, but something feels different. Maybe it's the food, maybe it's me, but the air in here feels off, like there's a tension ready to break that I can't put my finger on.
After scarfing down the food and coffee, I ready myself for combat training, for the penance I'll pay for my cruelty last night. As I slide the tennis shoes on, a crawling sensation winds its way up my spine.
There's no way to explain it or justify this dread filling my stomach, but all I know is that something's wrong here.
What the fuck is happening?
All at once, the house falls into darkness, only the dim emergency lights alerting me to something going wrong.
"Eamon?" I call out, hoping he'll answer me and assure me that it's just a glitch in the system that will be back online in just a minute. But I'm met with nothing but the blaring of an alarm and an automated voice telling me there's a system failure.
Between what I can hear and see, I can feel the predator standing just out of my sight, waiting for me to walk into the trap unaware or be still long enough for it to catch me.
Eamon took us outside last night and somehow, someone was watching. It's the only thing that makes any sense. We exposed ourselves, and now, everything he's been worrying about is going to happen right inside this bunker he promised me was safe.
Pure instinct has me rolling off the bed at the very last second, just before a massive black body lands where I was just a second before. The monster lunges for me again, and I kick at its enormous head, screaming at the top of my lungs before I get up onto my feet, scrambling and running into the hall, trying to escape the giant beast trying to kill me.
Survival Instincts
Eamon
This is a super fucked up thing to do.
I know that.
Then what are you doing?
I wish I could say this was fury, or revenge, or some kind of petty bullshit to get Isla back for being such a dick last night, but she doesn't need me to punish her. She does that enough to herself, and she and I both know she didn't mean a single fucking word she said.
She's afraid of herself more than anything, but today, she's going to learn that I'm the one she should fear. She's a fucking natural with all the weapons, and she's practiced enough that I'm not worried about her hurting herself with them.
