But I won’t go to her.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she’ll feel the echo of me like a ghost inside her skin.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow I remind her I’m not a ghost at all.
I’m the god she broke—and the devil she summoned.
Tahlia
Icount the cracks in the ceiling like they matter. Like they’ve become some kind of map, as if they could lead me back to the version of myself I left bleeding on the floor the first time he touched me and didn’t stop.
But the truth is… I don’t think she exists anymore.
I don’t think I want her back.
There’s something wrong with me now. Something unholy and sharp and burning beneath my skin that keeps whispering his name in the silence, even when I scream to drown it out.
Hook.
Hook.
Hook.
It’s not just his name anymore. It’s a sickness. A fever I keep feeding with every breath I take inside this fucking room. I tell myself I hate him, that I’d drive that broken shard of glass into his throat if I had the chance. I dream of it. The blood. The gurgle. The collapse.
But then I wake up sweating. Wet. Empty.
Because he isn’t here.
And that’s worse than all of it.
I hate how quiet it is now. Hate how the silence feels like punishment. Like he knew exactly what I needed and chose to take it away instead. I thought the bruises were the worst part. The chains. The degradation. The things he said that scraped across my skin like knives dipped in honey.
But no.
It’s the absence.
The waiting.
The fucking void where his voice used to be.
I scream, just to hear a sound. Just to feel something that doesn’t end in me gasping his name like a goddamn prayer. My voice is raw from it now. Not from fighting. From wanting.
That’s the worst part of all this.
Not the cage. Not the pain. Not even the twisted, broken way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world he ever bled for.
It’s that I miss him.
It’s that I want him.
And I think… I think he knows.
My fingers drift to the edge of the mirror, the crack where my necklace hit it still jagged and sharp. I press into the glass until it bites, until a bead of blood wells up like it’s trying to remind me I’m still real. Still here. Still breathing in his absence.
