I waited for you.
The air shatters. The sound of the cooling fans, the buzzing light, the heavy hum of the house—it all disappears, leaving only the weight of that sentence. Damien’s hand trembles against my skin, his fingers twitching. His voice fractures.
“I waited for you.”
The cursor blinks. And then the feed dies.
The screen cuts to black, leaving us in a darkness so absolute it feels like the chapel after the candles are blown out. The silence slices through me like I’m the one who left someone behind, like I’m the one who promised to come back and let the years turn that promise into a lie. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I don’t know who sent the message, whose fingers were on the keyboard, or whose voice I’m supposed to believe. But I know the chain keeps me here. I know Damien keeps me here. AndI know—God help me—I know some part of me remembers the quiet place, too. Even if I don’t want to.
The screen stays black. The cursor gone. The words burned into the air between us like a brand on the skin.You forgot me. You promised. I waited for you.Damien’s grip on my throat tightens—not cruel, not violent—just there. A tether. Just enough to keep me here. Just enough to keep me his. His breath staggers against my temple, sharp and frantic like he’s fighting to stay in his body, fighting to keep the memories from swallowing him whole.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words shaking with the force of his desperation. “You’re not his.”
My pulse thunders against his thumb, a frantic drumbeat of realisation. His other hand drags the chain tighter, winding the cold metal around his fist until there is no slack, pulling me so close I can’t tell if I’m trying to escape or trying to crawl inside him just to find the light.
“You’re not his.” His voice fractures, a low, guttural moan. “I kept you.”
The silence gnaws at the edges of my ribs. I should speak. I should move. I should tell him I don’t understand, that the screen is a trick, that we are safe. But I think part of me does. I think part of me remembers something I’m not supposed to.
The quiet place. The chapel. The songs. The braid. The cold weight of hands over my mouth. The sound of heavy shoes clicking on stone behind me. The scrape of a rosary against my ribs. The scar.
My breath cracks. Damien’s lips crush against mine, desperate, shaking, keeping. He kisses me like he’s trying to reclaim a soul he lost ten years ago.
“You promised you’d stay.”
His hands grip my face, his fingers splayed across my jaw like he’s afraid I’ll disintegrate into ash if he lets go.
“You told me if I was good, he’d pick someone else.”
The words split me open, a clean, vertical strike from collarbone to hip.
“You told me you’d come back.” His breath hitches, a jagged, wet sound. “You told me I wouldn’t forget you.”
His thumb drags across my lip, the same rhythm he always uses—slow, possessive, rhythmic—the one I never noticed was familiar until the memory finally punctured the surface. It’s the same way I used to soothe him. The same way I used to seal his silence.
“You promised you wouldn’t leave me in the quiet place.” His forehead presses to mine, his skin slick and cold. “But you did.”
My throat shatters. The memory glitches, a strobe-light effect of past and present. The chapel door. The sound of counting—one, two, three.The suffocating heat of a hand over my mouth. The braid slipping loose as I turned to run. I don’t know if it’s mine. I don’t know if it’s his. I don’t know if it’s a nightmare we’ve both been living since we were seven years old.
“I—” I choke, the words tasting like dust. “I didn’t?—”
“You left me there.”
His voice cuts sharp, a razor across the skin.
“You forgot me there.”
His hands fist in my hair, pulling my head back until I’m forced to look into the hollow abyss of his eyes. His mouth crashes to mine again, sharp, filthy, brutal. A collision of guilt and starving need.
“You begged me to be quiet.” His breath breaks against my lips.“You told me it would save us.”
My ribs collapse. The words don’t make sense. But they do. They do. They are the only things that make sense in this room full of flickering screens and iron links. The memory flickers: my hand covering his mouth, my voice a frantic, weeping whisperbegging him to stay still, stay quiet, stay good. The quiet place. The promise to come back with help.
Did I say that? Did I leave him there to endure the worship while I ran for the sunlight? Did I leave him with him?
My stomach twists. My pulse snaps. Damien’s mouth trails over my jaw, down my throat, tracing the line of my collarbone before settling over the scar on my ribs.
“You promised you’d save me.” His voice splinters, a hollow, echoing sound. “But you didn’t.”
