Stop being pathetic, Kiara. Do something.
I urge myself and grab the hairbrush in my palm so hard my nails dig into my skin.
Before I can turn around and attack him, he’s already behind me, his chest pressing into my back and his right hand wrapped around my hand holding the brush, our fingers lacing together. His left arm wraps around my torso so tight that if I was breathing before, I’m definitely not breathing now.
His scent coils around me like a blanket, and I know this isn’t in my head.
He is here.
I knew it.
The final realization hits when I see the skin on his hands.
I know those scars. Pale and rough, crawling from his fingertips to his wrists.
The flesh is uneven, glossy in the dim light, laced with veins and a bit of ink. Old burns—healed, but not forgotten. Burns twisted into patterns time never smoothed out. The scars look like melted lace.
I remember his touch. The way his hands used to graze my skin, before they turned into weapons. The ragged scars I felt on my body six years ago are now just covered in more veins and ink.
I knew it.
A wave of relief hits me, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I knew he was alive.
The confusing rush disappears instantly when I realize he’s probably here to kill me.
I feel my body already giving up, my legs losing their hold beneath me, but he somehow keeps me upright, pressed to his chest. His grip on my hand tightens until I drop the brush into the sink, and he snaps my hand to my belly, pressing me to his body so tightly that I start feeling dizzy.
I’m not sure if this is really happening or if the insanity finally took over.
He gave me something.
He drugged me. He fucking drugged me.
I can’t hold on.
I manage to blurt out words, but I’m not sure they’re even audible. “You.”
Heaviness settles in my head. I think I’m going to faint.
Hold on, Kiara, just fucking do something.
“I knew it,” I mumble, barely audible.
I feel my body completely shutting down, my legs no longer holding me, my hands limp. I’m just frozen in his hold. His broad chest is right behind my back, and my head falls backward, no longer able to hold itself, landing on his shoulder.
My eyes are closing, but I fight it. I don’t want to go like this.
I open my eyes, but my vision is so blurred I think it’s already a dream when I look up and finally see his eyes.
Green, but so dark they look black, framed by long, thick lashes. But I can see the forest green. It was always there, like a glimpse of light.
Is it pain I see in his eyes?
His jaw tightens as he keeps looking at me.
As much as I want to, I can’t keep my eyes open, and I fall into the darkness.
