Page 118 of Scarred in Silence
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Lucien
The road hums beneath the tires like a lullaby I don’t deserve.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles bone-white, jaw locked so tight it feels like my teeth might shatter. The moonlight spills across the hood of the car, slicing the desert in half, and still, I can’t breathe right.
She’s sitting beside me.
Silent.
Watching me the way you watch a bomb tick down.
She doesn’t know that’s what I am. Not really.
I don’t speak. I can’t.
Because if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to stop.
Damien’s face won’t leave me.
That smug fucking smile. That effortless cool. The way he walks through life like he owns it. Like, I was just born to orbit around his shine.
I killed him. I did. I fucking ended him.
And yet… he stood ten feet from me in the lobby of Club Muse like a ghost I forgot to bury deep enough.
The silence between us stretches so long I almost convince myselfI’ve imagined everything. But then Astra speaks.
“You okay?”
I laugh. It slips out without warning—sharp, bitter, and hollow.
“Define okay.”
She doesn’t answer. Smart girl.
I press harder on the gas, watch the desert fly past in streaks of darkness. My throat is dry. My palms are slick. There’s blood in my mouth, but I haven’t been hit. Not tonight.
It’s old blood. Brother blood. The kind that never really washes off.
“I should’ve made sure he was dead,” I say. Quiet. Like I’m confessing something holy.
Astra looks at me, but I keep my eyes on the road.
“I shot him. Twice. Watched him fall. Watched the light leave his eyes.”
I pause.
“Or thought I did.”
She’s quiet. I feel her watching me, and it makes something tighten in my chest. Something ugly. Something alive.
“I did everything right. Everything was the way I was taught. You shoot. You confirm. You walk away.”
I finally glance at her. “But I didn’t drag his corpse to the fire. I didn’t make sure.”
I slam the steering wheel once with my palm, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space.
