Page 73 of Nemesync
She’s the girl that made the monster calm down just by having her headphones and sitting on a bench reading her books. She’s the obsession I’m battling so hard.
In her own way, she’s reviving my soul, with her fire and insolence. She has found a way to evoke emotions I thought were lost to me in this lifetime.
I gaze into her red eyes, filled with tears, and I feel compelled to do everything in my power, even challenging the gods, if necessary, to never see an ounce of red on her.
Fuck, I just want to see amber, that honey color that makes me dive into the deepest corners of my own head and feed my monster with her light.
Maybe amber is my favorite color after all.
I want to make her desire to feel again, to live again. I want her to know that with me, no one will harm her or hurt her. I failed once, years ago, but not now. Never again.
I want to be the one to make her heart beat again. To be in control of every breath she takes and every smile or laugh, every-fucking-thing.
She’s mine and I don’t let what’s mine suffer.
I can’t stop myself from wanting her. I need her. I fucking do.
I trace her face with my fingers, she’s so beautiful that it’s infuriating, a piece of art, a beauty that couldn’t be described by the greatest poets themselves.
She looks at me, her amber eyes almost ruined, full of abandonment and brimming with sorrow.
I gently kiss her temple, savoring the way she feels under my hands. How well she fits between my arms, owned and protected by me.
My desires extend to infinity when it comes to that human.
I crave everything she is willing to offer.
That’s an obsession. She’s dominating my emotions like a persistent and irrational thought, a fixation impacting my very way of thinking.
There’s nothing healthy about the way I view her existence. My body craves her, my mind echoes her voice, my eyes see only her, and my heart comes alive only when she’s near.
Vengeance doesn’t even compare to her.
It’s a sickness and I can’t help myself from hating that I want her more than anything.
I take her out of the bathtub; her head finds refuge against my heart. Her long hair brushes against my arms, feeling like asilk drape against my skin. The bandage on her wrist is soaked in blood.
I can’t believe I fucking overlooked this part of her life. She’s suffering for way too damn long to the point of inflicting this upon herself.
Her eyes close as I gently lay her in bed. I stroke her face one last time before standing up, allowing her to drift into sleep.
I’m about to go back to my room, when she grabs my arm and, half-asleep, and asks, “Stay with me until I fall asleep, please, they’re quiet when you’re here.”
She’s so vulnerable, it’s killing me.
I can’t help myself from kissing her forehead to feel her beneath me. I position myself behind her, holding her waist and gently stroking her hair, as if to lull her.
She falls asleep shortly after, and I then leave the room.
“I’m gonna possess you, Zanae, heal your scars with my darkness, and you’ll never suffer again,” I whisper to her unconscious body.
I don’t fall asleep and make rounds to ensure she is still asleep. I checked her bandage to confirm it doesn’t need changing, and thankfully, the cut wasn’t deep; it should heal quickly. It’s only a few hours later, when I’m certain she is deeply immersed in the world of dreams, that I manage to rest and fucking feel that battle between my heart and my mind.
21
ZANAE
The morning arrives, and I wake up, remembering yesterday’s night events.
