Page 119 of Eternal
He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through his chest. “This is me being nice,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not a trustworthy person.”
I try to smile, but it’s weak. “Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid enough to trust you.”
Damir’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile, but his fingers move again, resting lightly on my arm. “You look tired and thoughtful.”
I blink, trying to stay awake, but my body’s having none of it. “I’m tired, yes,” I mutter, my words slurring a little. “And…overthinking.”
He tilts his head slightly, a touch of amusement in his voice. “What are you overthinking? Couldn’t be about me, right?”
“No, definitely not about you,” I reply, a shy laugh escaping as I shift closer, my head unconsciously leaning toward his shoulder. “Just stupid, irritating and useless stuff…Actually, it could’ve been you.”
His smile fades, a touch of concern creeping into his voice as he shifts, pulling me closer. “Yeah, well, let's forget about what you said at the end. But I’ll need details,partner,” he says, his shoulder solid against my cheek, his hand still gently brushing through my hair.
“God…I wouldn’t even know how to explain it.”
He’s still staring at me, and I’m too tired to care.
“Do you believe in any of that God stuff?”
The question catches me off guard.
I blink slowly, exhaustion settling into my bones. “No. Not really.” My voice feels distant, like it isn’t even mine. The words drift from my lips, hollow and uncertain. I want to curl deeper into the blanket, deeper into him, to disappear into his warmth, but I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes, letting him lull me with the soft drag of his fingers through my hair, chasing away the fog creeping into my mind.
I want tobelieve.
I want to have something to hold onto, some assurance that the people I’ve lost are somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by pain. But how can I, knowing how cruel this world is? If God is real, if He’s watching, then He stood by as everything fell apart. He let people suffer. He letmesuffer. And if I ask why, all I get issilence.
Still, the thought of nothing terrifies me more.
Because if there’s nothing after this, no heaven, no afterlife, no second chances, then I’ll never know if my family is resting. I’ll never know if they’re finally free from the weight of this world. I’ll never get to feel that moment of relief, that whisper of peace, knowing they are somewhere good.
But Ican’tsay that.
I need to hold on to a drop of hope, no matter how small. Because if nothing exists after death, then I’ll never know if they’re finally at peace.
Damir doesn’t press further, he lets the silence settle. But then he says, quietly, “Knew a guy once. He used to say everything was God’s will. Even the shitty stuff.” There’s a strange weight in his voice, but I don’t look at him. “Have you ever heard that?‘God’s will’?”
I don't look at him, but his words sink deep, making my chest tighten.
God’s will.
God’s will.
God’s will.
I can almost hear his voice in my head, as he repeated those words over and over, his hands crawling over me while I screamed for help silently.
I still hear them. When I close my eyes. When the room gets too quiet. When I remember the way he made me wander through that house naked, forced to obey, to please anything he wanted. I didn’t even understand what it meant. I was too young to know why my newfatherwanted me to put his thing in my mouth, calling it a “game.” Too young to understand why he hurt me, why I bled, why I wasn’t allowed to say no.
That cross dangled against my skin the whole time. Heavy. Cold.Watching.
I remember crying, telling him I didn’t want to play anymore, that it hurt, that I was scared. But he only whispered those same words, over and over again.
“Let me do it. It’s God’s will.”
I almost want to laugh.God’s will.
Like it was supposed to mean something. Like it was supposed to justifyeverything.
