Page 120 of Eternal
The bruises. The blood. The helplessness.
My throat tightens, and I press my lips together, but a stupid, shuddering breath still slips out.
If I think too hard about it, if I let it settle in my chest, I might actually start laughing.
Or crying.
Maybe both.
Because if this wasGod’s will, then God has a cruel sense of life.
I blink, trying to push the memories down, trying to breathe through the suffocating haze they bring. But they’re there. Always there. In the back of my mind, clawing to break through.
God’s will? That twisted idea that everything bad that happened had a reason.
No. It was control, power, cruelty.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my words coming out colder than I intend. “Sounds like an excuse. That’s all it is. An excuse to do whatever the hell you want.”
“So, you don’t believe it?” He asks, his hand stilling in my hair, fingers frozen at my shoulder like he’s afraid to move any further.
“Religion was never the problem,” I murmured, my voice soft and distant. “When you think about it, it’s a beautiful concept. It’s the way people use it to control, twist it into something...ugly.” I let out a shaky breath, trying to shake off the aching disgust in my chest. “When they say, ‘God’s will,’ it always feels like a way to make the pain feel okay. But it never does.”
I’m almost lost in my thoughts, my mind racing with things I can’t control, things I don’t want to think about. But then Damir’s hand is back in my hair, gently running his fingers through it again, a quiet, soothing rhythm. His touch is light, almost like he’s afraid of disturbing the silence that’s settled between us.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s waiting for me to say more. His fingers don’t stop moving, like he’s trying to pull me back from whatever dark corner my thoughts are drifting into.
I blink, unsure if I’m still awake or if I’ve already started to slip into sleep. “It’s just… It never feels like a real reason. Only... something to make it easier to hurt and explain the abuse.”
The words come out in a rush, like they’ve been trapped inside me for too long.
“I get it,” he murmurs. “People use whatever they can to justify their actions. Makes them feel less guilty for doing what they do. Don’t think about it too much. I stopped trying to understand it long ago.”
“That’s…Sad.”
“Guess we all have our reasons for not believingpartner.”
I rearrange my head on his shoulder, and I can already feel the first light of the day creeping through my windows. What time is it? Is it already 5 AM?
“Why do you have this old blanket on you? Is Vik not paying you enough?”
“It’s not a simple blanket,” I murmur softly, my voice still drowsy. “It’s...important.”
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Important?” he echoes, leaning in a little, the faintest smile playing on his lips. “What’s so special about an old blanket?”
I take in a slow breath, my eyes lowering to the fabric, tracing the worn edges, feeling the familiar weight of it against my skin. “I can smellhimin it,” I say, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “It’s...comforting.”
He leans forward, searching my face with that look of his, the one that feels worried and furious every time he meets my eyes. “Who the hell is this man you can smell?”
I let a small, almost imperceptible smile curl the corners of my lips. “Not aman,” I reply, my voice growing softer. “My little brother.”
The words hurt my throat. They’re fragile and breakable.My little brother…
I wonder if I’ve said too much. But I don’t regret it. He doesn’t need to know the whole story, not yet. I pull the blanket closer to me, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I expected.
Damir doesn’t say anything at first. He simply looks at me, his expression thoughtful, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment longer than usual. Then, slowly, his voice breaks the silence, warm but still carrying that edge of playfulness. “Your brother? You must’ve been really close.”
I nod, the drop of sadness in my smile is still there, but I let it fade quickly, hiding it under layers of indifference and lies. “Yeah,” I murmur, my voice dipping into that quieter lonely space. “Wewere. He’s gone now.”
