Page 134 of Eternal
Then dinner, the most exciting part of the whole week… Maybe after visiting my dogs at the bratva complex.Definitelyafter that.
Same place, every night, the only thing that’s changed is the food. I’d be fine eating a burrito forever, but Damir said I needed to stop being so usual and started picking new things.
So we eat, we talk, we watch the city sprawled out beneath us, and the sky upon us, then he takes me home.
He hasn’t stepped inside since that last time, two months ago. And now that I know what it feels like to have him in, I want him to come back.
Pathetic, right?
I know.
He got me used to it, his presence, the laughs on that bench, the affection, the listening without ever judging.
The only part I’m tired of is the killing.
Not the act itself, I don’t care anymore. I stopped flinching at the sight of blood a long time ago, at the sound of bones breaking, at the way flesh tears like paper when you use your knife. It doesn’t haunt me, if anything, it bores me, the systemboresme.
The way it always unfolds the same way, like a script I’ve memorized too well. A hunt. A kill. A body.Repeat.
I’m tired. Not in the way that makes you stop, but in the way that makes you wonder what happens when you do.
And I know I should be focusing on my next name in the journal, but I think I’m scared.
Maybe that’s why I’m taking my time, because I know damn well that once I finish my real mission, once I cross off the last name on my list, I’ll have my answer, the answer to the only question that’s ever mattered.
And maybe I am also really scared.
Because afterthat, what?
I was born for this… Or at least, I made myself believe I was.
Kill everyone involved that night, all of them and make sure justice is served. But after that? After the last body drops, after the last debt is settled, what the hell am I supposed to do then?
Gosh I hate thinking…
Tonight is the same as every night.
The man in the chair is trembling, his eyes flicking between Damir and I, his chest is rising too fast, too shallow. His wrist is already a mess, twisted, bent where Damir snapped it back an hour ago.
We gave him time. We always do. Time to pay, time to beg. But time runs out.
“Still nothing?” Damir asks, crouching to meet the man’s frantic gaze. He looks okay with this. I thought he’d be less normal with his new job as an enforcer, I thought he lied about his past but maybe he was honest and I’m too paranoid.
His voice is even, smooth, but his fingers are already reaching for the pliers on the table.
The man chokes out a sound, something between a sob and a plea, his forehead presses to the back of his bound hands. “Please… I just need more time, I swear, just…”
More time… More time…
I exhale through my nose. The same thing. The same script.Bored.Fucking bored.
“Time’s up,” I say flatly.
Damir nods, he grips the man’s hand, pressing it to the armrest, fingers splayed on the surface. The man thrashes, tries to pull away, but I press a boot to his knee, and he stills with a whimper.
The pliers make a sharp, scraping noise as Damir adjusts his grip. Then, a crack. A scream. A pinky twisting the wrong way.
I barely blink.
