Page 136 of Eternal
And nothing’s changed.
Nothing.
I wake up, I follow orders, I pull the trigger, I wipe the blade clean, then I go home.
And they’re still dead.
All of them, dead, gone, buried, bones in the ground while I’m still here, still breathing, still pretending any of this means something.
My hands are the same, stained, cracked, and destroyed from a life that never stopped being cruel. My body is tired. My mind was never coming back.
And my heart… My heart stillbeats.
Like it doesn’t remember how it broke, like it doesn’t care, like it hasn’t figured out it’s got nothing left to beat for.
I close my eyes for a second, breathing, trying not to think about how I still know nothing, no new leads. No new names. Only the same fucking cycle over and over, swallowing me whole.
Kill them. Even if it’s immoral. Repeat.
We’re in front of the HQ, our bikes parked outside, and he’s already cleaning his gun and mine. At first, I hated when he cleaned my guns. As if I couldn’t do it myself. I never asked him for help, I always did it alone.
Ihatedit. The way he always took his time, like it was some kind of ritual. But now? Now I’m sitting on the table, feet dangling off the edge, watching him. It’s almost…calming.
My body is relaxed, and my mind is overthinking but less painfully.
His t-shirt clings to his body, and the tattoos that cover his arms seem to catch my attention with every movement. He’s focused, his long fingers working the gun with precision. His hands are veiny, strong, and when he runs the cloth over the barrel, it’s almost too intimate. The way his hands touch the metal so gently… I can feel it in my chest. He’s got this slow, methodical rhythm to his movements, like he’s savoring the moment, and maybe I’m savoring it, too.
God, it’s been so long since someone touched me like that.
And now, working with him, breathing the same air… it’s suffocating in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
Because he’s aman. And he’s taking care ofme. And it’s too much.
I’m not used to this. I don’t like it, maybe because I know how it ends, with their eyes catching on my scars, with stupid questions that kill the moment, make me want to grab my knife and carve the curiosity out of them, with hands that hesitate, with kisses that mean too much when I want them to mean nothing.
But Damir… he looks at me differently.
Not like I’m fragile, not like I’m broken, like he sees everything and isn’t scared, there’s curiosity, sure, but no pity.
And my heart, stupid as it is, lonely as it feels, recognizes it.
I want to look away, to shut it down before it starts, but my eyes keep finding him, and Ihateit.
Because it makes me feel something, something I thought I would never feel with a man.
Damir seems to notice, his eyes flicking up to catch mine, that small smile creeps onto his lips. “Are you enjoying the view, partner?”
“You’ve got a nice ass,” I say.
He chuckles low, leaning in a little closer. “Oh, now you’re being bold.”
I lean back slightly, still holding his gaze, he’s too close now, but I can’t move. “I’m being honest.”
He laughs, low and knowing, leaning in closer. “Is that all you’re gonna say? Just‘nice ass’?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold my ground, but the way he’s standing there, all close and smug, looking at me like he knows exactly how this is making me feel, makes it hard to think straight. “I mean... it’s areallyreally good ass,” I say. “Wouldn’t want you to think it’s not getting noticed.”
“Oh, I know it’s getting noticed,” he murmurs. “You’re not the only one,partner.”
