Page 184 of Eternal
Still here, even after all this time.
I swallowed, knowing I shouldn’t even read it, knowing the words would bury themselves deeper than pain into my bones, knowing it would make me feel too much, and that tonight… I needed to feel nothing.
I’m so scared. Of them. Of myself. Of my own daughter. It’s like a sickness eating me from the inside, taking away everything I’m supposed to feel. I look at my children, their innocent faces, and all I see is blood. Blood on their hands, their necks. My blood. I know it’s not real, but it’s too late. They’ll find me. Azra won’t leave me alone. She’s always in my head. And I can’t stop drinking. I can’t stop the pills, even when they take me under. I slapped her. I know Alexei is trying to keep Eren safe, but Azra… Azra’s always here. She doesn’t understand.
Ididn’t understand.
I cried tonight. I couldn’t breathe through it and screamed into the pillow. My head’s a mess. I feel sick. Azra heard it all. She came over to hug me, but I felt nothing. I was so disgusted with myself, and when I looked at her, all I saw was how much I fucked her up too.
My nails dug into the paper, the words blurred as my vision swam, but I could still feel them. Her words.Herpain.Mypain.
I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not the mother my kids need, I can’t be. Azra is suffering from it, I see her face, her eyes, and all I can think is… how long before I break her too? How long before she looks at me like I look at myself? I never wanted this.
I try to focus, but I can’t.
She was scared too, but she still hurt me, she still destroyed everything that could’ve been. I should feel something, I should feel angry, but instead, I just feel tired. So tired of reading the same things over and over. The apologies, the promises, they never came to anything.
I shouldn’t be crying, not now, not before a job.
But my tears slipped past my lashes, one by one, staining the same spot where hers had dried.
“If our tears mingle on the same page, would it feel like I touched the only part that’s left of you, Mama?” The journal trembled in my hands, or maybe it was just me. “Would we be closer? Would youloveme, then?”
No, she wouldn’t.
Last week, I had to pick a name, to keep going, to keep killing. And who better to kill than an abusive father who thought he could slap my mother because she tried to protect his own daughter from his abuse.
It didn't matter. The man was nothing, another name, another target, another body to add to the list.
And I’m still crying, I think. I cry in silence, letting the smoke curl around my fingers as I light another cigarette. The burn in my chest doesn't come from the cigarette, though, it’s something else, something deeper, I don't care about that now. I don't care about much anymore.
It's been a week since I decided to track this man and let him be the next name on my death list. The guilt was there for a second, but it doesn't stick, it never does. If anything, the kill felt like a release. She would’ve wanted me to do this, at least that's what I told myself. She would've wanted justice, right? She always wanted to protect the weak.
The second cigarette burns down, and I flick the ash, there’s nothing in me that hesitates.
The world keeps turning, people keep dying, and I keep killing.
I look down at the journal again, but there’s nothing left to read, just the name, the case, the plan.
All I have left to do is follow through.
And tonight, I was going to kill a man who had made her cry, it hadn’t taken much to find him.
Men like him never made it hard, they moved through the world with the confidence of someone who had never known consequences.
By day, he was a businessman, powerful, respectable, untouchable. By night, he was something else. Something filthier.
His trail led me to a website, one of those websites, the kind where anonymity gave men like him the space to be who they really were. The kind where masks weren’t worn, but identities were hidden behind usernames and requests. He was looking for an escort, and I simply made sure he found one.
All it had taken was a message, a few carefully chosen words, a promise wrapped in sin.
He had responded within minutes, desperate, and eager.
Be there at midnight. I’ll be waiting.
His confirmation sat on my phone screen. He wanted me there, he thought he was in control, but he had no idea he’d just invited a monster into his home. I just need to keep killing. I have to.
If I stop, even for a second, I’ll feel it, feel something. And I can't let myself feel again, because when I do, the agony, the throbbing, it all comes back, and I can’t go through that again.
