Page 208 of Eternal
Was it the first time he touched me?
The first time he whispered my name like it meant everything to him while telling me he was lying all that time?
Or was I doomed the moment I let myself believe I could have something that wasn’t pain?
I hate him for it, I hate him for proving me right.
You trusted him…
Trust is just another way to destroy yourself. A slow, painful death, one you walk into willingly, smiling, convinced it won’t happen to you, but it always does.
My mom drowned herself in alcohol because of it, because of the trust she had in justice, in good things, in the system and in her own power to change the world.
But it was an illusion.
She drowned in that alcohol, in pills, in everything she used to keep the truth at bay. And it consumed her, rotted her from the inside out.
Trust is a poison disguised as a promise, and I was stupid enough to drink it.
I drank and drank until it made me sick, until I wanted to kill him, until I tried. But it’s not just him, it’s not just this, it’s me.
Because maybe, beneath the abuse and the trauma, some stupid part of me still thought she could find something real. That she could find a man who wouldn’t hurt me, who wouldn’t feel like pain, someone who could maybe, just maybe, love me one day.
I was wrong.
I don’t think I’m capable of love, not the way people talk about it, not the way they write songs and poetry, setting themselves on fire just to feel it. I don’t have that in me, I don’t know if I ever did.
Love has always felt like a lie, a dream, a pretty one, a warm one. But one that asks too much of me, that demands a softness I no longer have. Maybe I did, once, maybe before the blood, before the loss, before the war inside my own skin.
And even if I could love, would I deserve it? Would I even know what to do with it?
I don’t know how to be vulnerable without expecting a knife in my back. I don’t know how to let someone touch me without bracing for pain, how to love without waiting for the betrayal.
And that’s not love at all, that’s just another kind of lost freedom.
So, I kissed him, touched him, gave him my body and soul, after almost killing him. He welcomed it, kissed me back and worshiped my body for what felt like an eternity, and I left him there, alone.
Because I hated him for it, and I missed him for the exact same reasons.
The night is cold today.
I cried and destroyed my house before almost fucking the man who put me in that state.
Says a lot about me, desperate for love… fucking pathetic.
I came here because I needed to see the irises, I needed to see them.
Viktor opened without even asking what’s happening and hugged me before letting me go to the garden.
I sat on the small steps, where the dogs were playing nearby. Mischka looked at me like she knew I wasn’t doing well, she tilted her head quietly and started licking my hands, Notch just sat next to me, they felt it maybe…
They were always the one thing that felt real, like something that couldn’t be broken or taken away. My fingers absently stroked their soft fur, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept coming back.
I just… I just want this to change, everything. I want to fall asleep without nightmares. I want to wake up and not hyper fixate on covering every scar I had on me. I want to hear someone say they love me without hearing it come with a price. I want a beach house, my dogs, and the kind of life where you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder for the next betrayal.
I wantnormal.
And then, I felt the warmth of a blanket draped over my shoulders. Viktor sat beside me, stretching his long legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “You look like shit,” he said.
