Page 220 of Eternal
I hate that I don’t know everything, that I can’t help her the way I want to. I drag myself up from the floor, every muscle howling, but nothing screams louder than the silence she left behind.
I can’t leave her, not now.
I’m too attached; to her presence, her warmth even when she’s cold, to her eyes, her touch.
I’m addicted to her vulnerability.
To the way her cheeks round when she smiles at me, or when she eats like her world hasn’t ended years ago, the way she makes me feel, the way she fits perfectly beside me.
And I wonder, if I had her that close, would I ever let her go?
Probably not.
Because I’m too far gone, and it’s already too late.
The door’s still locked when I try to open it again.
Nothing.
She probably knew I’d follow, she knew I’d want her, at least Ihopeshe knew it.
I limp to the kitchen, vision going in and out.
Cabinet. Drawer. Closet. Something.Anything.
There, a rusty screwdriver shoved in the back of a drawer. I jam it into the lock, blood soaking through the bandage around me, my hand trembles, my breath is ragged.
Click.
The lock gives.
She didn’t lock me in well enough, or maybe she wanted me to get out.
I pause… something’s off here.
I look around,reallylook.
Some of her clothes are gone, the blanket from the couch…missing, and the journal, the one she keeps like it’s her own bible.Gone.
She’s not just cooling off, she’s fucking running, she’s leaving me. Shehatesme.
I stumble into the bathroom, rip the bandage off and it’s a mess. Blood, half-healed skin, and I smile remembering the way she tried to end me, as if my life was too much for her to handle, like I was asking her to hold onto something she never asked for.
But I’d forget all of that, just for a second, because being with her felt light. Even if I know I’ll have to prove it again and again,that she can trust me, that I understand her, that I don’t give a fuck who she’s killed, because I still want her, all of her.
I find gauze, disinfectant, whatever I can. Re-wrap it tighter this time, my jaw clenches, my hands shake. The pain’s fire under my ribs.
But I move anyway, I have to.
Helmet, floor, where she threw it during the storm. I grabbed it, and limped out the door, down the stairs, out into the cruel, too-soft morning light.
My bike’s still there, she didn’t touch it, but hers isn’t anymore…
I swing my leg over the seat.
Pain shoots through me like a bullet.
“You’re not done,” I mutter.“Not until you find her.”
