Page 23 of Eternal
It was quiet when he stopped moving.
And so, I turned to her. Brittany laid there, pretending to sleep, as she always did. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, but I knew she was awake.
She always was.
Awake, aware, andcomplicit.
Ten years, I stayed in that house, swallowing the agony, letting it fester, letting it break me apart, piece by piece. I’d endured every touch, every cruel word, every fucking violation, while she closed her eyes and pretended it wasn’t happening, while she even participated.
I could’ve left her out of it, I could’ve spared her.
But silence is its own crime, and no woman should ever close her eyes while others suffer.
I moved to her side after that, that night, my bloodied hand tightening around the knife. She didn’t flinch when I leaned over her, didn’t open her eyes.
“You always pretended not to see,” I whispered. “But I see you. I see what you are. Abitch.”
Her breath hitched then, barely, but it was enough to make me press the blade to her throat, to make me do what needed to be done.
She didn’t scream, didn’t fight. Maybe she thought she deserved it, or maybe she was just too much of a coward.
Either way, I didn’t stop until her blood joined his, pooling in the bed where they’d slept peacefully for years while I shattered, over and over.
When it was done, I stood there for a moment, staring at the mess I’d made. The blood. The bodies. The silence.
It didn’t feel like victory, it didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like the beginning.
I wiped the blade clean on his shirt, then I turned and walked out of that house, leaving behind the broken pieces of the girl I’d been.
Because she was gone after that.
And I wasn’t looking back.
It was my own gift to myself for my birthday. Fireworks erupted everywhere in the city that night, like everyone was celebrating what happened, their death.
The only thing that kept me going for the next five years was the result of that night, the delicate thought that one day the people who hurt me and poisoned my life would see what I’ve become.
I know I’m psychotic. It’s a fact I’ve accepted honestly.
I hate them all, every single one. The women who feign compassion and benevolence, the men who believe they’re invulnerable and untouchable no matter what they do, the politicians who manipulate and deceive.Everyone.
They’re simply pieces on a board, and I have no emotional attachment to any of them.
And maybe that’s why I love this place, most of the people at the dinner here are like me.Detached.
Vik sits at the far end of the table in the dinner room, glass in hand, his trademark insolent smirk plastered across his face. I know that smirk all too well, the kind that says he’s going to annoy me just because he missed me, I could draw it from memory.
“Look at that, the woman who avoids me,” he quips, lifting his glass in a mock salute.
A laugh escapes me as I approach him. “I’m not doing well with weird guys. How’s the second-in-command holding up now that his best friend’s back?”
He lets out a low chuckle, pulling out the chair next to him and Katarina. “Feeling like I could declare war on the world. Confidence levels are dangerously high right now.”
I let out a dry laugh, slipping into the seat. “Yeah, I know. I tend to have that effect on men.”
Katarina leans in to kiss my cheek. “Oh, trust me,Visha, you havequitethe effect on men.” Then she whispers, “Missed you, you idiot.”
