Page 410 of Eternal
“You need to stop, Azra,” I say. I’m not scolding her. I’m… scared for her.
She doesn’t argue.
“I want to,” she says. “I promise.”
I wrap my arm tighter around her shoulder, pull her in closer like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I loosen up even a little.
“How did it start?” I ask, not sure I want to know, but knowing I have to.
She hesitates. The cigarette burns between her fingers, smoke curling near her face. Then,
“Willingly? When I was fourteen,” she says. “Foster house. He used to give me pills or force meth in my veins when… when he didn’t want me to scream. Or if his friends came over. Sometimes alcohol. Just enough to knock me out.”
I freeze, my hand stills in her hair, and my chest turns to stone.
“I didn’t even know what half the stuff was,” she continues. “But later I started taking it myself. Stuff from their bathroom. Medicine cabinet. Painkillers, sleep meds. I’d pocket bottles when no one was looking.”
I squeeze her a little, not enough to hurt, simply to remind her I’m still here, listening, not going anywhere.
“I started drinking whenever I could get my hands on it. By the time I was fifteen, I had someone at school who’d sell me stuff. Pills. Bottles. Whatever. It wasn’t even about escaping anymore. I think I only wanted to disappear.”
“And then?” I whisper. I shift on the couch, pulling her closer, arms around her like a shield I wish I could've been back then. She takes a drag of her cigarette, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window, lost in whatever past is gripping her.
“I was seventeen,” she says quietly. “That night, when he almost killed me.”
My breath catches. My fingers tense in her hair.
“I didn’t even want the baby,” she continues. “But it still… It still hurt. My body mourned it even if I didn’t get the chance to. And after that night, I knew I wouldn’t be able to have any. That something in me was broken for good.”
She says it without shaking, without tears. Like it’s something she’s told herself enough times to numb the sting. But I feel it, raw and jagged under every word.
“I drank everything I had in my room. Mixed pills. Stumbled into the bathtub and let it all bleed out of me. Woke up a day later. Cold. Alone.”
I pull her tighter, trying not to let my own throat close up. Her voice doesn’t need pity, it needs presence. “And after that?” I manage.
“I stopped for a while. Found Kat. Found Vik. Gave all that rage a target.” She laughs under her breath, bitter and sharp. “Turns out revenge is a hell of a rehab.”
I exhale slowly, forehead resting against hers. “Why now?”
She’s quiet for a long beat. “Now I feel again,” she finally says. “Because of you. And it’s terrifying. I spent so long trying to shut everything off, and now it’s like… every nerve is awake. Every ache, every crack.”
I touch her cheek. “I know.”
She leans into it barely. “I don’t want to become her. My mother. I don’t want to drink myself into silence.”
I follow her gaze to the bottle on the counter.
“You don’t need it when you’re with me,” I tell her.
She flicks ash into the tray, not meeting my eyes. “I need it when I’m with myself.”
“I need you whole,” I whisper. “Not perfect. Just here. Really here.”
She closes her eyes. “I know.”
I let the words sit there for a moment, then I kissed her forehead, gentle and sure. “Promise me you’ll slow it down. Then I’ll take you somewhere else.”
She opens her eyes, and finally meets mine. “Okay.”
