Chapter 20 – Elijah
20
ELIJAH
W hy is my soul fucking bleeding?
Every edge of my world blurs, I’m blinded by her suffering. Blinded by the way her dark hair fell in that bathtub like some dark shadows. Blinded by her empty gaze, almost dead, begging for salvation, pleading for asylum, for someone to offer her a sweet and brutal deliverance.
Everything fades away, but she remains clear and steady, my focal point.
Seeing her in this state awakens something deep within me— the need to reclaim her soul, own its fractures, and fill it with my existence, returning it whole when our two souls merge as one.
“I hate your tears more than I should,” I confessed. But she’s not listening. Focused on some foreign place, filled with trouble and chaos.
The image of her red eyes, stained with tears and blood, is etched in my mind forever. Red , I can’t see anything else, even with her in my arms, it’s still red all over. Her eyes, her wrist, her nose and lips.
10 . No amber.
Give me colors, Zanae.
For years, I’ve been obsessed, drawn to the need to own her, filled with a strong resentment towards her, thinking she had stolen a part of me.
But I only see pain, only fucking sadness and emptiness.
I hate it.
I didn’t know— I didn’t fucking know.
I need her to see the same rainbow I see with her.
The flame that burns in my soul so brightly for her makes me forget my own vengeance when she’s nearby.
Her scent screams at me to follow her wherever she’s going. Freaking vanilla and musk.
I want her to understand that every aspect of her existence deserves to flourish—the damn sound of her when she laughs, the tone of her sweet voice, the steady beat of her heart, and that unique character that leaves me questioning everything.
Her darkness deserves to be embraced.
Destructive and fierce. My pretty nemesis is unaware of the warmth she provides.
I witnessed it with her friend Miranda and her son, and even with Niko. I see how they are comforted by her. I hate to admit it, I fucking despise it, but this woman right here isn’t the woman I hate.
She’s the girl that made the monster calm down just by having her headphones and sitting on a bench reading her books. She’s the obsession I’m battling so hard.
In her own way, she’s reviving my soul, with her fire and insolence. She has found a way to evoke emotions I thought were lost to me in this lifetime.
I gaze into her red eyes, filled with tears, and I feel compelled to do everything in my power, even challenging the gods, if necessary, to never see an ounce of red on her.
Fuck, I just want to see amber, that honey color that makes me dive into the deepest corners of my own head and feed my monster with her light.
Maybe amber is my favorite color after all.
I want to make her desire to feel again, to live again. I want her to know that with me, no one will harm her or hurt her. I failed once, years ago, but not now. Never again.
I want to be the one to make her heart beat again. To be in control of every breath she takes and every smile or laugh, every-fucking-thing.
She’s mine and I don’t let what’s mine suffer.
I can’t stop myself from wanting her. I need her. I fucking do.
I trace her face with my fingers, she’s so beautiful that it’s infuriating, a piece of art, a beauty that couldn’t be described by the greatest poets themselves.
She looks at me, her amber eyes almost ruined, full of abandonment and brimming with sorrow.
I gently kiss her temple, savoring the way she feels under my hands. How well she fits between my arms, owned and protected by me.
My desires extend to infinity when it comes to that human.
I crave everything she is willing to offer.
That’s an obsession. She’s dominating my emotions like a persistent and irrational thought, a fixation impacting my very way of thinking.
There’s nothing healthy about the way I view her existence. My body craves her, my mind echoes her voice, my eyes see only her, and my heart comes alive only when she’s near.
Vengeance doesn’t even compare to her.
It’s a sickness and I can’t help myself from hating that I want her more than anything.
I take her out of the bathtub; her head finds refuge against my heart. Her long hair brushes against my arms, feeling like a silk drape against my skin. The bandage on her wrist is soaked in blood.
I can’t believe I fucking overlooked this part of her life. She’s suffering for way too damn long to the point of inflicting this upon herself.
Her eyes close as I gently lay her in bed. I stroke her face one last time before standing up, allowing her to drift into sleep.
I’m about to go back to my room, when she grabs my arm and, half-asleep, and asks, “Stay with me until I fall asleep, please, they’re quiet when you’re here.”
She’s so vulnerable, it’s killing me.
I can’t help myself from kissing her forehead to feel her beneath me. I position myself behind her, holding her waist and gently stroking her hair, as if to lull her.
She falls asleep shortly after, and I then leave the room.
“I’m gonna possess you, Zanae, heal your scars with my darkness, and you’ll never suffer again,” I whisper to her unconscious body.
I don’t fall asleep and make rounds to ensure she is still asleep. I checked her bandage to confirm it doesn’t need changing, and thankfully, the cut wasn’t deep; it should heal quickly. It’s only a few hours later, when I’m certain she is deeply immersed in the world of dreams, that I manage to rest and fucking feel that battle between my heart and my mind.