Chapter 24 #2
I curl up against the wall, feeling the rough texture dig into my back, my arms wrapped tightly around my chest as if I could contain the quaking within.
The wall is cold against my spine. I use it to anchor myself to reality, to this moment, to the proof that I am still here.
Still breathing. Still alive. Beside me, Bella presses against my side, sensing my distress, offering a warmth that contrasts sharply with the chill in the air.
Every horrifying detail replays in my mind like a relentless loop.
His arm pinning me with an overpowering force, the chilling bite of the knife at my skin, the repugnant stench of his breath invading my senses.
Damian, looming over me, asserting his dominance as though I were still his possession.
And then there was Xander, fierce and poised, ready to unleash his wrath upon the monster who had tormented me.
In a moment of desperation, my voice slipped out before my thoughts could catch up, begging him to not go through with it.
Now, those words echo in my mind, tainted with the bitter taste of regret.
Not because I wished for Xander to end Damian’s life; not because I believed that Damian deserves an ounce of mercy.
No, it’s deeper than that. It’s the realization that killing him isn’t Xander’s burden to bear; it's mine.
Damian didn’t shatter Xander; he shattered me.
He stole my safety, my autonomy, my very voice.
He took every breath I once believed belonged solely to me.
He’s the reason my nights are filled with screams, the reason I question every good thing that has ever touched my life like a fragile flower in a storm.
So Xander doesn’t get the honor of ending him.
That would be far too simple for Damian.
Too clean of a solution. If there’s to be a reckoning, it must come from me.
I want to take it back into my own hands, to reclaim my power.
I want him to feel the weight of his actions, to bleed as I bled and to beg like I begged, desperate and vulnerable.
I want him to choke on the very fear he instilled in me, to understand in that final, fleeting moment that there truly is no escape from the consequences of his monstrous deeds.
Xander doesn’t fully grasp this yet. He looks at me as if I’m fragile glass, worried that I’ll splinter apart if he exhales too forcefully.
But beneath the surface, I’m not crumbling.
I’m sharpening, becoming something more formidable.
My hands still tremble when I press them against my face, and I lose myself to sobs, muffled into my palms.
And then, in the dim light at the end of the hall, I see him. Xander. He looks terrifying.
And beautiful. I don’t know what I expected.
But I didn’t expect to feel safe.
His hands are stained red, a testament to the violence he faced, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes darkened with rage and tumult.
In this instant, he appears less like the boy I love and more like a tempest, a swirling fury contained within a human form.
For a brief moment, I struggle to recognize him, the storm inside him so fierce that it seems he could sweep me away.
But then his gaze locks onto mine, and clarity returns. I see him for who he really is: my anchor, my love, the only source of stability in this chaotic brew of emotions.
Blood streaks his jaw, bruises riot across his knuckles, but his eyes? God, his eyes are still gentle when they land on me. He looks like a man who crawled through fire and came out on the other side, still reaching for me.
Yet, as tears continue to stream down my face, I whisper, “Please don’t leave me.”
He doesn’t rush toward me.
He moves slow, hands visible, steps soft, like approaching a frightened animal.
“Thalia. I’m right here.”
When his fingers finally touch mine, it isn’t possessive.
It’s reverent.
Damian may believe he still has a claim over my life, that he can haunt me indefinitely, but I refuse to be his prisoner any longer. I will reclaim what is rightfully mine, even if that path leads me to take his life in the end.
Journal Entry
-Thalia-
Trauma is a thief. It doesn’t just steal peace; it steals time.
Days pass, but I’m still trapped in that night.
I keep replaying it in my mind, the cold steel of the knife pressed mercilessly against my throat, its chilling bite making my skin crawl.
I can remember precisely how his weight felt as it bore down on me, heavy and suffocating, a reminder of my powerlessness.
The smell of his breath still haunts me; it’s a foul mix of stale smoke and something rancid.
It’s as if these memories are carved into my bones, etched so deeply that I can’t scrub them out, no matter how hard I try.
Everyone around me perceives me as fragile glass, convinced that a single push would send me crashing to the ground in a million irreparable pieces. Glass can cut. Glass can kill. They forget that.
Xander hovers nearby, constantly vigilant, while Isla frets with her worried glances, and even my therapist regards me with a care that suggests I’m on the brink of shattering. They don’t understand, though. I’m not breaking. I’m sharpening.
Damian still thinks he owns me; he still believes I’ll forever be that girl on the floor, gasping for air beneath his hand. He thinks fear is a chain that binds me forever. But that night, when I broke free from his grip, something shifted.
I realized I could run. I realized I could fight.
One day, I’ll be the one standing over him. One day, it will be his breath that catches in his throat, his body that trembles with fear. One day, he will be the one begging for mercy. And when that day finally arrives, I won’t hold back.
I am not prey anymore.
The future used to terrify me. Now it’ll terrify him. Because this time, the monster should be afraid of me.
I used to think healing meant forgetting.
Now I know healing means remembering and choosing differently.
Damian haunts my past.
But I will write my future.