Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
-Thalia-
The sound of his weight scraping against the ground sends shivers down my spine as we chain him to the heavy chair bolted to the floor.
Damian’s head lolls to the side, blood smeared across his face like a macabre mask, but the rise and fall of his chest is a haunting reminder that he is still alive.
I stand over him, my wrists throbbing and heart pounding incessantly in my chest, feeling the rage coiling tightly inside me like a serpent ready to strike.
Xander’s presence behind me is a steady wall of strength, his hand brushing against the small of my back, a grounding connection in this chaotic moment.
“You wanted your chance,” he murmurs. “When he wakes up, it’s yours.”
I don’t expect the silence to be so loud. Even unconscious, Damian radiates the kind of wrongness that fills the room like smoke.
Xander’s hand brushes my back once.
I straighten.
The moment he stirs, something primal sparks in me.
For the first time, I am not trapped in his story.
He is trapped in mine.
A fierce sense of readiness surges through my veins, igniting a fire that I will not let extinguish until I reclaim what’s mine.
The heavy sound of chains rattling slices through the stillness of the dimly lit concrete room to snap me into razor-sharp focus.
My heart races as I take in the sight before me.
Damian stirs in the worn chair, blood crusted at the corner of his mouth, his features twisted into a grimace of pain.
His eyelid twitches before the eye opens, unfocused at first. Then he sees me, really sees me, and something sharp and malicious sparks in his gaze.
“Back where we started,” he croons.
“No,” I say softly. “Not even close.”
Because this time, I’m not the one chained down.
One of his eyes is swollen shut, but even in this weakened state, he manages to curl his lips into a mocking smirk the moment he realizes what I’ve done.
“Well, well,” he rasps, his voice thick with arrogance that stings like poison even now. “Didn’t think you had it in you, princess. Dragging me here, chaining me up… Guess I taught you something after all.”
My stomach twists, but I refuse to let his words unnerve me. Xander hovers like a protective shadow at my back, close enough for me to sense the heat radiating from his body but far enough that this moment is entirely mine.
“Shut up,” I whisper, my voice low and laced with barely contained fury. He chuckles, the sound broken and guttural, reverberating off the bare walls.
“You think you’re scary? You’ll never be anything but a trembling little girl who begged me to stop.”
My trembling halts.
That’s what he never understood; shaking isn’t weakness.
Shaking is adrenaline preparing the body to survive.
Trembling is the prelude to teeth.
“You should have worried when I stopped begging.”
His smile falters.
Good.
Every nightmare, every flashback, every sleepless night, it all funnels into this moment. My mind fractures under the weight of emotion, splintering into a thousand jagged thoughts.
I don’t just want him to hurt.
I want him to know what it feels like to be powerless.
A surge of adrenaline ignites my veins, pushing me forward, my hand flying across his face in a sharp slap that echoes in the silence.
The crack of my palm against his skin resonates in the concrete room like a gunshot, and his head jerks to the side, blood spraying from his split lip. But even then, he’s still smiling.
“You can’t hurt me, Thalia. You’ll never—”
I interrupt him by slamming my knee into his gut, cutting his words short. He doubles over, chains clinking with a harsh rattle, while rage courses through me, hotter than fear, igniting every nerve ending. In this moment, I’m not the one cowering. I refuse to be at his mercy anymore.
“You don’t get to own me,” I spit, thrusting his head back against the chair so hard that the wood creaks beneath him. “You don’t get to live inside my nightmares. You don’t get to breathe when I still choke on what you did to me.”
Damian wheezes, struggling for breath as he coughs up blood, yet his twisted grin lingers, mocking me. “If you were stronger, you’d finish it. But you won’t. You don’t have the guts.”
I grab Damian’s gun, pointing it at him. The simple pull of a trigger, and it could all be over.
“Thalia, wait.” Xander’s voice falters. It’s the first crack in his armor. I lower the gun, looking at him. “Think about what this will do to you,” he whispers. “You’re not like me.”
I freeze for a moment, his words sinking deep like a knife, but then a smile creeps across my face. A cold, jagged smile that feels foreign and terrifying on my lips. “You’re wrong,” I whisper, looking at Damian.
Xander’s voice cuts through the tension behind me. “Do what you need to, baby. I’m here.” He says it casually like the sentence doesn’t gut me open.
I put down the gun, deciding he doesn’t get to have a quick ending but instead a drawn-out, painful one.
With a steadying breath, I grab the knife from the table, a weapon I know too well, the same blade Damian once pressed against my skin, a reminder of the torment he inflicted.
The weight of it in my hand is grounding, and for the first time, I feel a surge of power.
I can see the fear flash in Damian’s eyes as they dart to the knife, a crack in the facade of his arrogance.
“Thalia…” he starts, desperation creeping into his voice, but I don’t let him finish.
I press the blade against his chest, slicing through the fabric of his shirt with a deliberate motion. The first cut is shallow yet purposeful. His body jerks against the chains, the metal clinking as he struggles, but he’s trapped, powerless.
“You made me bleed,” I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and liberation. “Now it’s your turn.”
As I press the knife against his collarbone, a thin line of red blooms beneath the edge. My hands tremble, but it isn’t fear; it’s the release of torment, nights filled with terror, and months of suffocating silence, all pouring out of me in one cathartic moment. I make small cuts with each word.
“You wanted to break me,” I whisper, leaning close enough for him to see the fire blazing in my eyes, powerful and unyielding. “But I survived you. And now…” My voice hardens, filled with raw emotion. “I’ll end you.”
I don’t hesitate.
Not because I’m fearless, but because I’m finally done letting fear dictate my choices.
Every scar he carved into me was a message.
You’re powerless.
Every breath I draw now is my answer.
Not anymore.
In one swift motion, I drive the blade into his chest, again and again. With one last stab, I twist it with a feeling of finality. The sound is wet and gurgling, a gruesome symphony that echoes around us. His body jerks before going still, his defiance extinguished.
I stagger back, the knife slipping from my blood-soaked hands to clatter against the concrete floor. My chest heaves, my whole body shaking as the weight of what I’ve just done crashes over me. Damian is dead. And I killed him.
The world doesn’t stop.
It should.
It should split open or explode or swallow him into whatever hell he deserves.
But instead, the room stays the same.
Concrete walls.
Harsh light.
Blood on my hands.
I stare at them, my fingers, my palms, the life that used to live inside him staining my skin.
I expect to feel victorious.
Instead, I feel emptied.
Like I poured out everything inside me just to make space for silence.
That silence is louder than any scream. I hear the blood dripping onto concrete, a slow, steady rhythm, proof that what just happened wasn’t a hallucination.
My breath shudders out of me.
I expect to feel remorse.
I don’t.
For a moment, I can only stare at his lifeless form, a mixture of disbelief and relief washing over me. The man who haunted me, who destroyed my life, who thought he would always own me, is gone. Just like that.
Xander steps forward, his arms wrapping around me before my knees can give out.
He pulls me against his chest, not caring about the blood that soaks my clothes, his warmth surrounding me, his blood mixing with mine in a visceral testament to our shared trauma.
His arms wrap around me slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll crumble if he moves too fast.
But I don’t crumble.
I melt.
Because the moment his chest presses to my back, I realize something ugly and beautiful.
I am alive.
My body isn’t a tomb.
My skin isn’t a prison.
Xander holds me like I am something worth saving.
And for the first time, I believe it.
“It’s over,” he murmurs, his voice breaking, filled with emotion. “You did it, baby. It’s over.”
But as I clutch him, sobbing into his shirt, I know in the depths of my heart that it’s not truly over.
The scars Damian left behind will always be mine to carry. Still… for the first time since that night, I finally feel like I can breathe.
Breathing hurts.
Not physically, but emotionally.
Each inhale feels like a confession.
I lived.
Each exhale feels like a promise.
I won’t apologize for surviving.
I don’t know what tomorrow looks like.
Healing doesn’t happen because the monster is gone.
Healing happens because I finally stopped running from the version of me who screamed in the dark.
She gets to rest now.
-Xander-
I’ve never been afraid of blood.
But hers?
It destroys me.
I hold her tighter, wishing I could take every wound, every memory, every nightmare, and lodge them into my own skin instead.
The ride back to the apartment is silent. Thalia sits in the passenger seat, her face calm for the first time in a while, no longer having to look over her shoulder or think about him anymore.
I keep one hand on the wheel and the other locked around her thigh, thumb stroking in slow, grounding circles.
We don’t talk during the drive home; I wouldn’t even know what to say. She just sits there, not even moving to look out of the window. She doesn’t need to. The world outside feels irrelevant at this moment. All that matters is that she’s not in that basement anymore.
-Thalia-
When we arrive at the apartment, we both shower, washing the events of tonight off before lying beside each other in bed.
The silence enveloping the apartment is profound, almost suffocating, each moment stretching like an unending echo.
I lay here, ensconced in Xander’s strong embrace, my head nestled against the solid warmth of his chest. Beneath my ear, his heartbeat thrums with a reassuring steadiness, a rhythmic reminder of life amidst the turmoil swirling in my psyche.
Damian is gone, vanished from my world forever.
And I was the one who ended his reign of terror.
The gravity of that thought reverberates through my mind, a relentless mantra.
I can still feel the cold, hard knife in my hand, the warm blood coating my skin, the life ebbing away from him, and the way his arrogant smirk faded to nothing.
Each repeat of the memory brings forth a haunting blend of horror and an unsettling sense of relief.
Xander, ever sensitive to the storm raging within me, presses a soft kiss to the crown of my head.
His thumb moves in gentle circles against my hip, as if he could somehow ease the tempest that churns within me.
“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against my raw nerves.
“He can’t hurt you anymore.” I clamp my eyes shut, the concept of ‘safe’ feeling alien and distant, a stark contrast to the chaos I’ve endured.
“But I killed him,” I manage to murmur, my voice cracking, raw with the strain of my emotions. “What does that make me?” Guilt and fear twist like serpents in my gut, and the weight of death presses heavy on my conscience.
Xander draws back just enough to catch my gaze, tilting my chin so that I’m forced to meet his intense eyes, a mesmerizing blend of green and brown, steady and fierce, the kind that seems to pierce right through the fear.
“It makes you a survivor,” he asserts firmly, his voice unwavering. “You’re someone who has reclaimed her power. He stole so much from you, Thalia, but you took back the one thing he never thought you could.”
My eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and I find myself nodding, as if trying to convince both him and myself that he might be right. Maybe I am more than just the sum of my actions.
Xander cradles my face, his forehead pressing against mine, an intimate gesture that grounds me. “I’ll carry this with you,” he promises, his voice low and sincere. “Every shadow, every scar. You don’t have to face it alone.”
The suffocating fear begins to loosen its grip, and the bond that ties us together tightens with unyielding strength.
Driven by a sudden, overwhelming urge, I kiss him, desperate and messy but entirely real.
He responds with a hunger that takes my breath away, his hands tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left to breathe, no distance between our hearts.
Our clothes drop away like discarded worries, soft thuds against the floor marking the surrender of our boundaries.
His mouth ignites a fire along my throat, his teeth teasingly grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
The roughness of his stubble against my delicate flesh is grounding; it reminds me I am alive, here in this moment.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he breathes into my ear, his voice low and husky, one hand wrapping possessively around my throat, not to restrain but to anchor me in the reality of our connection.
“I’m yours,” I whisper back, my truth spilling forth like a sacred vow. “Always.”
The way he takes me is a tempest of passion, fierce yet tender.
Each thrust feels like a promise carved in stone, every caress serving as a reminder that I am not broken, not lost amidst the wreckage of my past. Even after everything I’ve endured, even with the weight of my actions bearing down on me, I can still embrace love, passion, and the essence of life itself.
When release finally engulfs us, it transcends mere pleasure.
It morphs into liberation, a breaking of chains that have bound me for so long.
Afterwards, we collapse together, limbs entwined in a web of sheets, sweat, and unshed tears.
His arms encircle me like a fortress, his lips brushing softly against my temple.
“It’s just us now,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with both fatigue and fervor, carrying an unwavering conviction. “No more shadows. Just us.”
I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
Not silence.
Not fear.
A heartbeat.
And for the first time since that night, I believe there’s a future worth waking up to. Later, maybe weeks from now, people will ask how I survived.
They’ll want a neat answer.
Strength, maybe.
Resilience.
But that’s not the truth.
I survived because I refused to stay silent.
Because someone loved me enough to fight beside me.
Because I chose myself, even when that choice was ugly and raw and covered in blood.
Survival isn’t beautiful.
But it’s mine.