Page 137 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Heaven Up Here” by Palace

Present

H er steps were slow. Off. Like the blood on her hands weighed more than the rest of her body.

The house was quiet.

The irises on the kitchen table looked back at her.

She stared at them like they might say something.

I locked the door behind us. She stood in the hallway, frozen, swaying slightly like her body hadn’t caught up to itself yet.

I stepped in close and eased the jacket from her shoulders. It slid to the floor with a wet crackle, dried blood pulling at the lining. Her dress clung to her, ruined silk stuck to her skin, soaked through in too many places.

I didn’t flinch. I never did with her.

“Arms up,” I murmured.

She did, wordless. Like her body remembered how.

I pulled the dress over her head slowly. Blood had dried at the hem, sticking to her thighs. The motion peeled it off her skin. She wore only her underwear underneath.

The thigh holster was still strapped tight on her right leg, the blade missing.

Her knees buckled halfway through the movement. I caught her without a sound. One arm under her back, the other beneath her knees.

She let her head drop against my chest, breathing shallow and warm against my collarbone.

I carried her to the bathroom. Set her down gently on the toilet lid. She stared down at the tiled floor like it might open up and swallow her whole.

I knelt.

Undid the straps of the holster with steady fingers, pulled it off and tossed it into the sink.

I peeled off her underwear next. Moved slowly, letting her lift her hips slightly.

She didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak.

I turned the shower on, letting the water run warm. Grabbed a washcloth, soap, then I knelt again.

Her hands first. Blood crusted between her fingers, under her nails. I worked the cloth between each knuckle, wiping slowly.

Her wrists were sore, skin rubbed raw where she’d been gripping the knife too hard or too long.

I moved to her arms, up to her shoulders. Gently.

She was still breathing shallow, but she was here.

When I reached her hair, I cupped her face in my hands and tilted it gently up.

She looked at me. For the first time since we walked in.

“ Okay ?” I asked.

A breath. Just one. Then a nod. Barely.

I helped her into the shower. She stepped in slowly. Didn’t flinch at the warm water.

Her skin went pink where the heat met dried blood. I reached in, soaked her hair, ran shampoo through it with both hands.

She stood still, head bowed. Her back streaked red where blood had dried and run down her spine.

I rinsed her hair. I did it twice. Then soap again. Neck, shoulders, lower. I was gentle with the backs of her knees, her ankles, the spots where bruises were already forming.

She swayed once. I caught her shoulder through the spray, steadied her.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t say anything.

I got her out after. Wrapped her in a towel. Carried her back to the bedroom, bare skin hot from the water, and laid her down on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes followed me now. Tired .

I dried her off and pulled out something light, a cotton top, soft shorts. No bra. No socks.

I dressed her slowly, like she might break if I moved too fast. Pulled her hair back. Ran my fingers through it to get out the last knots. And then braided it. She looked at me while I did it.

I kissed her temple.

“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered. Her voice was raw. “Not inside.”

I nodded once. Changed and put a t-shirt on. Picked up the keys and then we stepped outside, the heat of the night settling heavy on us.

I put on my helmet and helped her with hers, then climbed on my bike. She slid on behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. And exhaled.

The city blurred past as we rode, the noise fading behind. Before we reached the overlook, I pulled off to a small food cart.

“I’ll grab us something,” I said, gently tapping her forehead through her helmet to get her attention.

Her eyes met mine inside the visor, tired, raw, but in that moment, they betrayed a faint drop of a smile.

I brought some food and hit the road again.

When we pulled up to the bench, I got off. So did she. The moment the wind hit her face, she breathed, really breathed.

Then she walked to it and sat. Curled in on herself like she was shrinking from things I couldn't see.

I handed her the drink and the fries before sitting beside her. She leaned into me slowly, like she wasn’t sure I’d hold.

But I did.

She curled in tighter.

I didn’t say “ It’s over. ”

I didn’t say “ It’s okay. ”

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close.

We didn’t talk, we sat there, with the city below us, and the silence between us. Her head on my shoulder, and her breath finally slowing.

She didn’t need promises. She didn’t need lies. She was probably tired of this. Exhausted to try her best and feel like it’s never good enough.

She only wanted this.

Us.

Still alive .

Still here .

The fries were between us, untouched. Her hand was still in mine, cold at first, then a little warmer the longer we sat there.

She didn’t ask me anything. But I spoke anyway.

“You’re not crazy,” I said. “For wanting to hurt them.”

She didn’t look at me. But I saw her jaw tightens slightly.

“I used to think I was,” I added. “For the things I wanted to do. For what I did.”

She turned her head a little, enough for me to catch the edge of her expression under the helmet.

“There was someone,” I continued. “He… he was my oldest friend. Since we were four. Grew up in the same place. Same shit foster system. We made it out together.”

She listened. Quiet, still.

“We worked together later. With my team. Took contracts around the world. One mission landed us in Russia. Small town. Cold as hell. The locals weren’t too friendly, but there was this church that offered shelter. pastor, clean sheets, food. Confession .”

I watched her eyes flick toward me. She didn’t interrupt.

“He went. My friend. I think he only… wanted to tell someone. Something he never said out loud before. I don’t know exactly what he said. All I know is that the next day, he didn’t come back.”

A long pause.

“They found his body strung up outside the church. Message pinned to his chest. Sinner . Turned out the pastor was with the same people we were paid to take down. He handed him over like he was garbage.”

Her fingers twitched in mine. Then held tighter.

“I didn’t stay with the team after that. They didn’t blame me, but I blamed myself. And then… they started dying. One at a time. Jobs gone wrong. No backup. It all unraveled after he was gone.”

She looked down at our hands, at the way they’d woven together without us realizing it.

“You never told me all this,” she said softly.

“I never told anyone .”

She gave the faintest hint of a smile in her eyes. But it was enough. More than enough.

“Do you still see him?” she asked.

“Yeah. A lot.”

She nodded like she understood. Then curled in closer. Shoulder pressed to my chest. Face near my neck.

Then she whispered, “What was his name?”

I exhaled through my nose. “Vlad.”

She took my hand and gently pointed our fingers toward a star overhead. “Then we’ll name this one Vlad.”

I love her. That’s just… clear . No doubt.

I love everything about her, even the shit she drags with her. Maybe that’s why I bought this place.

A few days ago.

She was asleep in my arms. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she needed.

It’s not done yet. The walls in the hallway are blue. Not quite right, needs another coat.

The garden’s a mess. Wild. But there’s this view… past the trees, down the slope.

You can see the lake from here.

Not the ocean, no. But close enough. That’s what got me.

It’s far from the city. Far from Viktor and Kat. But… when I saw it? I knew she’d like it.

I want it ready for her birthday.

Something soft. Something safe. A home .

There’s this old swing in the garden, rusty, still hanging.

I want to fix it up. Picture her there, headphones on, eyes half closed, breathing it in.

I’m putting up a big shelf for her vinyls.

And the bedroom has this window in the ceiling, you can see the stars through it.

And irises. I looked up how to grow irises, purple ones.

She doesn’t know any of this. Not yet.

But she will.

And I hope, when she sees it, it’ll feel like home.

Fourth of July. Fireworks. Her birthday. We’ll celebrate it because my partner deserves it.

We stayed like that for a while. Her hand in mine.

Then I shifted slightly, leaned closer, voice low. “I don’t want you to drown in whatever these thoughts are.”

She blinked slowly. Like coming back to her body.

“You’re not what your mind tells you,” I added. “Not the worst parts. Not the voice that lies when it’s too much.”

She let out a short, shaky breath. A laugh, bitter, quiet. “I’m what my eyes can see,” she said. “A monster. It’s too late.”

I shook my head. No .

Then I pulled her gently, guiding her to sit on my lap, straddling me. Her legs around my hips, her hands loose at my sides. I framed her face with both hands. Such a pretty sad face.

She met my eyes, reluctant, like she wasn’t sure she deserved to.

“Talk nicely about my partner,” I said.

That made her pause. And then a soft chuckle escaped her lips.

“There,” I said. “That’s better.”

She breathed out, eyes flicking down. Her forehead touched mine. “Why are you like this with me?” she whispered.

“You’re home to me,” I said, brushing her cheek with my thumb. “You’re the only person who matters.”

She swallowed. Blinked fast. Then said, “They deserved it, right?”

I nodded slowly. “As much as you deserve to be happy.”

Her eyes finally shined, not with tears, not yet, but with something softer. The fear giving way to something else. Hope .

I kissed her slowly and carefully.

“Promise?” she breathed against my mouth.

A smile tugged at mine as I took her hand and hooked our pinkies. “We’re eternal, I promise.”