Page 46 of Eternal

I blink slowly, exhaustion settling into my bones.

“No. Not really.” My voice feels distant, like it isn’t even mine.

The words drift from my lips, hollow and uncertain.

I want to curl deeper into the blanket, deeper into him, to disappear into his warmth, but I don’t.

Instead, I close my eyes, letting him lull me with the soft drag of his fingers through my hair, chasing away the fog creeping into my mind.

I want to believe .

I want to have something to hold onto, some assurance that the people I’ve lost are somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by pain.

But how can I, knowing how cruel this world is?

If God is real, if He’s watching, then He stood by as everything fell apart.

He let people suffer. He let me suffer. And if I ask why, all I get is silence .

Still, the thought of nothing terrifies me more.

Because if there’s nothing after this, no heaven, no afterlife, no second chances, then I’ll never know if my family is resting.

I’ll never know if they’re finally free from the weight of this world.

I’ll never get to feel that moment of relief, that whisper of peace, knowing they are somewhere good.

But I can’t say that.

I need to hold on to a drop of hope, no matter how small. Because if nothing exists after death, then I’ll never know if they’re finally at peace.

Damir doesn’t press further, he lets the silence settle. But then he says, quietly, “Knew a guy once. He used to say everything was God’s will. Even the shitty stuff.” There’s a strange weight in his voice, but I don’t look at him. “Have you ever heard that? ‘God’s will’ ?”

I don't look at him, but his words sink deep, making my chest tighten.

God’s will.

God’s will.

God’s will.

I can almost hear his voice in my head, as he repeated those words over and over, his hands crawling over me while I screamed for help silently.

I still hear them. When I close my eyes.

When the room gets too quiet. When I remember the way he made me wander through that house naked, forced to obey, to please anything he wanted.

I didn’t even understand what it meant. I was too young to know why my new father wanted me to put his thing in my mouth, calling it a “game.” Too young to understand why he hurt me, why I bled, why I wasn’t allowed to say no.

That cross dangled against my skin the whole time. Heavy. Cold. Watching .

I remember crying, telling him I didn’t want to play anymore, that it hurt, that I was scared. But he only whispered those same words, over and over again.

“Let me do it. It’s God’s will.”

I almost want to laugh. God’s will.

Like it was supposed to mean something. Like it was supposed to justify everything .

The bruises. The blood. The helplessness.

My throat tightens, and I press my lips together, but a stupid, shuddering breath still slips out.

If I think too hard about it, if I let it settle in my chest, I might actually start laughing.

Or crying.

Maybe both.

Because if this was God’s will , then God has a cruel sense of life.

I blink, trying to push the memories down, trying to breathe through the suffocating haze they bring. But they’re there. Always there. In the back of my mind, clawing to break through.

God’s will? That twisted idea that everything bad that happened had a reason.

No . It was control, power, cruelty.

“Yeah,” I murmur, my words coming out colder than I intend. “Sounds like an excuse. That’s all it is. An excuse to do whatever the hell you want.”

“So, you don’t believe it?” He asks, his hand stilling in my hair, fingers frozen at my shoulder like he’s afraid to move any further.

“Religion was never the problem,” I murmured, my voice soft and distant.

“When you think about it, it’s a beautiful concept.

It’s the way people use it to control, twist it into something.

.. ugly .” I let out a shaky breath, trying to shake off the aching disgust in my chest. “When they say, ‘ God’s will, ’ it always feels like a way to make the pain feel okay. But it never does.”

I’m almost lost in my thoughts, my mind racing with things I can’t control, things I don’t want to think about.

But then Damir’s hand is back in my hair, gently running his fingers through it again, a quiet, soothing rhythm.

His touch is light, almost like he’s afraid of disturbing the silence that’s settled between us.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s waiting for me to say more. His fingers don’t stop moving, like he’s trying to pull me back from whatever dark corner my thoughts are drifting into.

I blink, unsure if I’m still awake or if I’ve already started to slip into sleep. “It’s just… It never feels like a real reason. Only... something to make it easier to hurt and explain the abuse.”

The words come out in a rush, like they’ve been trapped inside me for too long.

“I get it,” he murmurs. “People use whatever they can to justify their actions. Makes them feel less guilty for doing what they do. Don’t think about it too much. I stopped trying to understand it long ago.”

“That’s… Sad .”

“Guess we all have our reasons for not believing partner .”

I rearrange my head on his shoulder, and I can already feel the first light of the day creeping through my windows. What time is it? Is it already 5 AM?

“Why do you have this old blanket on you? Is Vik not paying you enough?”

“It’s not a simple blanket,” I murmur softly, my voice still drowsy. “It’s... important. ”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Important?” he echoes, leaning in a little, the faintest smile playing on his lips. “What’s so special about an old blanket?”

I take in a slow breath, my eyes lowering to the fabric, tracing the worn edges, feeling the familiar weight of it against my skin. “I can smell him in it,” I say, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “It’s... comforting. ”

He leans forward, searching my face with that look of his, the one that feels worried and furious every time he meets my eyes. “Who the hell is this man you can smell?”

I let a small, almost imperceptible smile curl the corners of my lips. “Not a man ,” I reply, my voice growing softer. “My little brother.”

The words hurt my throat. They’re fragile and breakable. My little brother…

I wonder if I’ve said too much. But I don’t regret it. He doesn’t need to know the whole story, not yet. I pull the blanket closer to me, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I expected.

Damir doesn’t say anything at first. He simply looks at me, his expression thoughtful, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment longer than usual. Then, slowly, his voice breaks the silence, warm but still carrying that edge of playfulness. “Your brother? You must’ve been really close.”

I nod, the drop of sadness in my smile is still there, but I let it fade quickly, hiding it under layers of indifference and lies. “Yeah,” I murmur, my voice dipping into that quieter lonely space. “We were . He’s gone now.”

Damir doesn’t press me for more. He simply sits there, letting the silence flow.

When he stands up, I barely register it at first, until I see him looking down at me with that concerned look in his eyes.

“You’re tired,” he says quietly, his hand gently brushing against my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I open my mouth to protest, to say that I can walk on my own, that I don’t need him to coddle me, but when I meet his gaze, I falter. There’s something in it, something protective, something that makes me feel safe, despite myself.

“ Damir… ” I start, but my voice is softer than I intended.

“You’re going to listen to me for once,” he murmurs, and before I can argue, he scoops me up, lifting me effortlessly as if I weigh nothing.

I kick my feet in mock protest, though I don’t push him away. “I can walk, you know,” I grumble, but I’m too tired to make it convincing.

“Oh, didn’t know you could.”

He carries me to the room, setting me down gently on the bed, then tucks the blanket around me with a softness that catches me off guard.

“Good night, Voron ,” he says, his voice quieter now, and as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to leave.

“Good night,” I reply, but the words feel too soft, too intimate for the distance I’m supposed to keep. He doesn’t linger long, though I swear I feel his eyes on me for a moment longer than necessary.

It’s stupid. I should be asleep, should push this all away. But instead, I let the warmth linger, the softness in his touch lingering longer than I’d like.

And when I close my eyes, it’s his face I see. Focused, intent, and not at all like the man I expected.