Page 73 of Eternal

AZRA

“Afraid” by The Neighbourhood

Present

T he building stretched into the sky, so high it looked like it could scrape the stars. I wonder if I can send him higher than the stars tonight, or lower than hell.

I swung off my bike, my stilettos hitting the hard ground, rolling my shoulders, I smoothed my hair and put my helmet on the bike. My dress rode up slightly, exposing more of my thigh, but I didn’t adjust it, I didn’t care, it was all part of the act.

The security guard at the entrance barely glanced at my face, his eyes dropped straight to my chest, he didn’t even ask for my name.

I wondered how many women he’d watched walk into this apartment.

Did he pick them for their age?

Because tonight, I’m eighteen. I needed a reason to kill him, and he wanted someone young, innocent. So, he deserved what he’s going to get.

“Another girl,” he muttered, stepping aside. “He’s on the ninth floor.”

I tilted my head, lips curving in something soft, something sweet. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded, didn’t even blink, already looking past me, probably waiting for the next girl, the next night. The elevator doors slid shut, and for a second, I was alone, I let my face drop.

Everything about me was gone, detached, floating somewhere outside my body.

My reflection stared back at me in the polished glass, and I studied myself, my makeup was perfect; my dress clung to my body in all the ways that mattered, like something a man like him would pay for.

I adjusted the strap on my thigh, feeling the knife secured there, still in place, still waiting. It was a comforting feeling, knowing it would be there when I needed it.

Ding .

The doors opened and I stepped out, the penthouse was predictable, floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, abar stocked with alcohol too expensive to actually taste good.

And him. Marco Likan.

Sitting on a leather couch, one arm draped over the backrest, sipping from a crystal glass like he was some kind of king. His robe was loose, exposing his chest, his stomach, his age. I almost gagged. I could practically smell the decay on him.

A slow smile spread across his lips. “You’re even more stunning in person.”

I smiled back, stepping forward like I was shy, like I was nervous. “And you’re exactly what I expected,” I said smoothly, letting my voice dip, letting the lie sound just right.

His ego loved that, I could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his fingers brushed the rim of his glass like he had all the time in the world, he poured a second drink and held it out. “For you, Elena.”

Elena. Right. That was who I was tonight.

I took the glass, fingers grazing his as I let my lips part slightly, enough to keep his attention.

“I don’t usually do this,” I murmured, dragging my gaze around the room. “My first time.”

His smirk deepened. “No?”

I shook my head, taking a slow sip. “Yes... This place is… impressive.” It wasn’t.

It was another rich man’s playground. I'm pretty sure he destroyed his daughter’s life and disappeared after making sure she’ll never feel better.

But he's a man, in a man's ruled world, and nothing will happen to him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the couch. “There’s no rush.”

No rush… Funny.

I lowered myself onto the seat beside him, close enough that his robe brushed against my bare arm. “You don’t seem nervous,” he observed, his eyes heavy on me.

Nervous? I’m excited to kill you.

I tilted my head, smiling a little. “Should I be?”

He chuckled, swirling his drink. “You’d be surprised how many women are.”

Fucking disgusting bastard . It wasn’t nervousness, they were probably terrified, too young, with no real choice.

His arrogance made me sick, but I couldn’t help the twisted thrill it gave me to play along.

Let him believe I was nervous.

I leaned in slightly, letting my fingertips ghost over his chest, tracing the edge of his robe. His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but I caught it, the weakness. He was old, his skin had started to loosen, to sag, like the rest of him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” I asked, my voice soft, innocent.

His brow lifted. “What?”

“ My age ,” I said, fingers still moving, still playing.

His eyes darkened slightly, his smirk stretching. “Not at all.”

See, he deserves death, and I deserve to feel the release when it happens.

I let my nails scrape lightly against his skin, watching his expression, feeling the way he looked at me. The way he thought he owned me for the night, he had no idea, his hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, guiding me onto his lap. “Come on, let me take care of you.”

I didn’t resist, why would I? My body was never mine to begin with.

Not when I was a child, not when I was a teenager, not during my early adult years. I don’t remember the last time I tried to protect it from unwanted hands, when the man who's supposed to be your protector abuses you for years, nothing hurts anymore.

My body had become a tool, it’s almost sad to understand how bad it fucked me up.

His hands roamed lower, his lips grazed my neck, still, I felt nothing.

His breath was hot against my skin, the scent of alcohol clinging to him. He was savoring this, taking his time, as if I was something to be enjoyed.

I let my dress slip down, letting it pool at my waist, leaving me in black lingerie. I did it because I didn’t want his blood on it. Vik gifted it to me last year.

He pulled back slightly, eyes devouring me. “Such a dangerous and pretty little thing.”

And still, he didn’t see the knife. Didn’t notice the way my fingers curled around the handle, slow, deliberate. He kissed my throat again, and I smiled, leaning forward. “Fuck, how I wanted this.”

He chuckled, not understanding, until I slid the blade into his neck. His body jerked, a choked, wet gasp breaking from his lips and I twisted it. “You disgust me,” I whispered, close to his ear. “Did you touch your daughter like this, too?”

His eyes widened, panic blooming, and he tried to grab me, to push me away, but his hands were weak. Shaking, blood poured over my fingers, thick, hot. It stained my chest, my neck, even my face.

His lips brushed against my skin as he convulsed, his weight sagging against me.

I leaned in, voice soft, sweet. “Dying under a woman’s hands,” I murmured. “How poetic.”

He gurgled, then nothing.

I exhaled, pushing his body back, watching as he crumpled to the floor.

Do I feel better? Or is it just me getting further away from healing? I don’t even know anymore.

The room was silent, and the city outside kept moving. Laughter, music, people, oblivious. Celebrating the beginning of summer, and I stood slowly, stepping over the mess, the blood had splattered on my thighs, but not my dress. Good.

I wiped the blade clean, tucking it back into the strap around my leg.

And then, the mirror caught my reflection, but there was someone else.

A figure.

A man.

A mask.

Watching.