Page 81 of Eternal

His lips linger on mine, and for a moment, I close my eyes, letting the chaos of the world fade into the background of this whole mess.

His breath is warm against my skin, and I hate how much I crave it.

I hate how much I need him to keep me from falling apart.

He pulls away, just enough to look at me, and there's a twisted smile on his lips, one that I can't decide if it’s malicious or genuine. “You missed this didn’t you? Me touching you even the slightest, me looking at you like I want you more than anything. Tell me you missed this.”

I don’t answer, I can’t, I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I do.

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, but the touch is too gentle for what I know is coming. The braid is between his fingers, and he let them there.

My breath hitches when his hand slides up my thigh, his fingertips brushing against the soft fabric of my skin.

I hate how easily I respond to him, how my body betrays me even when my mind screams for control.

It’s a mistake. He’s still bleeding, I inflicted this on him, but he doesn’t care.

His fingers dig into my waist, pulling me closer, “My beautiful partner,” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

I lean into him slightly, my lips almost touch his neck, but I stop myself, he seems to sense my hesitation and tugs me even closer.

“Why are you like this?” I ask, though the question is more to myself than him.

“Why are you?” he counters. I can feel the tension in his jaw, the way his hands are trembling. It's not with fear, though, it's with rage, for me, for the way I make him feel.

I should pull away, but when his lips brush mine again, I’m too far gone.

It’s the part of me that I wish would break already, that self-control I’ve fought for so long.

But it’s still here, faint, but it’s still there.

I can feel his breath on my skin, hot and heavy, and it's like every part of me is screaming to push him away, but then he touches me, and everything inside of me quivers instead.

He hurt me, he lied to me, he’s here to stop me, that’s the only reason he came into my life.

And I tried to kill him for it. I tried . I thought maybe that would be enough, maybe if I hurt him, made him bleed, it would finally make him leave, but he didn't.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice is hoarse, trembling even as I say it, because the truth is, I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay, even when I know everything he's done, everything he’s lied about.

“Doing what?” His lips are just a breath away from mine, and I feel the heat from his body burning into me. “You wanted this. You let me in.”

No, I didn't let him in. He forced his way inside.

“I can’t… I can’t let you destroy me,” I mutter under my breath, trying to pull away, but my body betrays me. My chest is heaving, my pulse quickening as he places a hand on my back, dragging me closer. I feel his lips on my neck, and it’s like a jolt to my system.

“I’m not the one doing that, partner,” he whispers, his voice now low and darker. “You’re doing it all on your own.”

And when his lips crash down on mine, I don’t resist. I kiss him back with a desperation that surprises even me, the anger, the resentment… it all fades away the moment his tongue brushes against mine.

It's reckless, messy, fucking real.

“Tell me you hate me.” His voice is almost a growl now, begging, as if he wants to hear it. As if he needs to hear it.

“I hate you,” I manage to whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression almost sad, and there’s something regretful in the way his eyes darken. “I hate me too,” he murmurs, and it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.

I hate him.

I hate him.

So why am I trembling?

Why does my chest ache with something that isn’t just rage?

“You should have been dead.” My voice cracks. “I should have let you die?—”

No, I don’t. No. I want him alive and well and happy and mine.

“I should’ve—” kissed you.

He kisses me again.

I shove at his chest, while my lips argue with his, my fists slamming against him, but he doesn’t stop. He takes everything I give, my anger, my betrayal, my grief, until I have nothing left. Until my hands stop hitting. Until my breaths turn into shuddering gasps against his lips.

I hate him, I hate that I let him get this close, I hate that I still want him.

My fingers twist into his shirt, clinging to him, and I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer. Maybe both, maybe neither, he’s still bleeding, still weak, but his grip on me is iron.

“I know,” he whispers against my lips. “It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. But I’m still here.”

And I don’t know whether to let him go, or to let him ruin me completely.

I feel like I’m going to collapse, I don’t know if it’s from the fight or the rage or the exhaustion clawing at my bones, but my legs tremble beneath me.

My body hurts, my mind hurts.

Everything is ruined.

Everything is always ruined.

And he’s still here.

Bleeding, breathing, looking at me like I’m something worth staying for.

“I can’t,” I whisper. My fingers untangle from his shirt, my arms falling limp at my sides. “I’m tired.”

He exhales, pressing his forehead against mine, his body sags, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” I push at his chest, but there’s no force behind it. “It’s always the same. I let someone in, and they—” My throat closes up. “You’re all fucking liars.”

“Hey.” His voice is raw, bleeding just like him. “You stabbed me, Azra. You left me there. You wanted me dead.” I flinch. “And yet I’m still fucking here.”

My breath shudders out of me. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” His fingers trail up my arm, slow, deliberate, and it burns.

“I was supposed to kill you. I was supposed to be the one who put an end to this. But all I did was—” He stops, his jaw tightening, like he doesn’t want to say it.

“I was supposed to kill you.” His voice is rough, almost guttural.

“That’s what I came here for, Azra. That’s what they told me to do. But all I fucking did was want you.”

The words slam into me like a fist, and I shake my head, stumbling back, trying to make sense of it, trying to find the lie, because there has to be one.

“No.” I whisper it, then louder. “No, no, no, no. You’re lying. Men lie. They always lie. You just want to hurt me. That’s all you do, that’s all you fucking do!”

They all lie. They all fucking lie.

He grabs my face, fingers digging into my jaw. “I should be dead right now.” His voice is rough, unsteady, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You should have killed me. You wanted to. So do it. Fucking do it.”

Like saying it would make it real.

I step back, but he follows. I back into the wall, and he’s still there, still caging me in. His body is weak, but his hands are steady.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“I know, Azra. ”

“I should hate you.”

His lips find mine again before he murmurs, pathetically, “I’d let you.”

I press my hands against his chest again, but this time I don’t push. I just feel him, his warmth, his heartbeat beneath my palms, the blood stained his skin, the proof that I almost ended him.

Because that’s all I can do, because that’s all I deserve.

“I don’t know how to stop,” I admit. “Hating you. Wanting you. I don’t know how to fucking stop.”

His hands move to my face, cradling it gently, like I’m something fragile. Like I haven’t torn him apart already. “Then don’t.”

I shake my head. “This is wrong.” I close my eyes, and feel the weight of everything pressing down on me, the betrayal, the aching want, the years of exhaustion settling deep into my bones.

And then I do the only thing I can do, I pull him closer, and let him ruin me all over again.

He grabs me by the waist with one hand, lifting me effortlessly as he heads to the bedroom. His other hand curls around my throat, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to make it personal.

“We’re even now,” he murmurs, his voice low and heavy with a smirk. “I lied. You tried to kill me. We’re equal now. Or did you?”

I struggle in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he holds me tighter, his eyes darkening as he moves his fingers down to my hip, pressing his thumb into my skin.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, his voice cold, accusatory. “I know you could’ve. You chose this part of my abdomen, didn’t you? Not the one where you could’ve killed me.”

I open my mouth to snap back, to tell him to go to hell, but the words die on my lips. He’s right, I didn’t want him dead, not really, not yet.

“I still want you to die,” I manage to lie. Maybe he’ll leave then.

He laughs softly, his breath warm against my skin. “Then why are you still kissing me, why are you pulling me closer, Azra?”

“Because you’re a fucking liar,” I whisper, my fingers threading through his hair as I pull him closer.

He chuckles, not convinced at all. “That’s not it, partner, try again.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, my lips brushing against his as I speak, the words almost a plea, almost a promise.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he replies, his mouth crashing down on mine again.

As he carries me towards the bed, his hands tight on my hips, his words a rough whisper in my ear.

How does a heart react to betrayal? Like this, with burning want and no hope, with fear and agony. Like your soul came back to life for nothing, like it woke up just to remember how to hurt.

And still… he wants it, even if all that came back was the pain.

He looms over me, the weight of his body pinning me to the bed, his breath hot and ragged as he looks down at me, his chest still bandaged from where I stabbed him. The blood hasn’t even dried, and yet here he is, barely breathing.