Page 87 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Be Quiet And Drive Acoustic Version” by Deftones

Present

S he left me.

She fucking left me inside, bleeding out on her mattress, and locked the door behind her like I was nothing.

My eyes drag across the room as I wake up, slow, confused, like my body’s still figuring out how to breathe again. My abdomen’s on fire, every breath feels like a new stab, and my head is a warzone.

But I can still taste her on my lips.

She kissed me, and she meant it.

She hates me, and I hate myself more.

I heard her. She was angry… hurt that I lied after she finally started to let me in.

I should’ve stopped the mission, canceled the contract the day I started texting her for the sake of talking to her, or the day I felt the urge to hold her hand and make her feel better.

Because even before I knew the full story, I knew why she was doing all of this.

And yesterday… she told me.

And now I feel sick.

Not just because of what she said, but because she had to say it at all.

Because she had to relive that pain again… just to make me understand. To make me feel guilty.

And I did. I do .

Every time she looked at me with those eyes and still smiled, it gutted me.

That should’ve been enough to make me stop.

I push myself up with a groan, the world tilting sideways. My hand goes straight to the wound, blood soaked through the bandage she half-assed after drugging me, a mercy, or guilt. I don’t know.

The door is locked from the outside. Of course it is.

A broken laugh slips out of my throat.

She drugged me, and she stitched me up just enough so I wouldn’t die, then she left.

My smart partner.

I slide down the door, resting my head against it, wincing, still laughing at this situation. The apartment is wrecked, plates shattered, papers scattered, like a storm tore through it. A storm named Azra .

And for a moment, I just sit there, breathing through the pain, staring at the destruction she left in her wake.

Proud . Fucking proud of her.

She’s finally becoming everything the world made her, and maybe that’s what terrifies me most.

Because I still want her.

Even now. Especially now.

Where is she?

Probably at Viktor’s house, so I need to get there.

I need to talk to her, to tell her I’m on her side, that I understand, that I want to help her, even if it means making myself a target.

But will she believe me?

She felt betrayed .

She felt used .

And she hates me .

I need to get up and find a way out of here.

My eyes land on the only thing in the apartment she didn’t destroy… A vase of irises on the table.

Still standing, still fucking intact.

I want to scream. I was stupid thinking this would be simple. The moment I saw her, I knew she’d fuck up my life, I just never expected the fuckup to feel this warm.

This right .

She cried, and she wrecked everything in this place, like grief lived in her bones and exploded all over the walls. And I reminded her of that, because I lied, like they lied to her.

I hate them.

I hate them all for making her go through that.

For breaking every hope in her, for leaving me with pieces I don’t know how to hold.

I hate that I don’t know everything, that I can’t help her the way I want to. I drag myself up from the floor, every muscle howling, but nothing screams louder than the silence she left behind.

I can’t leave her, not now.

I’m too attached; to her presence, her warmth even when she’s cold, to her eyes, her touch.

I’m addicted to her vulnerability.

To the way her cheeks round when she smiles at me, or when she eats like her world hasn’t ended years ago, the way she makes me feel, the way she fits perfectly beside me.

And I wonder, if I had her that close, would I ever let her go?

Probably not.

Because I’m too far gone, and it’s already too late.

The door’s still locked when I try to open it again.

Nothing .

She probably knew I’d follow, she knew I’d want her, at least I hope she knew it.

I limp to the kitchen, vision going in and out.

Cabinet. Drawer. Closet. Something. Anything .

There, a rusty screwdriver shoved in the back of a drawer. I jam it into the lock, blood soaking through the bandage around me, my hand trembles, my breath is ragged.

Click .

The lock gives.

She didn’t lock me in well enough, or maybe she wanted me to get out.

I pause… something’s off here.

I look around, really look.

Some of her clothes are gone, the blanket from the couch… missing , and the journal, the one she keeps like it’s her own bible. Gone .

She’s not just cooling off, she’s fucking running, she’s leaving me. She hates me.

I stumble into the bathroom, rip the bandage off and it’s a mess. Blood, half-healed skin, and I smile remembering the way she tried to end me, as if my life was too much for her to handle, like I was asking her to hold onto something she never asked for.

But I’d forget all of that, just for a second, because being with her felt light. Even if I know I’ll have to prove it again and again, that she can trust me, that I understand her, that I don’t give a fuck who she’s killed, because I still want her, all of her.

I find gauze, disinfectant, whatever I can. Re-wrap it tighter this time, my jaw clenches, my hands shake. The pain’s fire under my ribs.

But I move anyway, I have to.

Helmet, floor, where she threw it during the storm. I grabbed it, and limped out the door, down the stairs, out into the cruel, too-soft morning light.

My bike’s still there, she didn’t touch it, but hers isn’t anymore…

I swing my leg over the seat.

Pain shoots through me like a bullet.

“ You’re not done, ” I mutter. “Not until you find her.”

The engine roars to life.

I take off straight toward Viktor’s, and the whole ride there, I rehearse what I’ll say.

I’m sorry for being the way I am. I’m sorry for not understanding enough what loss made you do, I’m sorry for not understanding how the lack of love feels like because I never had it to begin with.

I’m sorry for being stupid and cold. I’m sorry for being addicted and I’m sorry I can’t let go even if it hurts you that I lied, because I’m a man that only follows a path of mission.

I’m sorry for not understanding soon enough.

I’m sorry. I want you. I just want to take care of you.

Even though I know words won’t ever be enough.

Maybe she won’t listen.

Maybe she’ll slam another door in my face or stab me again and finish me this time.

But I’ll keep coming back.

Again. And again .

Until she understands… She’s not alone in this anymore, not ever again.

When I arrive, I see that her bike is outside, parked there like it always is, like she’s inside, like nothing happened.

That stupid sparkle of hope flares in my chest like a lighter held too long, it burns.

Please be here. Please be here and forgive me.

I start walking toward the doors, pain screaming through my side, but I don’t care.

I just need to see her. I just need her to look at me, let her scream at me, shove me.

Breathe .

I knocked. Nothing . I see her dogs outside, guards who know me, so I knock again, harder this time, practically slamming my hand against the door.

Viktor opens it, his face goes still when he sees me, not surprised. Just… tense .

“Where is my partner?” I ask, breathless.

He doesn’t move, Kat leans against the far wall behind him, arms crossed, lips pressed in that annoyed way of hers. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t have to.

Because I already know. She’s not here .

I brush past him anyway, I need to see it. The living room is quieter but presence is here, even though she's not.

“Where is she?” I ask again, this time quieter, thinking that maybe they’ll give me a real answer if I sound less desperate, pretending I’m not unraveling from the inside out.

Vik sighs. “Gone for a mission of her own.”

“Where?”

“She wants to be there alone.”

Think. Think. That’s what people say before they disappear, that’s what people say before they decide they don’t need you anymore.

“She left her bike.”

“Yeah,” Kat mutters. “Took the plane.”

Fuck .

I sink onto the couch, head in my hands, the smell of her still lingers in this place, faint shampoo, cigarettes and coffee.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Viktor says after a beat, his voice low, almost tired. “I don’t know what the fuck happened yesterday but I don’t want to see her like that ever again.”

“I know.”

“Then you can leave, Damir. I’ll call you when you’re needed back.”

A few seconds passed and I murmured as if for myself. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You did.” Vik says, like he knows something. Maybe she told them? I didn’t even think about that possibility coming in.

Silence stretches between us, thick and ugly.

I look up, eyes burning. “Where did she go?”

“She doesn’t want to be found,” Kat finally speaks, almost soft, almost like pity.

I shake my head. “I need a city.”

A long minute passes and then Vik says, “Vesper, she’s there with the Venom Reapers. I might have no clue what the fuck you did, but go there, find her; and talk to her.”

I nod, get up and thank him.

“Don’t thank me. Voron isn’t just a machine, she’s not what people are trying to make her seem like. Just be careful or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“She’ll kill me before.” I say before opening the door.

Being attached to someone like her feels like holding onto a blade and pretending the blood isn’t yours.